ntre of a universe
more or less identical in character with the universe of which our
own soul is the centre. These separate universes we have to
conceive as being subjective impressions of the same objective
reality, the beauty, truth, and goodness of which are guaranteed for
us by those "invisible companions of men" in whose eternal vision
they find their synthesis.

The tragedy of our life consists in the fact that it is only in rare
exalted moments, when the rhythmic harmony of the complex
vision is most intense and yet most calm, that the individual soul
feels the presence of those supreme companions whose real and
personal existence I have attempted to indicate. These ideal and
yet most real companions of humanity make their presence felt by
the soul in just the same immediate, direct and equivocal way in
which we feel the influence of a friend or lover whose spirit, in his
bodily absence, is concentrated upon our spirit, even as ours is
upon his.

To the larger vision of these "invisible companions" we find
ourselves consciously and sub-consciously turning whenever the
burden of our flesh oppresses us more than we can bear. We are
compelled to turn to them by reason of the profound instinct in us
which recognizes that our ideas of truth, of beauty, and goodness
are not mere subjective fancies but are actual objective realities.
These ideas do not spring from these "companions" or find their
origin and cause in them, any more than they spring from some
imaginary "parent" of the universe and find their origin and cause
in something "behind life." They do not "spring" from anything at
all; but are the very stuff and texture of our own unfathomable
souls, just as they are the very stuff and texture of the
unfathomable souls of the immortal gods. What we are conscious
of, when our complex vision gathers itself together, is the fact that
the inevitable element of subjectivity in our individual feeling
about these things is transcended and supplemented by an invisible
pattern or standard or ideal in which these things are reconciled
and fused together at a higher pitch of harmony than we individually,
or even in contact with one another, are capable of attaining.

The vision of these "invisible companions"--absolute enough in
relation to our own tragic relativity--is itself relative to its own
hope, its own dream, its own prophecy, its own premonition. The
real evolution of the world, the real movement of life, tak