substance of the universe is living movement.

Yet another type of the mystic influence of subterranean
watercourses will serve to illustrate the deepening processes to
which all concrete forms, derived from intuitions, must be
subjected. Near to Banias in Northern Palestine, at the base of
an extensive cup-shaped mound, afar from human habitations,
is one of the two chief sources of the Jordan. The rushing waters
pour out of the ground in sufficient volume to form at once a
river. The roar and tumult are strikingly impressive. Peters, on
whose description of the place I have largely drawn, presumes
that this was the site of an ancient temple of Dan. The worship
at this temple was of the primitive sort, "such as was befitting
the worship of the God who exhibited himself in such nature
forces." We are therefore carried back to the mythological
stage, for which the gushing forth, in volume, of subterranean
waters was a manifestation of the life in, or behind, the natural
phenomenon, and roused a peculiar kind of emotion.

We are carried on to a much more advanced stage when we
come to the feelings represented in the 42nd Psalm. Peters
argues that this Psalm, which so vividly describes the roaring of
the waters was, "in its original form, a liturgical hymn sung at
the great autumnal festival by worshippers at this shrine, where
served, according to tradition, the descendants of Moses." On
this supposition how pregnant with historical import become the
well-known words: "One deep calleth another because of the
noise of the water-pipes; all thy waves and billows are gone
over me." It is no mere analogy or symbol that is here employed
(though such elements may be mingled in the complex whole)