It has long been demonstrated that sound is a mental impression, that it is not explained by the material organism. In truth, we hear with our thought, and whether we are listening to the songs of angels or the discords of materiality, depends upon that to which our individual attention is directed. If thought is steadfastly giving obedient heed to God, good, the melodies of Spirit are heard, even above the screams of error; but if, on the other hand, thought is clogged with beliefs of matter, it is deaf to all but the dirges of its own wrong thinking. May we not, then, define the hearing ear as that state of mind which, imbued with spiritual aspiration, conforms to divine law and becomes responsive to the impressions of Love and Truth? Such an ear listens with Samuel, and hears the gentle pleadings of faith voicing good, which at first may seem like "some far-off infinite bliss," until, growing clearer, they gradually swell into the deeper tones of understanding, only to break forth at last into Love's triumphant songs of thanksgiving, which are "mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea."
This ear that is open to love never misses the "still small voice," for, as Mrs. Eddy has said, "if the medium of hearing is wholly spiritual, it is normal and indestructible" (Science and Health, p. 214). On the other hand, the ear that is obstructed with hate never hears a true tone, since harmony and discord no more blend in thought than in music. Thus we need to eliminate from consciousness whatever is unloving if we would listen in the stillness of uplifted thought to the music of Soul. Furthermore, he who hearkens to the demands of righteousness, hears above the thunder of hate or the shrieking suggestions of error this authoritative command, "Peace, be still," and remains strong and undisturbed; for to obey this command is to learn that error's voice is inarticulate.
One winter's evening, a naturalist, while dining with friends in a hotel, suddenly heard a cricket's note. Although his friends possessed the trained ears of musicians, when he asked if they, too, had heard the cricket, they considered his question a joke, until he went to a near-by window, pulled up a loosened slat, and brought forth the little creature in person. Before such evidence his astonished friends could only exclaim, "But how did you detect his faint little note in this noisy room?" He answered by leading them to a balcony that overlooked a noisy thoroughfare and dropping a nickel on the crowded street below, when instantly, in the midst of the uproar of traffic, there was an excited scramble after the coin. As his friends considered the commercialism of thought manifested in the street below, they understood the fact that, no matter how faint the outward sound, whatever is dwelling uppermost in thought can always be heard above all else.
