irtue.
How is it possible to divide the infinite,--that
which is one? It is as reasonable to lend
divinity to any object as to take a cup of water
from the sea and declare that in that is contained
the ocean. You cannot separate the
ocean; the salt water is part of the great sea
and must be so; but nevertheless you do not
hold the sea in your hand. Men so longingly
desire personal power that they are ready to
put infinity into a cup, the divine idea into a
formula, in order that they may fancy themselves
in possession of it. These only are those
who cannot rise and approach the Gates of
Gold, for the great breath of life confuses
them; they are struck with horror to find how
great it is. The idol-worshipper keeps an
image of his idol in his heart and burns a
candle always before it. It is his own, and he
is pleased at that thought, even if he bow in
reverence before it. In how many virtuous and
religious men does not this same state exist?
In the recesses of the soul the lamp is burning
before a household god,--a thing possessed
by its worshipper and subject to him. Men
cling with desperate tenacity to these dogmas,
these moral laws, these principles and modes
of faith which are their household gods, their
personal idols. Bid them burn the unceasing
flame in reverence only to the infinite, and
they turn from you. Whatever their manner
of scorning your protest may be, within themselves
it leaves a sense of aching void. For
the noble soul of the man, that potential king
which is within us all, knows full well that
this household idol may be cast down and
destroyed at any moment,--that it is without
finality in itself, without any real and absolute
life. And he has been content in his possession,
forgetting that anything possessed can only by
the immutable laws of life be held temporarily.
He has forgotten that the infinite is
his only friend; he has forgotten that in its
glory is his only home,--that it alone can be
his god. There he feels as if he is homeless;
but that amid the sacrifices he offers to
his own especial idol there is for him a brief
resting-place; and for this he clings passionately
to it.

Few have the courage even slowly to face
the great desolateness which lies outside themselves,
and must lie there so long as they cling
to the person which they represent, the "I"
which is to them the centre of the world, the
cause of all life. In their longing for a God
they find the reason for the e