Pre-occupation with this human scene to the exclusion of higher things invariably leads us to that conclusion. If my whole vast world is in the scientific world, as his was, trying to unravel how the world is constructed, not asking why you did it, or who did it, just take it as a machine, and trying to unravel the mechanism of it—or if I am lost in personal gain where I can’t find enough to cushion me against tomorrow’s blows or expensive blows, then I have no time for higher things…they mean nothing. A friend of mine who made a fortune said to me, “Neville, I can’t wait to get up in the morning and I hate to go to bed, it’s a waste of time.” A dream meant nothing to him, a vision meant nothing. He’s gone from this sphere now, lived his three score and ten, leaving behind him a chain of hamburger stands which were very, very productive, eight of them in New York City. And so, he left it behind to his wife and three children. But all he could think of was more of the same thing. A dream, it would frighten him; a mystical experience, that meant nothing to him.277 ¶12