n examine nothing of itself, but no matter what is
put before it, it will magnify it so that it can be searched into.
So whatever is put before the mind in such form that it may be
perceived, the mind will search into and examine. It is not that the
mind is limited, and unable to understand; it is that the facts have
not yet been placed in front of it. But because as yet these things
are like the leaf folded in the bud, that is no reason why we should
say they are beyond hope of comprehension.

Such a course inflicts the greatest moral injury on the world.
Remaining content upon a mental level is fatal, saying to ourselves,
'There is nothing more, this is our limit; we can go no farther,' is
the ruin of the mind, as much sleep is the ruin of the body. Looking
back through history, it is evident that thought has forced itself
out on the world by its own power and against an immense inertia.
Thought has worked its way by dint of its own energy, and not
because it was welcomed. So few care or hope for a higher mental
level; the old terrace of mind will do; let us rest; be assured no
higher terrace exists. Experience, however, from time to time has
proved that higher terraces did exist. Without doubt there are
others now. Somewhere behind the broad beam of life sweeping so
beautifully through the combe, somewhere behind the flower, and in
the wind. Yet to come up over the blue hill line, there are deeper,
wider thoughts still. Always let us look higher, in spite of the
narrowness of daily life. The little is so heavy that it needs a
strong effort to escape it. The littleness of daily routine; the
care felt and despised, the minutiae which grow against our will,
come in time to be heavier than lead. There should be some comfort
in the thought that, however these may strain the mind, it is
certain that hardly a fiftieth part of its real capacity is occupied
with them. There is an immense power in it unused. By stretching one
muscle too much it becomes overworked; still, there are a hundred
other muscles in the body. In truth, we do not fully understand our
own earth, our own life, yet. Never, never let us permit the weight
of little things to bear us wholly down. If any object that these
are vague aspirations, so is the wind vague, yet it is real. They
may direct us as strongly as the wind presses on the sails of a
ship.

The blue hill line arouses a perception of a current of thought
which lies for the most part unrecogni