predominate. They will then drive away false estimates of life and happiness, and attain the bliss of loving unselfishly, working patiently, and conquering all that is unlike Him.
There can be but one Creator, who has created all. Whatever seems to be a new creation, or being, is but a new discovery of something old, — new multiplication, or a self-division of mortal thought, — as when some finite sense peers out from its cloisters with amazement, and attempts to pattern the Infinite.
Multiplication of a human and mortal sense of persons or things is not creation. Personal and material man, like an atom of dust thrown into the face of spiritual immensity, is a flickering sense, instead of an abiding consciousness of being.
Mortals must look beyond fading, finite forms, if they would gain the true sense of things. Where shall the gaze rest, in the unsearchable realm of Mind? We must look where we would walk, and we must act as possessing all power from Him in whom we have our being.
Starting from a higher standpoint, one progresses spontaneously, even as light emits light without effort; for “where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” Distrust of one's ability to gain the good desired, and bring out better and higher results, often hampers the trial of one's wings, and ensures defeat at the outset.
A scientific view of progress admits the possibility of every good achievement, and first sets about discovering what God has already done for us.
Our mortal beliefs defraud us. They make man an involuntary creator, — producing evil when he would create good, forming deformity when he would outline
