asked him what he had been up there for, and he told them he went up there to see God. ¶ In no other way could Moses control this restless mob except by saying, God says so and so. And the fact that their leader was on such good terms with Elohim or Yahveh inflated these people so that they always spoke of themselves as “the Chosen People of God.” In fact, they took it all in and were so vain and boastful that Moses was often ashamed of them ❦ The Jebusites, the Hittites and the Moabites never referred to the Israelites as the Chosen People of God. No one called them the Chosen People of God—only they themselves. And I wish to say right here that the individual who does a great and magnificent work is on close and friendly terms with God. He is the Son of God, and it is necessary that he should feel this kinship in order to do his work. From Moses, the called of God, on up to Socrates, who listened to the Demon, to George Fox, who harkened to the Voice, to the prophets of our own time, all lie low in the Lord’s hand and listen closely ere they act. A man is strong only when he feels that he is backed by a Power, not his own, that makes for Righteousness. So Moses was not guilty of falsehood; but the people who took him literally put him in a wrong light. ¶ When I think of those brave souls, the Saviors of the World, who have sought to lead men out of the captivity of evil—feeling and knowing that they were the Sons of God—I stand uncovered ❦ But a mass of people—a crowd, a mob—that claims to be a “Chosen People” is a sight to make angels weep. “You can not indict a class,” said Macaulay; corporations have no souls, and a horde that claims to be inspired is only a howling, cowardly Thing ❦ Great men are ever lonely and live apart, but birds of a feather flock together because they are afraid to flock alone. They want warmth and protection—they are afraid. A mob is the quintessence of cowardice—a dirty, mad, hydra-headed monster, that one good valiant Saint George can thrust to the heart. When a mob speaks I say, Vox populi, vox devil! ¶ At the time the Israelites tumbled pellmell upon the Philistines, Moses had long been dead. The mob was without a leader, and quarrel was rife amid its broken ranks. In a mad rush they stampeded the herds of the Philistines, scattered their flocks, destroyed their gardens, and as excuse they shouted, We are the Chosen People of God! And one of their Poets sang a song, which runs thus: “Moab is my washpot; over Philistia will I cast my shoe.” This only made the Philistines laugh, and although the Israelites outnumbered them, they went at it and scattered them. Finally, after long years of warfare, the fight was called a draw, and the Jews settled down and following the good example of the Philistines made themselves homes. ¶ Of course, as sane men and women, we of today do not suppose that the great Universal Intelligence that holds the world in the hollow of His hand had much interest in the fight. If this