—­You agree, then, that conscious life is the grand aim and end of all this vast mechanism.  Without life that could feel and enjoy, the splendors and creative energy would all be thrown away.  You know Harvey’s saying, omnia animalia ex ovo,—­all animals come from an egg.  You ought to know it, for the great controversy going on about spontaneous generation has brought it into special prominence lately.  Well, then, the ovum, the egg, is, to speak in human phrase, the Creator’s more private and sacred studio, for his magnum opus.  Now, look at a hen’s egg, which is a convenient one to study, because it is large enough and built solidly enough to look at and handle easily.  That would be the form I would choose for my thinking-cell.  Build me an oval with smooth, translucent walls, and put me in the centre of it with Newton’s “Principia” or Kant’s “Kritik,” and I think I shall develop “an eye for an equation,” as you call it, and a capacity for an abstraction.

But do tell me,—­said the Astronomer, a little incredulously,—­what there is in that particular form which is going to help you to be a mathematician or a metaphysician?

—­It is n’t help I want, it is removing hindrances.  I don’t want to see anything to draw off my attention.  I don’t want a cornice, or an angle, or anything but a containing curve.  I want diffused light and no single luminous centre to fix my eye, and so distract my mind from its one object of contemplation.  The metaphysics of attention have hardly been sounded to their depths.  The mere fixing the look on any single object for a long time may produce very strange effects.  Gibbon’s well-known story of the monks of Mount Athos and their contemplative practice is often laughed over, but it has a meaning.  They were to shut the door of the cell, recline the beard and chin on the breast, and contemplate the abdominal centre.

“At first all will be dark and comfortless; but if you persevere day and night, you will feel an ineffable joy; and no sooner has the soul discovered the place of the heart, than it is involved in a mystic and ethereal light.”  And Mr. Braid produces absolute anaesthesia, so that surgical operations can be performed without suffering to the patient, only by making him fix his eyes and his mind on a single object; and Newton is said to have said, as you remember, “I keep the subject constantly before me, and wait till the first dawnings open slowly by little and little into a full and clear light.”  These are different, but certainly very wonderful, instances of what can be done by attention.  But now suppose that your mind is in its nature discursive, erratic, subject to electric attractions and repulsions, volage; it may be impossible for you to compel your attention except by taking away all external disturbances.  I think the poets have an advantage and a disadvantage as compared with the steadier-going people.  Life is so vivid to the poet, that he is too eager to seize