was and bold; "More subtle than any wild beast of the field." Is not the sensual nature the most crafty of all the affections of the mind? What argument so specious as that which insinuates questions like these: Who but a fool would believe in that which is not evident to the senses? Why should you deny yourselves the delights of self, of enjoyments so palpable and abounding, of pleasures so exquisite and close at hand, in the vain pursuit of that phantom called eternal life, that folly of superstitious follies called unselfishness?
So to the Eden people of old, it was the sensuous thought entering into the mind—the serpent trailing his tortuous way into life—which did the mischief that was done. The woman, as the symbol of affection in general, here, in view of the manner in which her name is used in the allegory, is made to represent specifically the affection for the selfhood. It was to her, therefore, to the selfhood ever ready to listen to any suggestion which increased its power or pleasure, that the serpent applied itself. "Yea, hath God said. Ye shall not eat of the tree of the garden?" Was it really true that God had counseled them not to draw spiritual life from any perception of the mind which could grow in such a place as Eden? Were not its trees all good? Were not all the perceptions which grew in the soil of innocence, purity and love, genuine
