The intellect, summarised in knowledge, constitutes but one-third of that wondrous organisation called the human mind, and it is also the poorest part of conscious mentality, for which reason perhaps it is the most self-asserting. If from one point of view it is the embodiment of all wisdom, in grasp gigantic and marvellous in its sublimations of argument, from another its conceits are stupendous and its self-importance ranks greatest of all. The roots of intellect start from experience; the trunk, branches and fruit of the knowledge tree constitute memory; but destitute itself of vitality, its possessions are acquired from the realm of things without. Much knowledge in a man's mind—the details of which exist in remembrance only—is like much furniture in his house. It may serve him and promote his selfish interests, or it may oppress and stultify his entire nature. The highest discovery of intellect is fragmentary and fleeting; the hour's fact is rooted in the hour's experience; the rest is a chance that the individual may be profited in virtue of memory and judgment.
Only a higher faculty than intellect in man can discern the limits of his powers in respect of intellect. The voice of the whole nature can alone reveal that which the whole nature yearns to possess. The totality alone can sit in judgment upon the testimony of the parts. In its own right intellect can freely criticise, condemn or justify the instincts; but these have the advantage of being radicals, while intellect is nothing but accumulated trappings of sensuous experience. The instincts rise naturally, like birds of paradise, into the mind's higher imponderable atmosphere, and there they change rapidly from "creeping things" into angel-winged intuitions, with clairvoyant powers and boundless aspirations. From such higher powers the policies and limitations of intellect shrink away, like affrighted fowls beneath the lofty courage of the soaring eagle.
Without the uplifting light and holy, loving eyes of intuition,1 the intellect is not only limited in power but is proud as limited, jealous as proud, selfish as jealous and demoniac as selfish.2 The selfishness of conditioned
intellect is the original sin. Its possessor thinks only for himself. To compass sea and land, to trample on rights and liberties of others, to triumph over the downfall of compeers, to erect fortunes on the ruins of opponents— these are a few among countless crimes of this part of man's nature. It is the enemy of that beautiful spirituality and unapproachable purity understood as the Divine Guest, until it has been "born again," has entered the superior condition and has received an influx of that holy light which floods the universe with eternal beauty and harmony.
Intellectual light is lamplight, having sensuous observation and external experience for its oil; but the light of wisdom is the light of the sun. By the first we perceive and value things of sense, but the oil of the second is derived from essential, immortal principles of all life, and thereby we perceive and accept the truths of eternity. When intellectual faculties are used exclusively in conjunction with selfish instincts, ordinary affections and interests, the higher powers of the spirit are covered with blinding scepticism concerning invisible things. Dark indeed is our temple when the "lights in the upper chamber" have gone out. At the same time the instincts, as roots of the affections, are derived from the fountain of all life and light. In their primitive state they are the same in animals as in men. By a process of development they become refined and less selfish, when they are known under the name of affections. Having "grown large and public," by a continuation of the developing process, but loving, above all things, whatsoever is good, beautiful and true, having universal love in their hearts and everlasting light in their eyes, they receive the lofty and significant title of intuitions. Here is their full-orbed development, characterising the possession, experience and fruition of the seers of the spirit, and the synonym of such intuition is wisdom.
Wisdom is a supernatural faculty, when viewed by the
earth-looking eyes of instinct. Even the affections— properly so called—do not understand its royal nature and heavenly characteristics. They bear the same relation to wisdom that is established by the body of a tree, which is the sustaining column of strength and growth, midway between the roots—or instincts—in the earth beneath and the fruit-boughs—or intuitions—in the heaven above. It is impossible for the instincts to have sympathetic fellowship with the intuitions;1 and inasmuch as instincts and intellect are natural allies, while affections take side with intuitions, so there is a perpetual struggle going on in man's nature, as between powers of darkness and powers of light. At the same time it is no part of my testimony that intellect per se is the source of all follies and wickedness perpetrated in the world. The protest is solely against the fruits of unrisen intellect, based on selfish instinct and fed by experience derived solely through the senses.
Intuition may be otherwise described as a power by which the soul arrives at the conclusions of pure reason without the process of reasoning.2 It is the soul's telegraph, transmitting truths from the depths of genius to the summits of wisdom, acquainting the inward man— as by a single flash—with that which he might be long
years in acquiring laboriously by external methods of investigation. In the Harmonial Philosophy intuition is regarded as the soul's authority in all religious development. Nature, reason and intuition are accepted thereby as the only media of revelation. They represent the spontaneous development of Nature's own religion. The counsel is therefore to try the method which they offer, for the world needs a Deity, in the sense that antagonistic notions concerning the existence and attributes of such a Being are not only numerous enough but sufficiently unsettled and unsettling to neutralise consistent faith on this important source of all reasonable theology.
It may be added in conclusion that woman is more endowed with intuition than man. She sees often at a glance the legitimate conclusion of an argument, as she discerns the soul of poetry and the character of an idea, while man depends especially on the process of deliberate reasoning. A pure-minded woman, whose faculties are in the beauty of integrity, is the best medium for instinctive perception of truth. Jesus was a woman in all the organic essentials of His spiritual nature. Truth- feeling and truth-loving, he spoke upon the authority of his intuition, offering no argument and breathing forth the emotions of His inward nature. "I and My Father are one," said He, for He knew Himself in harmony with the principles of Nature and hence also with that Hidden Soul of Nature which is God.