But we take the different chapters as they stand, and in their obvious meaning.  “The man of meditation is superior to the man of action,” says Chapter I., 46, “therefore, Arjuna, become a man of meditation.”  How the man of meditation is to proceed is told in Chapter VI., 10-14.  “Let him who has attained to meditation always strive to reduce his heart to rest in the Supreme, dwelling in a secret place alone, with body and mind under control, devoid of expectation as well as of acceptance.  Having placed in a clean spot one’s seat, firm, not very high nor very low, formed of the skins of animals, placed upon cloth and cusa grass upon that, sitting on that seat, strive for meditation, for the purification of the heart, making the mind one-pointed, and reducing to rest the action of the thinking principle as well as that of the senses and organs.  Holding the body, neck, and head straight and unmoved, perfectly determined, and not working in any direction, but as if beholding the end of his own nose, with his heart in supreme peace, devoid of fear, with thought controlled and heart in me as the supreme goal, he remains.”

How different from all this is that prayer of Christ, “I pray not that Thou shouldst take them out of the world, but that Thou shouldst keep them from the evil.”  Or those various words spoken to his disciples:  “Let your light so shine before men that others seeing your good works shall glorify your Father which is in heaven.”  “Work while the day lasts, for the night cometh in which no man can work.”

Who can imagine Paul spending all those years of opportunity in sitting on a leopard skin, watching the end of his nose instead of turning the world upside down!  In that true sense in which Christ lived within him, He filled every avenue of his being with the aggressive spirit of God’s own love for dying men.  The same spirit which brought Christ from heaven to earth sent Paul out over the earth.  He was not even content to work on old foundations, but regarding himself as under sentence of death he longed to make the most of his votive life, to bear the torch of the truth into all realms of darkness.  He was none the less a philosopher because he preferred the simple logic of God’s love, nor did he hesitate to confront the philosophy of Athens or the threatenings of Roman tyrants.  He was ready for chains and imprisonment, for perils of tempests or shipwreck, or robbers, or infuriate mobs, or death itself.

No Hindu fakir was ever more conscious of the struggle with inward corruption than he, and at times he could cry out, “Oh, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” but he did not seek relief in idleness and inanity, but in what Dr. Chalmers called “the expulsive power of new affections,” in new measures of Christlike devotion to the cause of truth and humanity.  In a word, Christ and his kingdom displaced the power of evil.  He could do all things through Christ who strengthened him.