The field of the hidden treasure

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THE HIDDEN TREASURE I

YOU 155

II

As one's perception of the Christ effaces the barriers of intervening centuries, so it brings the incidents of the Last Supper to a point for a clearer spiritual focussing. It was a solemn occasion. The Master was rounding his teaching for his great demonstration. Whatever he said to his disciples we really cherish as advice to us, even when we are loth to admit that some charge has a special significance for us, reasoning that, because of our innocence or our ignorance, or because of the spirituality of our purpose which makes every intention divine, it need not apply to us, since, although we may fall far short of perfecting our purpose, we are yet confident that the Spirit is blessing our effort, and that the work we are trying to do will know its completeness whenever it is ready. For we have learned that there is nothing with which we are dealing — with which we have, perhaps, unconsciously to deal — which should not respond from its true knowledge of Being spontaneously. There is one charge, however, that the human soul interprets as an accusation : " Verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me." Yet as Wisdom through man's diviner sense enlightens one to a completer, a more intelligent, knowledge of Jesus' purpose and work, the pitiful estimate of a human Jesus vanishes without leaving a temptation either to condemn or to condone a miserably human Judas, which temptation, while it lasts, obviously undermines one's truer estimate of Christ. That the betrayal was nefarious in itself, one necessarily admits. There is, moreover, the conviction, humanly inborn, that the penalty for the betrayal of Christ is, after all, one's unconsciousness of Self, or rather an ignorance, brought to pass by an unwise investment of this Self in human life. Certainly the manner of paying the penalty has evoked, either consciously or unconsciously, an unceasing argument concerning Life.

The response to this charge was precisely the same from each of the disciples, "Is it I?" Few, indeed, are they who do not, more spontaneously than they are aware, fit themselves to this phrase of judgment. " Is it I ? " or, " It is not I ! " is the question or disclaimer, although the question, honestly asked of one's self, helps one far more than the disclaimer, since to excuse one's self is practically to accuse this self. But he who honestly questions receives the answer as his own soul's verdict. He then looks upon the old world of good intentions frustrated, and upon the old self as though it were the citizen of Dreamland, but sees nothing in any of it which reminds him in any way of the just measure of himself. Deprived of the intelligence wherewith he had invested it, the old imperception of self is no longer an accusation, although later he learns that what seemed a winnowing process, during hours of great apparent suffering, when the chaff went into the flames for burning, was a work of more positive value than he then knew. The individual was spiritualizing his thought, but the incongruousness of things was entirely fictive. Life had never been stated in such dreadful nasal tones. The truly cosmic Atmosphere reveals things as they are: naked facts without a single fig-leaf — facts not concealed by so much as a transparency.

Ill

EARLIER in the disciples' story of their journey with the Master, it is a matter of simple record that he spoke to the multitudes in parables, and that his disciples "followed him into the house' ' that he might explain the meaning of words which were mystical to them. Their idea of Heaven had doubtless associated itself with every conceivable human grandeur and magnificence, but he had likened Heaven to the simple incidents of life, to the power which might be seen and felt in their daily walks and works, although some of his parables had been given to illustrate the carelessness of men as shown by their utter disregard of a truly spiritual service ; a service which, if voluntarily continued, would lead them to the spontaneous expression of their spiritual Nature, solely through their compre-

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hension of it as Universal Nature. He explained these parables simply enough to his disciples, although to us who have had the informing mind of the centuries instructing us, they appear simple enough in their wording as they passed from his lips to the eager hearing of the people gathered for his inspiring word. But we know from experience how earnest a real student is in his desire to get all that is essential from a lesson, and how he expects his teacher to strain and sift the teacher's own inmost thought in behalf of the student's comprehension, and, particularly, can we of this day appreciate this pursuit of the disciples as it has brought to us also the parables which followed his explanation.

There is a proverb which reads, " Whose bread I have, his song I sing." And this first Parable to his disciples, which follows his interpretation of the previous parables to the people massed to hear him, is to him who construes it happily, and so construes it with a constant interest, that bread indeed which retains its stimulus for him who perceives its meaning, so that his whole life becomes to him a song for the One whose ever-sustaining hand supplies him with this Bread which never gets stale from age, nor gets unseasonable to one's taste.

For this Parable is not the vagarious production of a mystic enwrapped in his fancy. One can instantly perceive the spontaneity of a thought clothed with Wisdom, and, moreover, perceive that this thought itself is Wisdom's vehicle of expression. Read, then, this Parable, and may you have that inward peace which surely comes to him who lives its meaning from his soul, so to interpret his life — all life — divinely. For herein is the promise which, understood, carries the Christ fulfilment for us.

" The kingdom of heaven is like unto a treasure hidden in the field ; which a man found and hid : and in his joy he goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field." ' The Gospel narrative does not say that each man questioned concerning this man of the Parable, " Is it I ? " Certainly it was not because of any diffidence, or because of any sense of humility ; it was not because of any modest self-shrinking, since none of them would have refused seats in the Kingdom beside the Christ, nor was it because of any disbelief in their natural power, that they failed to inquire, each for himself, if this man was present in their midst. Probably no such question shaped itself, because they perfectly well knew that each man was to be this very man to himself, the man who was to do the whole work singly in himself, although the work of self-comprehension was to be finished in the single Field of Thought for all ; to be finished as that self-comprehension which should express itself as the Divine Unit, and so express itself with the conscious Might of the Heavenly Will. It is not probable that the disciples found

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any analogy between this Parable and the charge at the Last Supper. Still, this accusation must have been an antithetic reminder of all that this Parable had implied.

That this Treasure was absolute in itself, one understands. That it was before man was appears from the rendering of the Parable, and that the previous character of man was indeterminate also appears. That a man found this Treasure would show that he had first lost it, that he had forgotten it, or that, for a season at least, had been oblivious to its worth. Yet there it was already in the Field, which we understand the giver of the Parable to have regarded as the Field of Thought. As I understand it, this treasuring should be regarded as the individual treasuring of one's conscious divinity.

IV

IS there anything so obviously hidden as Truth appears within that which one calls his soul, his heart, his mind, until the beautiful day comes when he most ardently desires to live its Life truly, be its exponent in all things, acknowledge it as his Creator, as his living inspiration, be to it its child ? And thus it becomes the only passion of his life. He seeks it for its revelation. He adores it with his returning love. Now its Life is his responsive io The Hidden Treasure

breath. Now its Being is his heart's pulsation. Now its Power is manifesting itself through him as his exhaustless strength. Now its Intelligence is to him Wisdom directing his life, that Wisdom in which he absolutely trusts. And now its Soul is the Heaven within him. His trust in it is, whether he appear waking or sleeping, his always conscious prayer, because of this trust's wakeful spontaneity. But until this day of constant trust comes, this day of an ardently engrossing spiritual desire, this day of a fervid heart, and so of a passion that lights all companionship for him with the glow of Spirit's eternal light, there have doubtless been many days of sad experiences during which he has, at intervals, prayed to this Truth as to the Lord of his soul, and during which he has poured his soul out in feverish periods of desire for that Power to manifest itself which would help either himself or another whom he loves with tenderest affection, as nothing else could help. Yet these days of importunate woe had added themselves to many days of varying forceful import, until he had come to a day when he was not sure within himself whether Spirit had ever opened its succoring love to him ; whether he had really so trusted Heaven as to feel its Power exercised in his behalf, or matters had eased themselves on their own account. Thus has he come to the day of spiritual accounting to himself. For the crucial hour came like a thief in the night, and found him

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not watching the Presence within his soul ; he was not, therefore, self-protected, did not have that in his thought which prevented a marauding fear either for himself or for another dearer than himself, although he had been dimly aware that certain afflictive consequences pursued his days until life seemed inwardly a perpetual conflict ; until he felt that all he had was that which he had brought a stranger to this phase of being — to which he had only added the unhallowed knowledge of evil — while he now stood before the gate of another phase very doubtful of its favor. He tried to see some light within his human soul, but found only a Stygian darkness, from which no heavenly Voice greeted him with its divine comforting ; his theology, a dead letter, had no illumining ray. Previously there had been seasons when he had presumed to be somewhat self-assertive respecting what stood him for faith. He now realizes his former presumption, and knows that a kind of faith, which could be so conveniently relegated to oblivion in less exigent moments, could never be summoned as a substitute for Knowledge in an hour apparently bereft of everything sound and good. If, however, he did not find in dogma that for which he was seeking, in his despair he feels the quickening knowledge that he is standing before the door of his real thought. Can he enter in to take possession of what should be consciously his ? Is this door open or closed ? What was this

Being which came with him as himself ? What now is its consistency ? One is sometimes very curious about himself. Still he reasons that this self could not have been causeless, although it has seemed to him to have needed protection from the very moment when he became its guardian and sponsor. It has been this self, surely, which has responded to his happiness, and which, alas, has known suffering through him. Why there should have been any response to happiness at all is a mystery, but why the suffering should have obtained is obvious. For the uncertainty of one's happiness accounts for the latter condition partially ; yet one rightly believes that suffering often results directly from harvesting a crop from seeds sown by his own unwisdom, but oftener results from the sad fruitage of some seed sown and germinated sons ago, for which sowing, however, the individual ignorantly declares himself irresponsible, although it is now self-assertively springing forth in the form of disease, of criminal fancies that seem to urge him to deeds that his soul loathes, to habits which the most earnest protesting against will not dissuade and despatch, and which the will seems unable to rout even by a determined siege. His self, therefore, appears as a double consciousness, or at least two-sided, neither side of which proves trustworthy, as each always requires the other to continue a conflict which never results in absolute peace.

So the moment comes when endurance seems at an end ; when the will to battle with propensities, which come trooping each for predominance, seems strengthless ; when life obviously has not unfolded anything towards perfecting its earlier promise. The dust from life's battle has tainted and obstructed Heaven's breath in one's nostrils. At least so one has despairingly believed. And often has one said that life is not worth living at such a price. There had doubtless been, for a too brief moment, an apparent suspension of hostilities, which could scarcely be regarded even as an armistice; but of peace, real peace, without some reminder of a truce suggestive of a resumption of conflict, has there ever been such a moment ? Even of the self, could anything positive be told ? That it had being, that it has being, that it is not all a dream, some terrifying nightmare at times, one has, perhaps, occasionally affirmed for his faith's sake, or, perhaps, rather for the sake of an appearance of faith ; and often has one presumptuously affirmed with a self-conscious piety that, as his life has a beginning here, it must also have a hereafter — illogical reasoning, surely. Yet from such an inner premise one has reached no positively satisfactory inner conclusion. So the years have gone with their periods of stress and unrest, although with possibly less urgent days intervening. By stimulating with the excitement of venture, alternating with seasons of enforced sloth, the surface tone of life has been somehow maintained, despite a grumbling undertone, but, except during the oblivious hours, one has always known that torrent of argument within which no effort of the human will can ever prevent. This argument has had an unholy monopoly of his hearing, so to paralyze his natural spontaneity as to have fettered his hand that it failed his best ; so to tie his tongue as to have prevented its delivering itself of the heavenly Word intelligently. This argument has seemed to benumb his faculties so that the Word has missed its definiteness in his life ; so that it has always seemed expressing itself just beyond the boundary-line set by this infernal argument, the Word that one believes, despite all this reasoning, has a circumference of its own which should be visible ; the Word which one believes should be heard, — even more, believes should be tangible.

DOUBTLESS there had been many days of wandering while one occasionally saw Truth as in a mirror darkly, but now he would efface all that which had so veiled his vision as to prevent a sustained viewpoint, as to obscure a glorious perspective. He would now see the glory of the Spirit with his transfigured sense imaging the selfsame glory. So although he had slept and risen night and day to the dream of a life indefinite, and therefore uncertain, yet this crucial day of his dream brings him to the comfort and happiness of the wakeful knowledge that he has already known precisely how the reality of Life would flower within his consciousness whenever he would willingly turn his whole heart to the Husbandman for the spiritual nourishing of Life. For he now understands clearly that what had hitherto seemed the battle-ground of a dual consciousness, contracting his mentality within narrow lines, the limitations of which he had declared impassable, was merely an illusion of contradictory senses, each corroborating one's own evidence of the instability of all things, while these senses were likewise an illusion, a figment of fancy — fortunately of fancy uncreate.

But this day which always should have been consciously his own, the day to which he has preferably allowed suffering to drive him, since it could always have been happily his, this beautiful day is now really his — both now and forever his very own — this glorious day which shows him something of the splendor of the true Field of Thought. For here is the Field, the shining Field, containing the entire Treasure of Life, which he must surely possess, must really make wholly his own. That this is no chimera he absolutely knows. But he must secure it whole to himself. Moreover, he knows that he must keep his vision untarnished by fancy so that this Treasure shall always fill his perspective with its radiance. So he hides it in the Field where it belongs : for he cannot take it away ! It is as though it would not bear transplanting into a field of fancy. From the first moment of his discovery he has had a dim idea why this transplanting cannot be done. He, moreover, is quite aware that, until he has fully paid for this Treasure, it will be at least partially concealed by him. None the less, he has it now to enjoy. Its wealth is his to use for the absolute good of Life to-day, for him to expend in deeds of heavenly love, for him to pay for the redemption of truest friendship, and for the further acquisition of this blessed Knowledge. It is, moreover, his to use in payment for the Field. Now his efforts are hallowed ; he knows them to be holy, and, therefore, blameless, for his acquisition proves the Heaven within : will prove itself his ever true Consciousness. For this Treasure in the Field, from the first moment of enlightenment, he has known to be Spirit's imagery, that he had believed lost, to him, lost to man, from the creation of the world ; but he is now acquainting himself with it as the Holy Selfhood, the Immortal Being, of every one.

VI

ONE may call this Treasure Christ. One may call it Spirit's Nature in man, assert it as the only Nature to manifest, even assert it as the only Nature

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manifested, but the true Self will never be understood merely by its classification, merely by calling it names. An abstraction will not buy the Bread of Life; nor will it quicken one into that divine comprehension of one's Nature which is the baptism of Christ, the SouFs real christening. The Treasure in the Field is hidden with Christ in God, so its safety is insured. It will not pay the wage of a mercenary for personal striving, but will so illumine the inner sense that one can stay conscious of the amplitude of the Power within, which is his to use on all occasions. For never will this Treasure betray one by any lack of worth, by any weakness of character in return for one's trust ; nor can it be betrayed in its individuality, in its integrity, by the defaulting of men and women. Although it cannot be transplanted from its native Field into the semblance of a field, it can yet so radiate itself as to fill the entire range of one's vision, even so fill one's vision that he will not believe it to be concealed from others.

So towards the possession of this Field one will gladly give everything one has — even one's bestloved. One can withhold nothing — not even his old sense of life. Yet the price to be paid may seem but slowly earned. Even when one feels that he can surely call this Field his own, he will, perhaps, believe it somewhat difficult to convince others that his Field really exists, or that it can consciously be as much theirs as his. This is when one is entering into the established sense of pure Being, when one perceives the heavenly grandeur which fills all Being. One is often aware — too well aware — that his hand points but feebly to the Light this Treasure holds for every man, whereas he would have the written words persuasive, convincing, a spiritual stimulus for the soul of every creature. Yet he is also aware how unavailing self-reproach would prove. The way to a true self-comprehension cannot be opened to others through a delirium of their emotions by a form of hysteria in him. The affairs of one's own soul are — should be — composed according to the divine order of Being, if one would possess that poise which only can keep this Treasure one's very own always ; if one is to have that happiness in one's self which is essential to one's unity with others within the happy communion of real Thought. One would not willingly have one's former conception of life a merely abeyant memory ; one would, on the contrary, have all that was unnatural wholly effaced. From a previous experience one has thoroughly learned that one may stand before another as a mere negative representative of a certain race, or nation, with characteristics so impressed by the psychic qualities pertaining thereto that another, although of an alien race or nation, may accurately classify him at once, while he would immediately find himself possessed of the

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same complimentary knowledge ; or, rather, this knowledge would be complimentary were it not for the racial and national egotism of each. All this might prove difficult to unlearn were he again to subject himself voluntarily to the repeated impressions of the old fanciful imagery ; but the price of his Treasure will prove elusive and so difficult to earn if he image else than divinity in his thought, this image which is the true likeness of the Christ, of God, in every man — even more, in every creature, as one now realizes — when each shall likewise comprehend what the true realization of Life includes. And with this last knowledge comes the finality, the full finish of his conviction. His Treasure is universal; the Universe is all his own, since he is one with it — within the Divine Unit. It is his to enjoy infinitely. From it he derives strength, peace, rest, and that medicine which is for the healing of all nations and things. The elementary world ceases to exist ; the fundamental alone concerns him. For him there are no longer nations, principalities, or kingdoms, to congest his mentality with fancies, morbid, or tentatively pleasant. His previous false conception of life was never truly animated ; never had the real breath of Life, as Spirit had never pervaded it with the heavenly Intelligence, had never let the Light of Omniscience shine within it ; for the heavenly Spirit has never had any knowledge of its supposititious existence.

VII

ONE understands now why the Ear of Heaven had seemed so indifferent to all his pains and perplexities, although he had sometimes reverently tried to excuse its apparent preoccupation and inattention to his hourly needs by some totally inadequate formula for justifying the Almighty. Elisha's God neither slumbered nor slept, but one had sometimes suspected one's self of sacrificing before the altar of Baal. But now one is sure that it was he who was slumbering, and that the heavenly Spirit is not really the idol of dreams. One knows precisely how Truth's adherents keep their consciousness alight, waking or sleeping ; one moreover knows that the living Soul of man never sleeps. It is an undebatable knowledge with one now that the pact of Life is to be kept within the individual ; that one is even now individual — undivided in sense and power. One's Life one gladly knows to be the Spirit increate. What one has to be within one's self is this Spirit's response to its Own perfect Nature. This Nature only is what one is receiving throughout one's life ; therefore is it precisely what one should be returning throughout Life. But this return does not doom one to a passive mentality. One has no occasion for striving, however ; let one then lay down one's arms. But one does not lie down with one's arms. There is else to do than fighting.

Peace, heavenly Peace, hath its active office. To speak with its Voice necessarily needs the attuning of one's own soul to its divine harmony. This is the reverent service of Heaven's choir, the hosts' adoration of the Host here and now. And the price of this Treasure is to be paid constantly with the adoring presentment of one's self.

For one now there is the single interest in Life — the simple interest, indeed. Self-regard has become the universal regard. One's Treasure fills the whole Field. It is the Treasure with the Voice which really has the exclusive possession of every man's thought. Its divine sweetness is in every one's ear. It speaks the Word which is the Life of the Universal Soul. It is the utterance of the Mind which is self-existent. It is the Mind which bespeaks the hearing, the Mind which is both message and response in the World-in-visible ; the beautiful World which forever abides within one's spiritual vision, and which images itself visibly as the Soul's embodiment through every man's perspective. And as one thus purchases with one's consecration one's true thought, one comprehends that this is the only Treasure of Life, since as the imagery of Spirit it reveals Life, real Life, through one and to one. Others may not appear to see one's possession, solely because they do not see it as their own; but one's knowledge of it as theirs will keep from one the inner reproach of being a selfish egotist ; while one's efforts to help others to the selfsame knowledge will prevent the old argument from resuming its sway, suggested as it would surely be, were one not actively helpful, through every channel of service by those whose miserable condition is the result of a partial unconsciousness of this Treasure, which happily could be at once consciously theirs. Their apparently dim-lighted way one had once accepted as one's own, but now to one it has ceased to be the way through which any one has necessarily to struggle. In order to help others, one therefore cannot concede the point that the way to Truth through weakness and dissension is easier than the direct way, entered into immediately. Nevertheless, one must not compromise one's own integrity by a season of prevarication and equivocation with others. Neither their fancies nor any of one's own can touch one's interest to bewilder one with these fancies' assumption of power. One knows that one would prove neglectful of all others were one to hold less than an upright thought for a single friend ; or were one to yield indolently to a suggestion to spiritualize slowly, by temporizing frequently, while leading others to the clearly-lighted Field. Another may assume that he would preferably have this Light dawn slowly on his consciousness, but one soon learns that the native intelligence of the other is right along demanding that he shall not agree with another's weakness, and that the other is ready to condemn him were he so to do. From one's own efforts one quickly learns that a slow progressiveness only increases suffering. This was also noted before his day :

" Consult thy knowledge, that decides That as each thing to more perfection grows, It feels more sensibly both good and bad."

More than this, one has learned that one is absolutely responsible for this Treasure in every one, in everything, and that if one were to conceal it from men in themselves, one would then be hiding one's self from the Christ in God. Therefore, not in this manner does one willingly compromise one's integrity so to obscure for one's self one's title to this Field of Thought. One's Treasure will always be to one that single viewpoint which must be to one Absolute Truth itself, whence one then can see only the Divine Light shining in others. So one must not permit the derision, the indifference, the reluctant efforts, of others, to affect the directness of one's own course.

Otherwise, throughout the World of Appearances would one hear a voice hawking the price of memories to be paid for with blood and tears ; of a Phlegethen clamoring for its effacement in a Lethe. So one must be true to the perfect vision of Life, hear only the Voice proclaiming the integrity of the increate, and therefore indestructible, in all that hath been made. In every individual, in every sign of Life, one can so transfigure one's sight that it will clearly see that which has hitherto appeared unseen, and thus unseen because concealed by the uncreate fancies, often appearing as miscreate. One can feel the Spirit of the heavenly hosts pulsating with love through the heart of this Spirit's World. One can hear the Word of the Spirit of the hosts breathing itself through all. So one is conscious of living in an atmosphere which restores every valley and every mountain to its normal plane, which attracts the crookedly diverging mentality to its straight course, and which is quickening man — the angel — forever, despite his inconstancy, to the spiritual desire of Life, while it is giving him free access to all that is blessed.