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ce） change； and the mode of life and evolution in consequence changes also。 I remember when I was a boy wishinglike many other boysto go to sea。 I wanted to join the Navy。 It was not； I am sure； that I was so very anxious to defend my country。 No； there was a much simpler and more prosaic motive than that。 The ships of those days with their complex rigging suggested a perfect paradise of CLIMBING； and I know that it was the thought of THAT which influenced me。 To be able to climb indefinitely among those ropes and spars！ How delightful！ Of course I knew perfectly well that I should not always have free access to the rigging； but thensome day； no doubt； I should be an Admiral； and who then could prevent me？ I remember seeing myself in my mind's eye； with cocked hat on my head and spy…glass under my arm； roaming at my own sweet will up aloft； regardless of the remonstrances which might reach me from below！ Such was my childish ideal。 But a time cameneedless to saywhen I conceived a different idea of the object of life。
It is said that John Tyndall； whose lectures on Science were so much sought after in their time； being on one occasion in New York was accosted after his discourse by a very successful American business man； who urged him to devote his scientific knowledge and ability to commercial pursuits； promising that if he did so； he； Tyndall； would easily make 〃a big pile。〃 Tyndall very calmly replied； 〃Well； I myself thought of that once； but I soon abandoned the idea； having come to the conclusion that I had NO TIME TO WASTE IN MAKING MONEY。〃 The man of dollars nearly sank into the ground。 Such a conception of life had never entered his head before。 But to Tyndall no doubt it was obvious that if he chained himself to the commercial ideal all the joy and glory of his days would be gone。
We sometimes hear of the awful doom of some of the Russian convicts in the quarries and mines of Siberia； who are （or were） chained permanently to their wheelbarrows。 It is difficult to imagine a more dreadful fate： the despair； the disgust； the deadly loathing of the accursed thing from which there is no escape day or nightwhich is the companion not only of the prisoner's work but of his hours of restwith which he has to sleep； to feed； to take his recreation if he has any； and to fulfil all the offices of nature。 Could anything be more crushing？ And yet； and yet 。 。 。 is it not true that we； most of us； in our various ways are chained to our wheelbarrowsis it not too often true that to these beggarly things we have for the most part chained OURSELVES？
Let me be understood。 Of course we all have （or ought to have） our work to do。 We have our living to get； our families to support； our trade； our art； our profession to pursue。 In that sense no doubt we are tied； but I take it that these things are like the wheelbarrow which a man uses while he is at work。 It may irk him at times； but he sticks to it with a good heart； and with a certain joy because it is the instrument of a noble purpose。 That is all right。 But to be chained to it； not to be able to leave it when the work of the day is donethat is indeed an ignoble slavery。 I would say； then； take care that even with these things； these necessary arts of life； you preserve your independence； that even if to some degree they may confine your body they do not enslave your mind。
For it is the freedom of the mind which counts。 We are all no doubt caught in the toils of the earth…life。 One man is largely dominated by sensual indulgence； another by ambition； another by the pursuit of money。 Well； these things are all right in themselves。 Without the pleasures of the senses we should be dull mokes indeed； without ambition much of the zest and enterprise of life would be gone； gold； in the present order of affairs； is a very useful servant。 These things are right enoughbut to be CHAINED to them； to be unable to think of anything elsewhat a fate！ The subject reminds one of a not uncommon spectacle。 It is a glorious day； the sun is bright； small white clouds float in the transparent bluea day when you linger perforce on the road to enjoy the sence。 But suddenly here comes a man painfully running all hot and dusty and mopping his head； and with no eye； clearly； for anything around him。 What is the matter？ He is absorbed by one idea。 He is running to catch a train！ And one cannot help wondering what EXCEEDINGLY important business it must be for which all this glory and beauty is sacrificed； and passed by as if it did not exist。
Further we must remember that in our foolishness we very commonly chain ourselves； not only to things like sense… pleasures and ambitions which are on the edge； so to speak； of being vices； but also to other things which are accounted virtues； and which as far as I can see are just as bad； if we once become enslaved to them。 I have known people who were so exceedingly 'spiritual' and 'good' that one really felt quite depressed in their company； I have known others whose sense of duty； dear things； was so strong that they seemed quite unable to REST； or even to allow their friends to rest； and I have wondered whether； after all； worriting about one's duty might not be as badas deteriorating to oneself； as distressing to one's friendsas sinning a good solid sin。 No； in this respect virtues MAY be no better than vices； and to be chained to a wheelbarrow made of alabaster is no way preferable to being chained to one of wood。 To sacrifice the immortal freedom of the mind in order to become a prey to self…regarding cares and anxieties； self…estimating virtues and vices； self…chaining duties and indulgences； is a mistake。 And I warn you； it is quite useless。 For the destiny of Freedom is ultimately upon every one； and if refusing it for a time you heap your life persistently upon one objecthowever blameless in itself that object may beBeware！ For one dayand when you least expect itthe gods will send a thunderbolt upon you。 One day the thing for which you have toiled and spent laborious days and sleepless nights will lie broken before youyour reputation will be ruined； your ambition will be dashed； your savings of years will be lostand for the moment you will be inclined to think that your life has been in vain。 But presently you will wake up and find that something quite different has happened。 You will find that the thunderbolt which you thought was your ruin has been your salvationthat it has broken the chain which bound you to your wheelbarrow； and that you are free！
I think you will now see what I mean by Rest。 Rest is the loosing of the chains which bind us to the whirligig of the world； it is the passing into the centre of the Cyclone； it is the Stilling of Thought。 For （with regard to this last） it is Thought； it is the Attachment of the Mind； which binds us to outer things。 The outer things themselves are all right。 It is only through our thoughts that they make slaves of us。 Obtain power over your thoughts and you are free。 You can then use the outer things or dismiss them at your pleasure。
There is nothing new of course in all this。 It has been known for ages； and is part of the ancient philosophy of the world。
In the Katha Upanishad you will find these words （Max Muller's translation）： 〃As rainwater that has fallen on a mountain ridge runs down on all sides； thus does he who sees a difference between qualities run after them on all sides。〃 This is the figure of the man who does NOT rest。 And it is a powerful likeness。 The thunder shower descends on the mountain top； torrents of water pour down the crags in every direction。 Imagine the state of mind of a manhowever thirsty he may bewho endeavors to pursue and intercept all these streams！
But then the Upanishad goes on： 〃As pure water poured into pure water remains the same； thus； O Gautama； is the Self of a thinker who knows。〃 What a perfect image of rest！ Imagine a cistern before you with transparent glass sides and filled with pure water。 And then imagine some one comes with a phial； also of pure water； and pours the contents gently into the cistern。 What will happen？ Almost nothing。 The pure water will glide into the pure water〃remaining the same。〃 There will be no dislocation； no discoloration （as might happen if MUDDY water were poured in）； there will be only perfect harmony。
I imagine here that the meaning is something like this。 The cistern is the great Reservoir of the Universe which contains the pure and perfect Spirit of all life。 Each one of us； and every mortal creature； represents a drop from that reservoir a drop indeed which is also pure and perfect （though the phial in which it is contained may not always be so）。 When we； each of us； descend into the world and meet the great Ocean of Life which dwells there behind all mortal forms； it is like the little phial being poured into the great reservoir。 If the tiny canful which is our selves is pure and unsoiled； then when it meets the world it will blend with the Spirit which informs the world perfectly harmoniously； without distress or dislocation。 It will pass through and be at one with it。 How can one describe such a state of affairs？ You will have the key to every person that you meet； because indeed you are conscious that the real essence of