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(September 1888 – February 1889)
Publications:
- London: The Theosophical Publishing Company, Limited, 1888 – 1889. Nos. 13-18, pp. 1-528.
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Title for references: Lucifer/Vol3/Text
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Electronic journal edition: articles by authors with dictionary entries are linked to separate pages; other materials are reproduced here in journal order. Texts have been transcribed from the original journal scans. Where available, links for H. P. Blavatsky lead to the texts prepared by B. de Zirkoff in her Collected Writings (BCW). Original journal footnotes are retained.
No. 13 – September 1888
Our Third Volume
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 1-3
The Barisal Guns
H.S. Olcott · pp. 4-14
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[Letter to H. S. Olcott on the Barisal Guns]
“The Barisâl Guns are a curious phenomenon. I have not yet been able to ascertain anything about them. The sounds are very irregular. Sometimes you hear 20 or 25 reports continuously; sometimes only 10 or 12. I have often heard the reports in clear weather. I never remember to have heard them when it was raining. They are neither preceded nor followed, as a rule, by downpours of rain. I heard them often in April. We don’t hear them so often now [letter dated 12th July]. The sounds come from the south-west quarter.” [1]
Death
Mabel Collins · pp. 15-18
Light for Italy
Franz Hartmann · pp. 18-20
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[Like an earthen vessel…]
Like an earthen vessel, easy to break, hard to re-unite, are the wicked – the good are like vessels of gold, hard to break and quickly united.
An Adventure in the Tower of London
Vera P. Jelihovsky · pp. 21-29
On Dynaspheric Force
Laurence Oliphant · pp. 30-33
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The Buddhist
A project, long in contemplation, has been realised in the appearance of the first number of our new English journal, the Buddhist, at Colombo. It is to be a supplement to our Sinhalese semi-weekly, the Sandaresa, and is intended for the benefit of all who may be interested in Buddhism, and feel an active sympathy in the efforts of Buddhists to purify their religion from the dross of superstition. The paper is to be an eight-page quarto, printed on good paper, in new type, specially imported. The subscription price is but Rs. 2-8-0 to local subscribers, Rs. 3 to Indian, or 6s. or $1.50, including postage, to European and American. It will be published by the Colombo (Buddhist) T. S., and edited by members. We hope that every friend of the Society’s Buddhist work, who can afford the trifling cost, will send in his name and remittance to the Manager of the Theosophist, who will act as agent. The initial number is full of good matter, among the rest, a scathing criticism upon the Bishop of Colombo’s recent Oxford Lecture on Buddhism.
Subscriptions may also be sent to the care of the Theosophical Publication Society, 7 Duke Street, Adelphi.
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Evolution and Involution of the Divine Man
NO intelligent student of nature at the present time, at all familiar with those large groups of facts in physics and biology, constituting the theatre in which evolution is thought to play so large a part, will be found entirely ignoring or denying evolution. No intelligent biologist, familiar with the ordinary facts of human physiology, will for a moment deny that the outer unfoldment of the body of man, from germ to prime, is, according to any fair interpretation of facts, and an intelligent comprehension of the principle under consideration, an evolution. Evolution as a fact, is everywhere admitted; the ground of disagreement is the application and interpretation of the law.
In other words, the difficulty met with is not in regard to facts, or laws; not in science, or philosophy, per se, but, as frequently pointed out in these pages, in the minds of men, who variously consider, and diversely interpret nature, and were it not for the fact that evolution has been supposed to explain the origin of man from lower forms of life, and so apparently to antagonise divine revelation, it is doubtful. if any one would think of questioning the law of evolution, more than that of gravitation.
And even here, the most pronounced opponents of the application of evolution to the origin of man, seem to have entirely misapprehended the application of the law as suggested, nothing more, by the leading advocates of evolution. This misapprehension has been so often and even so recently pointed out by leading scientists, and, moreover, made so plain to every unbiassed mind, that it would be out of place here to go into details.
So far as we are here concerned with evolution, its application and interpretation only are involved, and therefore suggestions are in order.
Evolution being everywhere admitted as. a fact, it is applied to two separate groups of facts and processes. In the growth and development of individual forms of life, it is everywhere admitted with but slight qualification. In the progressive unfoldment of species, and the progressive advancement of man through lower organisms, it is very frequently denied; not always denied as a factor, but as sufficient to account for all results.
The question, then, presents itself in this wise: Does that law, or process, which everywhere unfolds and elaborates individual organisms, flowing outward, and expanding from centre to circumference, also push the whole complex series of earth’s organisms upward from lower to higher forms? To this query one party answers unhesitatingly no: the
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other party answers yes, with certain qualifications and concomitants. Here again, it would be out of place to go over the ground involved in the discussion, as many volumes have already been written upon the subject by able advocates on either side, with the result of bringing them no nearer together than before, each party in turn claiming the victory over the other.
Looking now at the processes of nature and of life as a whole, no one on either side will deny evolution, in toto, and no one will deny that it has aided in the interpretation of natural processes. Looking again at the processes of nature and of life as a whole, is there not another law to be discerned, operating equally and consistently with that of evolution, and capable, when equally apprehended, of reconciling all the above-named discrepancies and disagreements?
If evolution be indeed true, and more or less a factor in all processes, as is generally admitted, any other law or process discovered, or hereafter to be discovered, must be capable of reconciliation with it, and must be seen to work in harmony with it, when the range and application of both laws are understood; and this concept and basis of agreement is perfectly consistent with the sequence of all scientific discovery.
Because evolution has been first recognized, it by no means follows that it has for ever pre-empted all the ground covered, particularly as it is not generally admitted to cover all the ground and explain all the facts and processes involved. No one claims this much for evolution. Therefore, every sincere seeker for the simple truth, ought to welcome any suggestion from whatsoever quarter, that promises a reconciliation. Let us see.
All processes in nature, whether inorganic, or organic, present themselves to the mind as an Equation. In all physical problems, whether in mechanics, or in nature at large, there is the problem of the parallelogram of forces, whereby the direction and force of momentum is determined, and whence equilibrium results, without which even the apparent stability of forms in the midst of unceasing change, were impossible. There are the dual conditions of centrifugal and centripetal force: of cohesion and attraction; and of attraction and repulsion, everywhere recognized. There is, behind all of these, the problem of mass or inertia, over against all tendency producing movement of mass, or overcoming resistance. This duality runs through the whole phenomenal display of nature, as the basic idea of our concept of atoms, and the genesis of all life.
Duality and Manifestation are synonymous. All problems of life, as all problems in nature, present themselves, therefore, under this form of duality; i.e. they are equations: no principle is more widely recognized than this, as in one form or another it is the basis of the higher mathematics, which enter the realm of nature’s highest display, and calculate not only the application of principles to mechanics, but
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determine the revolutions of suns and stars, and the change of time and season. The central idea in evolution is the natural sequence and co-ordinate relation of all processes in nature. Has evolution adequately apprehended this quality of all things?
Coming to the unfoldment of germs in the two kingdoms, the vegetable, and the animal, that is everywhere recognized as the beginning of individual forms of existence, evolution recognizes the duality above referred to; first, under the terms inheritance and environment; and the further fact that the individual developing, or developed, is an adjustment of these two sets of factors, thus constituting personality.
There can be no question that, viewed externally from the physical plane, this development from the germ outwardly from first to last, in the beginning, and in all subsequent individual life, is an evolution.
But just here comes the difficulty. Evolution admits, in the presence of the apparent persistence of forms, types, and species, the element of progress; and recognizes some element that tends to push all life to higher planes, toward higher ideals, and endeavours to account for improvement by natural selection, and the survival of the fittest, and no doubt these principles are largely concerned as processes.
These processes, however, prove too much, and are quite sufficient in the case of man, for example, to have long ago modified him out of existence, so that not a semblance of the human would remain, and yet the facts show that this is not the case. In spite of the ebb and flow of life, the rise and fall of empires, the wax and wane of civilization, there is some element that not only preserves the human type, but pushes it constantly to higher and still higher, unfoldment, and throughout all lower forms of life, there is prophesy of man: an overshadowing of the human form and of human attributes descends to the lowest vestiges of organic life. Even the worm at your feet is climbing the mount of transfiguration. Nature reveals in all her processes One Divine Ideal Man. Viewing all of Nature’s work within the range of human ken; all physical processes, from the busy play of atoms, to the revolutions of stars and suns; all organic process, from monera to man; the growth of a single germ, the modification of species, and the progress of the human race; bearing in mind the duality of all processes and all manifestations, we find a two-fold process, corresponding to this basic duality.
In all physical processes, moving outward from centre to circumference, in all organic processes, unfolding from germ to organism, the process is an evolvement, an evolution.
This is just one half the process, one side of the equation. Coincident with all evolvement, is an involvement. Every play of forces, every display of processes from centre to circumference, is met and balanced, point by point, in atom or sun, in germ or organism, in plant, animal, or
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man, by an opposite wave from circumference to centre. Evolution is balanced by Involution. This is the form of the Cosmic Equation.
The recognition of this dual law in keeping with the duality of all things, is the Reconciliation of Science and Religion.
From the dawn of life on the planet, to the present time, from the beginning of the unfoldment of every living germ, to the complete life of the organism, a Divine Idea overshadows and is progressively involved in every living being. If evolution is seen in any instance as a vis a tergo, involution appears as a vis a fronte. In the apparent striving of nature, all creation tends to the involution of a divine idea, through the evolution of living forms, and these forms strive toward, and build upon, the modulus of man; impelled thereto by the indwelling overshadowing of the Divine Idea.
Nature is not then soul-less, or God-less. Involution is as rational, and as thinkable, as evolution. What Nature, and God, and Soul, are in their essence, we do not know. All that man does know, or ever can know, is revealed through the nature of man himself. These things to us, are our idea of them, no more, no less. “The thing in itself” is still beyond us, and we approach its more complete apprehension only as we involve more and more, in our very being, the divine idea, and evolve more and more outwardly, the divine life; and the centre in us of these two groups of experiences, is that poise, that double line, between the two sides of the equation that we call Consciousness; the expansion of which we call Understanding; the illumination of which we call Conscience; the perfection of which will be At-one-ment; the Divine likeness will be one with the Divine.
The question is, not who builds? but how is cosmos built? Our idea of the Great Architect is no longer extra-cosmic, but intra-cosmic.
In place of what Carlyle calls an “absentee God: doing nothing since the first sabbath, but sitting on the outside of creation and seeing it go,” we have the idea of the immanence of creative energy, creative power, creative design, not only in every blade of grass, but in every infinitesimal atom, no less than in animals and man; in planets, suns, and solar systems. If we assign to creative power attributes, those attributes are revealed in and through man. Man is not only the knower, but revealer, yet man does not himself reveal. Creative power reveals through man, progressively, as he can bear and give forth the light of wisdom; or as man involves the divine idea, and evolves the divine life. God comes into his consciousness, illumines his understanding and potentially “dwells in him.”
Every created form, every sentient organism, every animal endowed with instinct, every man and woman endowed with reason, and every soul inspired with hope, arise by evolution on the outward physical plane. All these climb toward larger life, and move along the highway of being up the mount of transfiguration, drawn upward by Involution of the
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divine. Divinity at the centre, Nature at the circumference, and these two are for ever One; the essence and the form; the ideal and the real; unity in diversity, diversity in unity; duality in biunity. Man and woman. “After his likeness created he him” – “Male and female created he them.” Man-Woman, the two poles of one Being.
I hold that man is concerned only with the present life, and the present time. Now is his opportunity; now is his appointed time, and the more this is felt to be true, the more will his life tend to essentials. To ignore or despise our present opportunities, no matter from motives of worldliness or other-worldliness, I hold to be equally subversive of the highest and best interests of man. The ignoring of these interests on the one hand, and the relegating of them to another sphere of being, overshadowed by the fear of death and the terrors of superstition, is equally to barter our birth-right, and to miss the meaning of life, in one case as in the other. Nor is this in any sense the meaning of true religion, but rather the interpretation given to ignorance and fear, by superstition. I hold that science and philosophy, as methods in man’s pursuit of Truth, lead up from and through physical nature, to the very same conclusions and concepts, as true religion, coming down through revelation of all the ages, and that each thus fortifies the other. If this be true, nothing can so facilitate all future progress, as the recognition of this great reconciliation.
If all lower forms of life prophesy of man, so is man on each successive plane of being, prophetic of the next stage of unfoldment. True religion helps science to advance from gross materialism, toward spiritual enlightment, and when every problem that presents itself to the mind of man, stands thus in clear light, illuminated and rounded into form and beauty, over against the back-ground of ignorance and superstition, then appears “the full-orbed truth,” a new world, not alone of man’s creation, but from man as a “co-worker with God.”
All natures strive in man, because he has reached the human plane, into which pours in steady streams the light of that which lies next above it; while the light from the human plane illumines that of the next lower.
Two principles focalise the two planes in man, and all apparent antagonism thus resulting, is the impulse already referred to, pushing man, in common with all natures, to higher and higher degrees. One of these principles man has brought with him from the lower animal plane, as the dregs of animal life. The other principle man but dimly discerns as reflected downward from the divine plane above him. These two principles are Egoism and Altruism. Man is thus one half human, and by the time he has become wholly human, or altogether humane, he will also have become half divine; for so does one nature always overlap another, and he advances into the higher, only as he shakes off the lower. For ever a Pilgrim, he must drop the load of sin before he can
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pass the golden gates that lead to the delectable mountains; and he drops the load while he journeys on, not during hours of ease and refreshment, and when he is conscious that his load has vanished, lo! his enlightenment has already come. This is the true alchemy, the conversion of baser metals into gold; the transformation worked by the magic elixir. Life is the elixir, and its office is transfiguration.
All over the world we hear the word, Humanity. Benevolent enterprises are everywhere set on foot, and humanitarian societies are everywhere organized. This humane influence, even when misdirected, is still the dawning of the divine in man, the forgetting of self for others, the advancement of altruism over egoism, and for science and civilization on the one hand, and so-called religion on the other, to claim all the credit of this condition of things, is to confess embodied and organized egoism, nothing more. The impulse bringing about this result is older than all religions, deeper than all science, broader than all civilizations, higher than all heavens.
The humane impulse in individuals, is the true sign of advancement from egoism to altruism, from the animal, through the human, up to the divine. Even what is called culture may be one-sided and altogether selfish. One may have an eye only to the main chance, the best opportunity, in intellectual matters, as well as in money matters, or anywhere else. Strife and competition, here, often take unfair advantages and trample down the weak as unmercifully, as in the mart, or “on change.” Where-ever someone else must lose, in order that I may gain, no matter in what realm of being, so-called profit, becomes plunder, howsoever protected by law, by usage, or glossed over by so-called respectability.
To the ignorant and time-serving, altruism has no other meaning than the giving up of earth, with the somewhat uncertain prospect of securing peace in heaven; foregoing self-indulgence here to secure greater and rather exclusive indulgence hereafter; or for the poor and despised here to change places with the rich and prosperous there, while the sum of human misery remains the same. Hence it was a little way back shown that the time-serving and the devout are often in the same plane, and equally mistake the purpose of life and the end of being. We are not placed here on earth merely to give it up for a better one, as though we were placed in an orchard whose trees were laden with fruit, hungry and famishing, and we should pass from tree to tree partaking of none, thinking the next would be better, and repay us for waiting, till we had passed by the last tree, and the night had overtaken us, and we sink, famished and exhausted, bewailing our folly.
Suppose we enter the orchard again, any of the fruit is good enough, a little will suffice; but all around us are little children who cannot reach the limbs where hang the choicest fruit. There are the weak, the sick, the crippled, who need food and who cannot help themselves. Shall we reach out our strong arms in every direction for the choicest
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fruit, trampling down even the innocent children, and reach the highest branches from the broken bodies of the sick, weak and starving, and so gather all that we think choice into our little pile, and then fence it around, and guard it by law, and put watch dogs at every gate or avenue of approach; nay, starve ourselves at last through fear that our store may decrease? Have we never read the parable of the quails and the manna, by which a “stiff-necked and rebellious people” were taught?
“Mine” and “Thine” is an inheritance of animal egoism. “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof,” and there is enough in this fair earth for all, and humanity, another name for altruism, gathers that it may give, and takes, only that it may bestow; the almoner of the divine, realising that he who is permitted to give is more blessed, and more under obligation, than he who is necessitated to receive. He who forgetteth self, remembers God: not a far-away, “absentee God,” but the God immanent in all his works, whose Altar is the human heart, and whose Providence is the human hand.
If religion was the first to announce “Peace on earth and good-will to man,” superstition stood ready to obscure and make it of no effect, through the counsels of men. Wherever religion built her altars, superstition lit her fires of persecution, equally in the holy name of Deity. Even to-day the conditions are the same; Christendom builds magnificent churches to “save souls,” and magnificent ironclads to destroy them. If the money devoted to these two purposes alone were distributed among the poor, hunger and want would disappear from the “Christian World.”
If the churches are deserted, and the armies scattered, and the ironclads turning to rust, Altruism may convert the former into bread, and the latter into pruning-hooks. If egoism, in the clerical profession, claims priority and superiority, and egoism in scientific professions is quick to deny, and claim for science the palm, both are wrangling over a dead carcase, while the spirit that gave it life has moved on. The counsels of men shall come to naught; but the counsels of God remain.
If science and religion are ready to clasp hands, and work together for the unfoldment of truth, and the up-lifting of man: If the day of altruism dawns, and the night of egoism draweth nigh, every lover of truth and righteousness will welcome the new day. If science working upward, and divine revelation working downward, come to the same conclusion: If the sequence of evolution, and the sequence of inspiration, alike reveal the Divine Man as the supra-human, the conscious union of the natural and the divine: If the principle of altruism on the one hand, meet and mingle with the principle of atonement on the other, and thus the evolution of the natural, meet the involution of the divine, the ideal man enters our conception as something possible of realization, and no longer an impossibility, or a mere matter of sentimentality, but the one true meaning of life and time.
J. D. B.
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The June Time of the Occultist
[A paper read before the Lotus T. S., Michigan, U.S.]
“THE man or woman absorbed in the duties inseparable from family ties, cannot become an Occultist.” “To become an Occultist one must test all experiences and know them.” “To neglect any duty to family, home, friends, or country, is to hopelessly obstruct one’s progress at the very outset.” Such in essence are some of the most emphatic and explicit teachings of those who speak with authority on matters pertaining to Occultism; and while in each separate statement we instinctively recognize truth, yet taken collectively there is apparent conflict between them. Let us see whether the conflict is more than apparent or whether, like many seeming contradictions, these may not be transmuted and blended by the alchemy of intuition into one harmonious truth.
Does not the difficulty of reconciling these, as well as most of the propositions of Occultism, arise from a tendency to regard its teachings from one side only – the blossom side of life? We delight in the flower, and with the human short-sightedness which prevents our seeing that with all its beauty and fragrance, it is, after all, only a hint – only a promise; held by the fear that is almost conviction, that in the blossom as a blossom merely, lies all of sweetness we shall ever realize, are we not too often found clinging tenaciously to it long after its petals should have been borne away on the wings of aspiration? For, before the fruit can begin to form, the blossom must fall.
And yet the blossom-stage of existence is not to be under-valued in importance, or regarded as a mere idle play-time; for it is here, amid sunshine and shower, soft breezes and tempests, that the ego learns its most essential lessons; for who can doubt that in order to rightly measure the heights and depths of that miniature universe called “I,” we must personally experience all that the “I” is capable of experiencing. To understand the heart of childhood, we must sometime be children. To know all the possibilities of manhood and womanhood, we must sometime be men and women. To realize all the depth and meaning of human love, we must sometime be lovers, husbands, wives, fathers and mothers. And yet, valuable and necessary as we must admit this experiential knowledge to be, is there anything to be gained by aimless and indefinite repetition of our experiments? Because I have found it profitable at certain stages of my evolution to be a child, a man, a woman, a father, a mother, must I perforce admit the necessity
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or wisdom of being any one of these to-morrow, or ever again? Of what value is an experience that is merely to be repeated over and over? Of what use was yesterday’s lesson if from it we have not gathered something which makes it possible for us to learn a larger one to-day?
To test all experiences is not sufficient. We must test all experiences and know them, i. e. We must test them understandingly.
It is of no avail that I have essayed the actual trial of the condition of childhood, if out of it I have not learned to exercise a child-like trust in the divine, all-fostering love that watches protectingly over me and provides for all my needs. Whither has vanished the essence of my childish lessons in obedience, if I cannot unquestioningly and joyfully submit to that Omnipotence that sweeps up and bears along my little human will, as a great wind catches the baby breath that so confidently thinks to blow its shining bubble up to the very clouds? How am I wiser or better for being a man the other day, unless I gathered up and made my own the knowledge to be acquired by the use and understanding of manhood’s highest gifts and powers? But having so gathered up, and wisely appropriated, will it profit me or the human race anything simply to become a man again and prove what I have so well proved before?
Why should we become lovers and husbands except that we may be led to cherish reverence and comprehend that other half of our natures so difficult to grasp and solve; so fascinatingly mysterious; – so provokingly elusive; – so like, yet so unlike to the selves we think we know. Or why wives, except that we may learn deep heart-lessons of devotion, of divine patience and tenderness? What other condition than that of womanhood with its physical disability for active and positive expression of inherent power, would afford such opportunity for the practical understanding and demonstration of that silent negative force in nature which produces such mighty results in the physical and psychical world? If from the experience of fatherhood I have not learned to use the power I wield for the protection and good instead of the destruction and harm of every little helpless thing that appeals to my care, what has the “Great Orphan – Humanity” gained by my individual trial of that phase of experience. But having so learned, why should I go back and con the lesson all over again?
It is a beautiful thing to be a mother; to give of one’s life to a child; to nurture it from the very fountain of one’s being; to cradle and soothe and reassure it in the first beginnings of life in a strange environment; to watch over and so direct its physical and intellectual unfoldment that it shall round out into symmetrical maturity. Verily, it is a sacred thing to be even a merely human mother. But what purpose does such an experience serve if from it we catch no hint of the divine possibilities of motherhood? Instead of exaggerating the importance of mere maternity; instead of narrowing the circle of our devotion down to
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the little group of beings we call ours; with an intense if slightly extended selfishness, – serving our own because they are our own; – is it not a more beautiful thing – aye, a more divinely natural thing – to feel that tender, pitying mother-love for all created things? To reach out yearning arms, to cradle on our breasts, to brood over, to comfort and encourage every weak, piteous, crying soul that puts out helpless hands and appeals to our mother instinct. Ah, this is motherhood indeed! And having attained to its sublime expression, shall we go back and vainly repeat the little lessons through the understanding of which our hearts were unfolded to the first, faint conception of its meaning!
But what conclusion may be drawn from the arraignment of these – to an aspirant for Occultism – self-evident truths? This: that having made actual trial of the various conditions pertaining to human life; having tested each and all of them in the crucible of understanding, casting away the residuum and appropriating only the pure essence of the experience, the ego comes at last to a point where, for him, experience of this kind is no longer necessary. Then let him beware lest he fall into a grievous error. Having gained good from his experience, let him not be deceived into thinking the good was in the experience itself, and thereby tempted to return and repeat the trials from which he can never again extract anything of value. Here the watch-word of life must emphatically be: “Look forward and not back.”
And what, say you, are the signs by which the individual may know he has reached this point in his development? They are many and plain. When some day he awakens to an uneasy self-consciousness, to discover himself out of harmony with his life and kind: when the objects that engross the attention of others, excite but slight interest in his mind: when he finds himself unable to enter with zest upon the ordinary ventures of human life, because he can so easily fore-cast the issue and feels that the gain is not worth the effort: then let him pause and try if he can solve the meaning of this strange unfitness to his environment. If he but pause long enough, and listen deep enough, he will catch the import of that small voice trying to impart to him the first faint glimmering of a knowledge beyond mere human ken. He is ready now – though he know it not – for the initial step in Occultism. And right here is the critical point in the evolution of the ego; a point where he must make a decisive and voluntary choice – a choice involving a crucial test of the courage and the faith acquired in his various life-ventures. For courage of no ordinary kind or degree is required to voluntarily relinquish our hold upon the beauty and sweetness we know and love to enter upon the weary time of waiting between the flower and the fruit. And only by the unwavering light of a fixed, luminous faith can we detect all and more than the charm of the blossom in the hard, colourless, scentless thing that follows close upon its shedding. It is
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not strange that here the disciple should shrink and falter, perchance refusing to advance further until he is borne along by the resistless rush of some mighty wave of progress. In his hand are the blossoms whose sweetness he has tested; if he lets them flutter from his grasp, there remains to his perception nothing but the meaningless, unbeautiful things whose possibilities he has yet to prove by long heart-breaking suspense and waiting, with no ray from the light of previous experience to cheer the darkness of this era; for be it remembered, this is the beginning of a new cycle of existence; the entering upon a new condition of being as much as the first essay of the ego into human life. Now is the metal of the spirit fairly tried. Will the disciple, having come so far, muster all his faith and courage, and flinging the blossom from him, go forward into untried ways with no familiar grace and enchanting fragrance to soothe and cheer him, trusting the dim, far-off goal will be worth the daring and the sacrifice? Or will he linger with the springtime of existence, treading the well-worn pathways with their familiar milestones and pleasant, shady resting-places; although from the height to which he has climbed, the beginning and the end are at once discernible? If he dare to choose the new, who shall say what his reward shall be? If he linger with the old, what awaits him but final weariness of sweets grown insipid by too oft-repeated tasting, and at last despair at the inevitable discovery that human life is an aimless round of vain repetitions, leading nowhere and coming to no conclusion?
Fellow disciples, let us not hesitate. Ours is the opportunity, ours the goal. Let us bravely choose to forego for a while the sweetness of the flower, firmly trusting that the day is hasting to meet us wherein we shall realize all the fragrance, all the sweetness, all the beauty of the blossom concentrated, expanded, glorified in the fully-ripened fruit.
June 12, 1888.
[As a piece of wood and…]
As a piece of wood and a piece of wood may come together in the ocean; and, having met, may separate again; like this is the meeting of mortals.
As a traveller sits down to rest in the shade of a tree, and, having rested, sets out again; like this is the meeting of mortals.
By no means enduring is the sojourn which is secured by anyone, even with his own body; how much less so, with any other.
This body is wasting away moment by moment, unperceived; like a jar of unbaked clay standing in water, not till it is destroyed is its dissolution perceived.
The English of Antiquity
Andrew T. Sibbald · pp. 45-53
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Sanskrit Proverbs
Youth is like a mountain-torrent; wealth is like the dust on one’s feet; manhood is fugitive as a waterdrop; life is like foam: who fulfils not duty with steadfast mind, duty which opens the portals of heaven, surprised by old age and remorse, he is burned by the fire of grief.
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A Strange Betrothal
IT was Christmas in a New England village. Old Mrs. Mason sat before her great fireplace, in which a splendid blaze of apple-boughs was glowing. Beside her were two young people; her grandson, Joe Bush, and his sister Mollie. Joe was home from the University for the holidays, and the two had run over from their home near by for the evening. Grandmother sighed gently as she looked at the flames and thought of the havoc that the last autumn gales had wrought in the orchard; some of the trees were getting pretty old, and she feared they would not see many more crops of golden pippins. The young folks, however, as they luxuriated in the deep glow, felt little regret for the mutilated orchard. Their grandmother’s mournfulness was not deep-seated; she became cheerfully reminiscent, after the fashion of grandmothers, and it needed no urging to make her eloquent about the olden times. It was snowing heavily that night, which brought to her mind some of the old-fashioned snowstorms. Most remarkable of all was the famous fiery snow that fell when she was a girl. It came down soft and still, the air seemed alive with myriads of falling stars, the ground was covered with a sheet of powdery moonshine, the trees stood like ghosts clothed in phosphorescent robes, and a handful of snow seemed like some unearthly cold flame. It lasted some hours, and then the fire faded away, leaving nothing but ordinary snow. People were terribly frightened, and many thought the day of judgment was at hand.
“I should think they might have caught on to that day-of-judgment racket after a while,” said Joe, in his student vernacular. “It seems as if in those old times they couldn’t have any kind of curious weather without laying it to the end of the world. I should like to have seen that snowstorm, though. Why can’t they have such things nowadays? But we did have the ‘Yellow day,’ though, in 1881, and that frightened lots of people. Say, grandmother, did you have any ghosts around in those days? They are getting pretty thick lately. I have heard more ghost stories this term than you could shake a stick at. Some of the fellows are full of them, and they believe in them too, and in witchcraft, and all that sort of thing. They don’t call it superstition any more, They have a regular scientific explanation for it all. Our metaphysics Prof. has tried lots of experiments in hypnotism, and knows all about it. I have taken it from an elective – that is, psychology.”
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“Well, I am glad people are getting sensible at last,” said grandmother solemnly. “Ghosts? Of course there are ghosts. And as for witchcraft, some of those Salem folks, you may be sure, got no more than their just and proper deserts. If they hadn’t been brought to a stop, with a good sharp turn, there’s no telling where their wicked doings might have ended,” and grandmother’s kindly face assumed for a moment a severity worthy a Puritan judge. “It’s lucky my brother William didn’t live in those days; some of his carryings-on would surely have brought him to grief, though he never did anything bad. Magic tricks would not have been in favour.”
“What! good old Uncle William Helden, the best doctor in the county?” asked Mollie.
“He used to do some pretty queer things,” said grandmother, “but, as I said, never anything bad. You know our father was a doctor also, and William began to study with him. William had a great taste for experimenting, and father liked to teach him. Among the books our father left was a curious old volume in Latin, printed in black letters. William said it contained various magic rules, but it was difficult to make anything out of it. He used to pore over its pages hours at a time, and he learnt to do some strange things which mystified and even scared pretty badly some of the folks who were curious to see what he could do. You know he was full of mischief in those days – Joe, here, is almost the image of him as he looked then – and was fond of playing practical jokes. But it was not one of his jokes that made him come rushing into the house one beautiful moonlight night in October, and drop, white as a ghost, and gasping for breath, into that very arm-chair you are now sitting in, Joe. It frightened me, you may believe, to see him looking so, but I said: ‘Well, William Helden, what have you been trying to do this time? I am glad to see that you are scared at last yourself, for you have frightened so many people nearly out of their seven senses that it serves you right.’
“As soon as he could get his breath he said: ‘I may as well tell you all about it. It was nothing to be frightened at, but rather something to be thankful for; it was the strangeness, the wonder of it, that startled me. You see I had been puzzling over a most mystifying passage in that old book for a long time, and at last I made out just what it meant. I determined to test it. Now don’t laugh; you know I have never yet seen the girl to fall in love with, and – I thought I would lift the veil of the future and find out who my wife was going to be. So, when the last bit of daylight had faded out of the sky, and everything was still, I went out into the woods to where stood the largest beech-tree I knew. There was a great smooth place under its branches, which were wide spreading, forming a sort of natural circle. The ground was covered with crisp, new-fallen leaves. The moonlight poured down between the branches and covered the ground with bright streaks and silvery lace-work.
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“‘I tied my handkerchief to the trunk of the beech. Then I turned around, directly away from the tree, and took a certain number of paces, according to the directions laid down in the book. Turning to the right, I kept slowly on in regular steps, making the circuit of the tree, keeping time to the chanting of a certain verse, which had to be repeated constantly in a peculiar rhythm which, having had no one to instruct me, I had had great difficulty in acquiring, with nothing to guide me but the printed rules. I had tried various things that I had learnt from the book, as you know, and had always succeeded in attaining the result promised. I had no misgiving as to the consequence of this. I was as sure of the end as I was that one step would follow the other. I did not think of either success or failure, though; from the start I kept confidently on, knowing, as it seemed, that what I set out to do would be done. Just how, I did not know, but even the thought of wonder did not enter my mind as I kept on repeating the words of the charm in exact time with every step.
“‘When I began it was as still as death in the woods. As, for a second, I stood facing away from the tree after having tied my handkerchief there, I heard the soft patter of an acorn dropping to the ground afar off. And just as I started on the circle an owl hooted somewhere near; his cry was very distinct in the silence. The lightest possible breath of air touched my cheeks; it seemed at first as if it were made by my own motion, slow though my steps were, but it increased as I went on, and when I reached my starting-point opposite the handkerchief, the dry leaves were rustling on the boughs around so that a great whispering filled the woods.
“‘I kept on. The wind still freshened until, before I had finished my second circuit, a tremendous gale was blowing, wrenching the great beech-boughs as if it would twist them off, so that they creaked together, rattling the twigs like musketry. I paid no attention to this, but was only conscious that it was so. When I started to make the third and last circuit the wind had spent its force, and, as I kept on, it gradually died away until, when I came opposite my handkerchief, it was once more utterly calm.
“‘I stood still, facing the tree, looking first at my handkerchief and then beyond. There, on the opposite side of the circle, was the figure of a girl advancing towards me out of the darkness made by the deep shadow of a large hemlock. She came towards me, straight across the circle, with a step as slow and measured as that which I had been taking. I stood as motionless as a statue. I had no desire to move, but I felt that I could not stir if I would, any more than if I had been turned to stone. The charm was worked, and its magic was upon us both.
“‘When she came to the tree-trunk she stopped, and untied my handkerchief with a quick motion, although it was knotted hard after a peculiar
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fashion. She then advanced towards me. The moonlight came pouring down in an unbroken flood through a wide space between the branches, and shone full in her face as she passed the spot. Then I saw that her eyes were open wide, not staring, but as of one walking in deep dreaming, seeing the unseen. A most lovely face, and a figure graceful in every line and motion. If ever man beheld a real form, that was one there before me: it was no dream fancy, no shadowy ghost; it cast a shadow of its own there in the moonlight, and the shadows of the twigs above seemed to make a mantle of moving network as they fell upon her while she walked, embroidering her gown of light grey stuff that, when she was in the distance, looked like shining silvery mist.
“‘At last she stood close to me, face to face, her eyes still unperceiving; her hand held out the handkerchief towards me, my hand mechanically closed upon it, and then – a swift glance of recognition gleamed out of her dark eyes and made them glow with sudden fire; all in a moment I somehow seemed to turn from ice to flame, there was a melting sensation at my heart which welled up into my throat, almost choking me with a great gush of pity, of compassion, of a feeling I have never felt before, as if I would make the sweet being who had so strangely come at my bidding, not mine merely, but a very part of me. And the thought went out from me in a strong wave as if to enfold her. But it turned into a sob and filled my eyes with tears, for then I perceived that she was no longer there; in an instant she had vanished. As I saw the empty circle under the gaunt tree, I was oppressed with a feeling of desolation, of forsakenness; the aspect of the place into which I had come bravely now filled me with terror, and I fled. You see me, frightened, not by what I have seen, not by what I have done, but by the loss of it all. But it has left with me a deep and abiding joy. O! I could search all the world through to find her, but I know that searching would avail nothing. Some day our paths will meet.’
“William’s words, so strangely spoken, with an emotion that I had never dreamed him capable of, burned into my memory and have remained there to this day. I listened in wonder, and when he finished I simply pressed his hand with the sympathy which every sister must feel for a brother whom she sees suddenly made a lover, and said: ‘Will, I believe with you that she whom you have seen you will surely meet again.’
“William was unusually quiet that winter. His pranks ceased, and he devoted himself to his medical studies and to day-dreams of which I knew that one figure must form the motive. Early the next May he went to Burlingborough in Vermont, to continue his medical studies with Doctor Wilson, an old friend of our father’s. The first letter which I received from him was written two days after he reached there. I have it still, and will read it to you if you would like to hear it. If you
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will look in that upper right-hand corner of the secretary, Joe, you will find a package of old letters.”
Joe jumped up with unusual alacrity, and after rummaging excitedly through the drawer, found what he wanted. His grandmother, whose gentle face had grown almost girlish with the renewal of old memories, untied the ribbon and quickly found what she wanted: a letter of ancient aspect, yellow with age and folded so as to make its own envelope. Adjusting her spectacles, she read:
“My dear Sister Martha, –
“When I write you that I have found her, you will at once know what I mean. I might better say, we have found each other. I promised to describe for you my journey hither, but I cannot fix my mind upon that now, agreeable as it was; neither would you care to read about it at this moment, in view of what I have just written. Suffice to say that when I reached here, I met with as warm a welcome from Doctor Wilson and his kind good wife as one could wish, and I felt speedily at home in their pleasant house, which is on the broad main street of the town; a thoroughfare lined with noble elms. I expected to find the country here almost winter-bound, but though spring is later than at home, it has come with a leap; yesterday was as mild as summer, and to-day is the same. It was very quiet in the house all day; the air of the place seemed to me unusually sympathetic, but Mrs. Wilson declared that it must be lonesome for a stranger; their daughter Jessie happened to be away spending the day with a friend; if they had known I was coming that day they would have kept her at home. As I did not have the honour of Miss Jessie’s acquaintance, and as no girls but ‘the unknown’ had any particular interest for me, I remarked that I had found the house delightful, and that it would have been a great pity to spoil their daughter’s visit for my sake. I spent the most of the day unpacking and settling down in my room, and after tea I took a little stroll through the town in the moonlight, the Doctor having been called away to a patient. Returning to the house, I paused at the gate a moment to look up and down under the arching trees, and then I stood a long time before the door, silently enjoying the beauty of the night. The moon was high in the heavens, and full, and as its light came pouring down through the branches of the great elm I was somehow reminded of that night under the beech-tree in the woods. The rhythm of the charm came involuntarily to my lips, but as I looked towards the street I became transfixed with wonder on seeing a graceful, girlish figure approaching, walking up the path in seeming unconsciousness of my presence, a handkerchief held lightly in her hand. The elm-shadows threw a lace-work over her and the moonlight shone full in
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her face as she passed a space where it poured down in clear, broad stream. I knew her well. She was the very same. Even that dreaming look was in her eyes, and it suddenly changed to the quick flash of recognition as I, who had stood as motionless as I did that time, received the handkerchief from her hand. Again a wave of overpowering emotion swept over me and went out from me, and again it turned into a sharp pang, for I felt that I must be only dreaming the old scene over. But the figure did not melt away from me this time, and my arms enfolded the living form of her whom destiny had so strangely brought to me seven months before.
“And then she, frightened and amazed at what had happened, would have fallen, but I supported her and she sank to the steps, I bending over her. ‘We have met before,’ I spoke at last; ‘we belong to each other.’ As she wonderingly returned my gaze she seemed to be looking, far beyond me, her eyes fixed upon some distant scene. Then she answered: ‘It must be true, for I remember you; but how, and where? Was it in dream? or am I dreaming now? I know not who you are, and yet it seems not strange that you should be here.’
“Just then steps were heard approaching; the Doctor came briskly up the walk, and as he saw us he said: ‘Well, Jessie, so you have got home and found our friend; I wish you might have been here to help us welcome him.’
“‘Doctor,’ I said, ‘it is my duty to tell you how it is that Miss Jessie and I already know each other – you may think me crazy, but I swear to you that what I have to say is true.’ Then I told them the story of that night. They listened in silence to the end, and I could hear Jessie’s soft, quick breathing at my side whenever I paused.
“‘William Helden,’ said the Doctor, when I had finished, ‘I know that book, and from what I know, I trust your story absolutely. Your father, who was my dearest friend, had it when we were in college together, and he used to work some of those strange things which you have learnt from it yourself. And on that very day of last October, of which you tell, well on into the evening, our Jessie here fell suddenly into a swoon so deep that her pulse gave no sign of life, and her mother and I both thought her dead. She revived as suddenly, and said that she felt she had been away somewhere, but could remember nothing.’
“‘Now I remember,’ said Jessie, ‘that it was that night I saw you standing alone in a wood, and as you took a handkerchief from me everything vanished and I awoke. And to-night when I found that handkerchief out under the elm-tree by the gate (where I must have dropped it) a strange feeling came over me the instant I touched it, and I seemed to be walking in a dream until you took it from my hand.’
“How strange it seemed that she should be at my side, and yet as natural as if we had been lovers for life, so well do the souls of two who were made for each other know when they meet. The thought of her
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had been with me night and day ever since that time, and my heart beat quick with exultation at the realization of its desire. ‘In truth, a most remarkable happening,’ mused the Doctor, ‘but indeed I could wish no better future for my daughter than that she should be the wife of my old friend’s son; just as fate has ordered.’
“Of course, all this will be kept quiet, and our engagement will seem to come about in the natural course of events, and, under the circumstances, this will be very easily arranged. And then our marriage cannot be far distant, for father’s practice is waiting for me, with a comfortable home for her to make a happy one.
“This is all, my dear sister, that I have to write now, and as you finish these lines you may well believe that a devoted lover is
“William Helden.”
The silence which followed grandmother’s reading was broken by Joe, who exclaimed:
“Well, that is a kind of witchcraft worth knowing; and to think of it all having been in the family, too! That’s what might be called getting your wife by ‘natural selection.’ If it would only come to be the regular thing what lots of bother and mistakes it would save us fellows. I’d like to get hold of that old book!” Then, with a mischievous glance at his sister: “Say, Moll, and if I did, what do you think might be the effect if I should happen to lend it, with full directions for use, to – ”
“Joe Bush, if you should dare – ” blazed up Mollie, and an imperative gesture, accompanied by a look of maidenly distress, caused him to check his utterance. But the flushing cheeks, and the tender lights that played in Mollie’s brown eyes while in half reverie she sank back in her chair, brought an amused and sympathetic smile to the face of her grandmother, who conjectured that there existed a young man who needed the aid of no old book of magic lore to call forth at his bidding the soul of a certain maiden.
[Even in a forest hermitage,]
Even in a forest hermitage, sin prevails over the unholy; the restraint of the senses in one’s own home, this is asceticism.
Who performs a right action, free from impurity, the house of that man is a forest hermitage.
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Odd Scraps and Notes from Japan
THE policy of secretiveness and strict seclusion so jealously maintained by the Japanese – who surrounded the inquisitive foreign unwelcome intruder with a cordon of officials with that object – became somewhat relaxed during the political troubles and consequent disorganisation of details of government, during the sixth and seventh decades of this century. An intuitive conviction grew up stronger in my mind, from time to time, that important material lay hidden amongst the old literary treasures of temples and the older families.
With this idea ever present, many a stroll I took through the out-of-the-way bye-paths and secluded nooks and corners of Yedo and other places not yet frequented by the aggressive foreigner. I was ever on the look-out for a find, and I made not a few, when able to shake off the official espionage that was so constant.
Once, delving through a heap of old rubbish, in a second-hand dealer’s stock-in-trade, I came across a very curious-looking piece of carving. With great caution, the outcome of some experience amongst the dealers, I suppressed my eager curiosity, but eventually got it out with other things I did not at all care for, and made a sporting bid for the lot. The dealer was less guarded, and eagerly nibbled at the bait. I got my treasure home and made a subsequent visit to the said dealer, but could gain no information from him. There had been a great fire, and many temples and houses burned. Then the trade (dealers in old wares) held one of their periodical sales among themselves and my “find” had passed through many hands.
Before describing my treasure I should premise by stating that in the eighth century A.D. a number of small pagodas were fabricated (some say 1,000,000) and in each was enclosed a small scroll upon which prayers were printed, which were, of course, very highly valued – many Sanskrit and Pali texts and Chinese translations of Indian religious literature were known to still exist, having escaped fire and the destructive effects of age and vandalism, and for such I was ever on the look-out.
When I examined my treasure trove, I found it was a curious, and evidently very old, piece of carved work, at first sight looking like a solid piece, but not heavy enough to warrant this idea. Black with dust and soot, evidently from ages of exposure to the flaring oil lamps always
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burning on altars, it had doubtless been an altar stand for some highly valued object.
A small space on the top, that had been covered by something standing on it, was fresh-looking and clean, revealing the wood to be that of the Paulownia Imperialis – a light, spongy, but long-enduring wood, never attacked by insects, and most frequently used for the foundation of lacquered and other temple furniture. But let me now describe the general form of the curiosity.
The carving looked like the miniature of some rocky islet, with high cliffs and an inaccessible summit. Amongst the rugged faces recesses were cut, some of which still contained microscopic images of Rakan (Arhats), but many were missing – probably some hundreds had originally stood clustered around from base to summit.
Not more than two feet high, and one foot in its greatest diameter at base, and somewhat smaller towards the summit; its sides were very irregular in form, like rugged rockery or rustic garden work. There did not appear to be any metal in its construction, but there were several kinds of wood, difficult to identify without damaging or defacing.
As these clever, artistic people never do anything without design, it doubtless had more than exoteric meaning. Here and there were little shrines – halting places on what looked like a representation of a Buddhist pilgrim’s progress, along this rocky road. Which of the Rishi carried the banner of Excelsior could not be discerned now.
The base was carved into wavelets, from which conventionalized forms of the dragon, turtle and other mythological creatures were emerging.
What this had been, what it all was meant to represent, “no fellow could tell,” all my intimates gave it up, but not so with me, so I resolved to sleep on the matter, and allow matters to develop. What was inside being to me the chief concern, it is not surprising that after the usual hot tubbing à la Japonaise, and the shampoo of the blind expert “masseur,” I fell into a dreamy, happy, unconscious state, that developed into realistic visions.
Before depicting a word picture of these dreamy investigations into the past history of my find, let me mention that I had been for some time previously very much interested in some curious books recently purchased, containing wonder stories of old Japan, some of which are now being presented to the readers of LUCIFER.
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The Meaning of A Pledge
IT has been thought advisable that members of a certain Occult Lodge of the T. S. should have the meaning of the Pledge they are about to take laid before them as plainly as possible. At any rate, that those who have previously signed the Pledge shall lay before those who are about to do so all that they understand this Pledge to mean and what its signature involves.
The Pledge runs as follows:
“1. I pledge myself to endeavour to make Theosophy a living factor in my life.
“2. I pledge myself to support, before the world, the Theosophical movement, its leaders and its members.
“3. I pledge myself never to listen without protest to any evil thing spoken of a Brother Theosophist and to abstain from condemning others.
“4. I pledge myself to maintain a constant struggle against my lower nature, and to be charitable to the weaknesses of others.
“5. I pledge myself to do all in my power, by study or otherwise, to fit myself to help and teach others.
“6. I pledge myself to give what support I can to the movement in time, money, and work.
It is at once plain that this is not a general Pledge like that which is taken so lightly by members of the Theosophical Society; but that it is a specific undertaking to do and to endeavour to do certain things. Also that it is given under an invocation: –
The term “Higher Self” has recently come into considerable use – at any rate so far as the Theosophical Society is concerned. To those who have studied the meaning of the words it is at once evident that to “take an oath” in the ordinary fashion of Christians is much less serious than a Pledge in presence of the “Higher Self.”
The “Higher Self,” moreover, is not a sort of sublimated essence of any one man; a sort of spiritualised “personality.” It is universal and secondless and in such a sense the term “my Higher Self” seems misplaced. But every man, however dimly, is a manifestation of the Higher Self, and it is by the connection of the Jiva, the Monad, with the secondless “Higher Self” that it is possible to use the term. What then does the invocation mean?
The man who takes this Pledge in the right spirit calls upon It, and
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calls every help and blessing from It to his assistance. By an intense desire to be under Its protection he (though It per se is latent and passive) places himself under the protection of the active and beneficent powers that are the direct rays of the Absolute Higher Secondless Self.
But if a man takes this Pledge and betrays his Higher Self, he risks every evil and brings it upon himself. Thus then, he who remains true to the Pledge has nothing to fear; but he who has no confidence in himself to keep the Pledge when taken, had better leave it and, much more, leave Occultism alone.
Breaking this Pledge cannot, then, involve penalty on the “Higher Self,” but it can affect the individual man. The “Higher Self” is immortal, but the Monad exists as a separate individual only during the Manvantaras, and around it various personalities are formed. This incarnates at every new birth, and not only can be, but is, punished if such a Pledge is broken. Once that it has progressed far enough to recognise the glorious light of the Higher Self and desire to live in it, the breaking of the Pledge tends towards a condition which would preclude the possibility of that light not only benefitting the Monad, but even reaching it.
Thus all men are in the presence of two forces in nature. One of them active and beneficent, whose aid and assistance is directly invoked by the Pledge; the other active, but maleficent, which is represented by beings who have a distinct interest in preventing the operation of the Pledge, and in hindering the work of the Theosophical Society. We see this more clearly when we know that we Pledge ourselves to be active, and not merely to endeavour to be.
Further, there are powers on the earth and in the flesh, as well as in the astral light, who desire to prevent and hinder the Pledge from taking effect. Some of these act consciously in this manner, and others because they are driven to such conscious action, but without any knowledge of the reason or force which drives them thereto.
We are to endeavour to “make Theosophy a living factor in our lives.” Before we can endeavour to do this, much less do it effectually, we must first understand what Theosophy is, and actually define to ourselves what we individually mean by Theosophy. Now it is exactly this definition, its want, and our ignorance generally which hitherto has prevented us from carrying out this endeavour. Nothing need here be said of the Theosophical Society and the benefit which would come to it by even a small section of its members actually making Theosophy the living factor in their lives. Very few do so, and it is only too true that a member of the Theosophical Society is not necessarily a Theosophist. But those who take this Pledge are not content to remain nominally members of the Society, but aspire to be Theosophists indeed. And therefore it is so necessary that all should learn what a Theosophist is, and what any man must do to make Theosophy a living factor in his life.
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As a negative definition nothing could be better than the definition in Lucifer No. 3:
“He who does not practise altruism; he who is not prepared to share his last morsel with a weaker or poorer than himself; he who neglects to help his brother man, of whatever race, nation, or creed, whenever and wherever he meets suffering, and who turns a deaf ear to the cry of human misery; he who hears an innocent person slandered, whether a brother Theosophist or not, and does not undertake his defence as he would undertake his own – is no Theosophist.”
But this definition also contains the positive side. It is not sufficient merely to abstain from doing that which is condemned in this definition. The negative side alone is useless to those who take this Pledge – and not merely useless, for it involves practically the breaking of the Pledge. The Pledge demands not only that the man who takes it shall abstain from evil doing but, more, that he shall positively work altruistically and defend any innocent person as he would himself.
Many men may be so colourless as not to offend against the negative clauses of the Pledge and definition; but few are they who are sufficiently positive in their own character as not only not to offend against these clauses but also work in the opposite direction. For the greatest importance does not consist in “I will not” but in the “I will do.” Thus some strength is needed for impersonality. This impersonality is of two kinds, negative and positive. For the negative, strength is needed to fight against the forces of heredity and education, and prevent obedience to the instincts and acquired habits of this and other incarnations. But greater strength is needed to cross the zero-point and create new instincts and habits in the midst of conditions of life and habits of thought which are violently opposed to the new creation. And it would seem that strength is required so that it would be possible to conquer the tendencies of a devil and grow up into divinity. And if we regard the Pledge generally it would seem to be an admirable instrument, in view of the above quoted definition, for finding out and assailing everybody on their weak points. As men and women the Pledge compels us to refrain from acting and thinking in our daily life as our education has hitherto compelled us to do. If we do not so refrain, we do not make Theosophy a living factor in our lives. And more, while we are engaged in this difficult task, the positive side appears and we are told that we have to do other things as difficult – otherwise we are not Theosophists.
The second clause of the Pledge will prove a stumbling block to many lukewarm members of the Theosophical Society. Many may be in complete accord with the objects of the Theosophical Society, so far as they understand them, but also be in complete disagreement with the leaders of the Society and their method of work. Not only may they disagree but also be in either open or concealed hostility to those leaders and many of the members. It is of no use to disguise from ourselves
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the fact that this has been the case, and unfortunately may be so again. We work for “Universal Brotherhood” and we are at enmity with our immediate neighbours. This then we pledge ourselves to put a stop to, and to excise the tendency from our natures. Thus Clause 2 has a special reference to certain persons arising out of the general circumstances.
The question naturally arises: “Of what use is a Theosophical Society with such aims, when it is composed of such diverse elements?” And again: “Has the Society any coherence and purpose which shall make it a living power in the society by which it is surrounded?” For an analogy exists; and the Society is an individual among societies, just as men and women are individuals. And it may here be emphatically stated that the power and force of any given body is not the total force of its component units, but that the body has an individual force and power of its own apart from them. One has but to turn to the chemistry of “alloys” to see that this is true. If then we regard the Society, it does not seem that any of its strength is due to the united purpose and action of its individual members. But it has a great purpose, and to this a certain number of devoted individuals have sacrificed all that lay in their power. Among these the founders and present leaders of the Society are notable examples. The result is that the Society continues to exist exoterically. But the continued existence of the Society is not due to these few individual efforts alone but to the underlying influence of those under whose direction the Society was founded by its present leaders, and to the fostering care of those Masters in Wisdom, after it was founded.
Clause 3 opens out to many, as the Society is at present constituted, a good deal of casuistical reasoning. It has been said, and it would seem truly said, that it is perfectly open to those who are true Theosophists to condemn an act but not the actor. But this will be found to be a distinction which is very subtle and difficult to make in life. “Light on the Path,” too, warns the aspirant against self-righteousness of a like character, “for the soiled garment you shrink from touching may have been yours yesterday, may be yours to-morrow.” Thus those who take this Pledge are about to meet a very subtle difficulty (for in life the act and the actor are indissolubly connected), unless they have attained the power of observing and reading on a plane which is at present beyond the reach of the majority of mankind. However, even if this power is beyond reach at present, it is at all events right for those who aspire to be Theosophists to try. We can at least put a bridle on our physical lips and endeavour to do so on our mind, and thus abstain from “condemning others.” For the silent condemnation of the mind would seem more “vicious” than physical speech, for, at any rate in the “judge,” it is a form of moral cowardice. And herein lies the casuistry. For apart from the definition in LUCIFER, No. 3, it has been open to those who
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take the Pledge to consider that their human brothers are not “Brother Theosophists,” and therefore that it is legal to judge and condemn. Thus if it could be clearly proven that any man or woman has erred against the said definition it might be possible to receive absolution from the pledge “never to listen without protest to any evil thing spoken” of them. But the definition stops this with its “whether a brother Theosophist or not,” and agrees with the legal maxim which is so seldom acted upon – always to consider a man innocent until proved guilty. Suspicion is a dangerous guest to harbour, and we are finally brought back to the fact that it is best to “judge not that ye be not judged.”
Clauses 4 and 5 are the completion of resolutions which go straight to the centre of all that militates against Theosophy and against its forming a living factor in men’s lives. In this sense Clause 6 is a completion also. But the power to help and teach others can only be found in the united spirit of life, which is a spirit of absolute equality and in the sense that to the Theosophist every man is a teacher.
Clause 6 is a ratification of all that has gone before, but places it in more definite terms.
Thus then before this Pledge is taken it is necessary for all who aspire to take it to carefully ascertain, before pledging themselves to work and activity for Theosophy, what Theosophy really is. Is Theosophy identical with the practice of the Theosophical Society? If it is not, ought it to be? Shall I endeavour to make it so? In pledging myself to work for it, am I in the near or distant future, in this or in some succeeding incarnation, looking for a reward? It would then seem that one of the first requisites is to endeavour to “Know Thyself.”
Such a Pledge must not be taken lightly nor in a spirit of mere emotionalism. It has to be taken with a stern resolution to ever and ever more fully carry out its requirements, even at all costs to the man who takes it. It is taken at the risk of the man who takes it in a thoughtless spirit without examining what it really means and without the intention of making its fulfilment the supreme object of his life.
It is necessary “to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” the truths which exist in Theosophy and then perhaps there may dawn upon the world the day when all men shall be as brothers, and Universal Brotherhood shall be a reality and the guide of all existence.
“I found them blind, I taught them how to see, |
| William Blake. |
Astrological
William Q. Judge · pp. 68
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The Devil, Who is He?
Sir, – The Rev. T. G. Headley, who puts the above question in the August number, in the course of his remarks admits that the Devil and Jesus are simply impersonations of Good and Evil, and although it would appear he considers Jesus as an historical character yet I do not gather that he so identifies historically the person of the Devil, so that by your kind permission I will endeavour to give a reply to his question; leaving the question of the identity of Jesus for the present, although it may be that there is a great affinity between the two, and that the much-abused Devil may be transformed into an angel of Light.
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The names of these so-called evil genii are, it will be found, many and varied, and the same impersonation appears under different aliases in all ages and in all countries. In Egypt it is found as the Serpent Thermuthis which the Egyptians are said to have used as a royal Tiara on the statues of the Goddess Isis, and as the Areph or Serapis, whose bishops were known as Bishops of Christ, in Persia; as Agathodæmon encircling the mundane egg; as the person of Vishnu himself in Hindostan. Then as Vitzepuptzli, the great God in Mexico; and coming finally to the sacred books of the Christians, we find the Serpent in the Garden of Eden. This is the Brazen Serpent lifted up by Moses, with whom, significantly enough, Jesus identifies himself when he says, “So must I be lifted up.” So also in all varieties and modifications of the name. The serpent (the Hebrew ’nocash), the Greek “Dragon” or Οφις, the snake or the Basilisk, the Royal Serpent – the radical idea in all is one. It is the attribute of a peculiar acuteness of sight which hath, says St. John, in Hebrew his name Abaddon or Ab – ad – on the Father, the Lord, the Being; and in Greek Apollyon, that is Apollo, as Sathen or Satan, in 1 Chron. xxi. 1, where the same is used as in 2 Sam. xxiv. 1, showing that Satan and Yahou are one and the self-same being; and in Rev. xii. 9, where the writer speaks of that old serpent called the Devil and Satan. Briefly, Ophiolatry or Serpent worship was universal and symbolical of Wisdom and Eternity, its inarticulate or terrible hiss representing the voice of God, since Isaiah assures us “That the Lord will hiss for the fly (or scarabeus) of Egypt.”
He is called Satan or Shethen – opposition – and also an Accuser – not, however, a false accuser – as, in the book ascribed to Job, he is represented as one of the Sons of God, who presents himself with the others, and as such is invested with superior wisdom, directing even the providence of God. [3] In fact there is no name, attribute or title of Godhead, Power or Majesty, ascribed to God either in the Old or New Testament, but that same is the name, title and attribute of Satan.
The “Devil” is the Accuser or Tempter. But, so also we read that God tempted Abraham, and in the prayer we beseech God “to lead us not into temptation.” He is the Adversary or “stander over against,” or Diabolus, the opposite; hence the French Diable, and as our text says, “Your Adversary, the Devil.” Now, briefly, tabulating all the names of the Devil which occur in Scripture, and all the attributes ascribed to him, they will be found to be the Common names and attributes of the Supreme God as follows: –
| Baal-Shadai | God Almighty. |
| Bel-Aitan | The Mighty Lord. |
| Bel-Geh | The Lord of Health. |
| Bel-Ial (Belial) | Lord of the Opposite. |
| Baal-Zebub | Lord of the Scorpion. |
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| Baal Berith | Lord of the Covenant. |
| Baal Peor | Lord of the Opening. |
| Baal Perazim | Lord of the Divisions. |
| Baal Zephon | Lord of the North. |
| Baal-Samen | Lord of Heaven. |
| Adoni-Bezeck | Lord of Glory. |
| Moloch-Zedeck | King of Righteousness. |
| Lucifer | Son of the Morning or, as in |
the margin, Isaiah xiv. 12, Day Star, the very name of Jesus Christ in the Testament: “The Day Star from on high hath visited and redeemed his people.” It is corroborated in Revelation xxii, “I Jesus am the bright and morning star,” or Day Star (xxii. 15); or plainly, I Jes-us am Lucifer; that is I am Satan, also the Devil. And so, as the “initiated” apostle truly states, “Satan is transformed into an angel of Light.”
Having therefore in this note briefly shown the dual character of the Devil and Yahou, or God, and seeing this curious and unedifying intermingling of the attributes of the Supreme, amidst and with the accumulation of centuries of theological confusion, contradictions, and contrarieties, passing before our mind, we are constrained in the strength of the Spirit of Truth to cut the Gordian Knot.
As the Rev. T. G. Headley says, there appear to be two powers at work, Good and Evil, or the Devil and Jesus. But, in their esse, they are but one and the same; the Prince or Power of Darkness is the adversary – the opposite – or opponent of the Prince of Light, and constantly follows or persecutes him, as day and night, and as the cold and cheerless reign of winter succeeds the summer, as the earth revolving in space presents its whole surface successively to the sun. So the illuminated half was the Kingdom of Heaven while the adverse, diabolically adverse, symbolically represented Hades, Darkness, the Under World, Bottomless Pit, Hell, &c., which the blackness of infinite space readily realizes. And, as the Hebrew word, and the Greek, for both a Dragon and a Serpent are derived from words which signify the eye, and in all the languages of Asia, the same word expresses the Eye, and the Sun, so Milton’s Adam, addressing the sun, says, “Thou sun of this great world, both eye and Soul,” so all the names that have-been given him either in Pagan or Christian Mythology are but the names and personifications of his different supposed attributes: as, Lovely in Spring, Powerful in Summer, Beneficent in Autumn, and Terrible in Winter. So that whatever be the name, whether Jupiter, Pluto, Dionysius, God, Devil, Christ, Satan, Demon, or Angel, it is ever as that famous verse of the Orphic song truly says: “One Jupiter, one Pluto, one Apollo, one Bacchus. It is but the One God in them all.” So also our Christian poet sings:
“These as they change, Almighty Father, these |
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With light and heat refulgent. |
To conclude, if we carefully investigate the origin and derivation of the various names by which this Evil (d’evil) or dark genius has been known in all ages, we shall discover that they one and all turn upon the phenomena of darkness and light, day and night, Summer and Winter. Bearing this in mind, the apparent contradiction, and yet dual characters and natures, of the Devil and Jes-us, or God as pourtrayed in the Christian sacred books, and which is so perplexing to the ordinary reader, becomes clear and distinct. As the Seasons and periods of time revolve, so naturally does the One Esse or Source of all, by the reflection of which these seasons or shadows thrown upon our mentality, become alternately Day, Night, Summer and Winter, &c., correspondingly God, Devil, Christ, and Satan, &c., hence, outside these phenomena which are many and varied, the Divine Esse or God is but One and Supreme and All, even as the seven colours of the Sun’s rays appear but as one.
Chelsea, S. W. Aug. 22, 1888.
Christian or Mental Science?
In your review last month of Mrs. Gestefeld’s recent work “Statements of Christian Science,” you seem to include Mental Science and Christian Science under one head. As a student of the former, I beg to make a few explanations in regard to our doctrine.
In the first place, Mental Science objects as strongly to the name “Christian” being applied to the science as does Lucifer. For although the manner of healing is the same in essence as that practised by Christ, yet he was not the first to practise it, for it was known and used centuries before his birth.
The whole doctrine of Mental (or Christian) Science is based on the belief that there is an one Universal Whole and that we are all parts of that Whole. The views of Mental Scientists, concerning the relation of matter to spirit, were well voiced by a writer on Occultism, when he defined “Matter as being latent Force” (or Spirit), and “Force (or Spirit), as being free Matter,” one substance. Or as it is sometimes expressed “All is Spirit (or mind) there is no Matter,” that is, matter has no real existence by itself; it being but a condition of spirit – spirit conditioned – made visible and tangible.
All our diseases can be traced to one fundamental error, the belief that we are separate entities, entirely unconnected with one another. If you will consider this point fully, I think you will agree with me that all sin (and from sin sickness) arises from this almost universal belief. Society is built on that foundation. Instead of man co-operating with man, at present he expends
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more than half his energy in fighting his brother. Instead of helping those weaker than himself he looks upon them as his lawful prey.
I heard once of a distinguished physician who told his class in a large medical college that every known disease could be traced to a cold. He might have carried that statement even farther and said that every disease could be traced to a fear – conscious or unconscious – caused by a sense of separateness.
You ask where is the guarantee – the hall-mark by which the true Mental (or so-called Christian) Scientist may be known. “By their fruits ye shall know them.”[4]
As to the safeness of intrusting this power to the multitude, I am not in a position to judge. But “the powers that might be expected to intervene in order to prevent Keely’s inventions from becoming factors in human life” might, I venture to suggest, also be expected to intervene if “mankind is too selfish, too cruel, too stupid, too pitiless, too animal to be intrusted with minor ‘divine powers,’” for such the powers of Mental Healing certainly are.[5]
Mental Science wars against the materialism of the age. It endeavours to make man realize that behind his material body he has a soul, that that soul is one of the rays of the sun of Infinite Spirit – distinct in itself but inseparable from that sun – that by virtue of his relation to that Universal Spirit every man is your brother in fact as well as in word.
Jesus rarely used material means when he accomplished his cures, and when he did it was but to prove their inefficacy. When he employed clay and saliva to open the eyes of the blind man, was it to support belief in material remedies?
A strong mind dominates a weaker with which it comes in contact. A child is under the dominion of the thought of those by whom it is surrounded; and, all “children’s diseases” are caused by the fears of those in the atmosphere of whose minds the child lives. So-called “contagious diseases” are usually caused by the fears of communities and bodies of men. In each of these cases I have said fears because I wished to get as near the root or primary cause as possible. It may have been anger, jealousy, selfishness &c. but those are but different forms of fear arising from the false belief of separateness (personality).
True prayer never went unanswered. How could a whole nation possibly offer up fervent prayer when probably there was not one in a thousand who even knew what fervent prayer meant? Mental Science is true prayer.
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As for Bright’s disease of the kidneys being produced in persons who are untruthful and practise deception, I think the assertion far too sweeping; nor would I treat a patient for deception or any like error directly, knowing that to be but secondary and that the primary cause was fear. Instead of cutting off one branch of the briar which happens to hang over your path, how much better to root it up and so have it out of your way for ever.
Mental Science interferes in no way with the law of Karma. In fact the majority of Mental Scientists firmly believe in it. The Healer does not change his patient, he shows him how he can change himself, he simply points out the way, he is his teacher.
In closing, I will merely say that Mental Science never claimed to be new. It is an old science reborn under a new name.
Its aims are those of Theosophy – the conquering of the lower and the development of the higher nature. It stretches forth its hand to theosophy hoping to be recognized as an old friend and that they may henceforth go hand-in-hand, accomplishing their great purpose faster and more effectually by their united efforts.[6]
Yours fraternally,
Hartford, Conn. U.S.A. August 6th, 1888.
The Emendations of Hamlet
In your review of my edition of “Hamlet,” the reviewer politely invites me to explain “a fault in sense of rhythm.” Two instances he gives; first:
“Why this same strict and most observant watch? |
In all the editions these two lines are united, without any point after “watch,” which is nonsense. “Why” must be understood or expressed (in the second line), and an interrogation point should evidently close the first line. If expressed, the rhythm is certainly disturbed, unless we slur “Why so” into one syllable, which would be as justifiable as treating “Marry” in this way (instances of which are not few), or “England” (also instances), as well as many other words, which are intractable enough to double up into monosyllables.
The next instance is:
And tether the devil, or throw him out.” |
As I simply substitute tether for “either,” I do not disturb the rhythm here.
The reviewer says that he “notices several passages” of a similar character, but only two others will be found. The one is:
“And stars with trains of fire, and dews of blood, |
Apply here the ordinary treatment of “i’ the” for “in the,” and the rhythm
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is perfect. This I thought was obvious, but I did not print it so because I did not wish to depart from the text, which prints “in the.”
The other is:
“The most select and generous, are chief in that.” |
Here, as above, the slurring of the last two words will secure the required smoothness – for “generous” is of course a dissyllable.
Shakespeare was “not sure of hand,” wrote Matthew Arnold; this should be remembered, not that I cast my faults, if any, upon Shakespeare. I hope however, that I have been able to explain what have appeared to be faults. Permit me to express my pleasure that the rest of my work has met with unqualified approval at your hands.
Gerald Massey in America
The intelligent American public will shortly have another opportunity to hear that brilliant orator, poet, Egyptologist and philosopher, Mr. Gerald Massey, about to visit America for the third time on a lecturing tour. Our transatlantic brethren of the T. S. will give him, we feel sure, a hearty welcome, for his own sake, and for that of the help he has given Lucifer, notwithstanding the dissimilarity of his views to that of the Theosophists in some respects. All our theosophists and readers remember the charming poetry and excellent articles on symbology that have graced the pages of our magazine over Mr. Gerald Massey’s signature. His is a richly stocked mind, full of learning, where there is no room for narrow-minded prejudice. His noble endeavours to raise the British working-man to higher aspirations and ideals have made his title clear to ennoblement in the list of benefactors of humanity and won the respect of the greatest thinkers of our age.
The last time he was in the States, his health broke down in the midst of a course of lectures in Chickering Hall, New York, and he was laid up for some months. He is probably better known or appreciated in America than in England. At least we know of an occurrence in a London drawing-room which points that way. Two American ladies claimed that Mr. Massey was an American poet, and there was no one present who could disprove it. This is a story that Mr. Massey tells with great glee. There are, however, some reasons for this. Mr. Massey’s poems have been published in a collected edition in Boston, U. S., but never in England. He is perhaps the least published of any living author. At the present time the whole of his writings in prose and verse, with the exception of his “Natural Genesis” and “Book of the Beginnings,” are out of print. He is preparing to make a re-appearance with his work in the “Secret Drama of Shakspeare’s Sonnets,” which has lately been re-written by him in the light of later knowledge, with a reply to the anti-Shakspeareans. It is to be issued immediately from the press of Messrs. Clay and Sons in two editions, one for subscribers only, the other for the public. A foolish notice, full of errors, recently appeared in Mr. Redway’s circular attached to the June number of Lucifer. Amongst other mis-statements it was alleged that Mr.
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Massey was “a ghost-seer” as well as a poet. This is simply untrue.[7] Nor was Mr. Massey’s work on Shakspeare based on any abnormal experience of his own. A “psychic origin for anything professedly outside the consciousness of the author” in that relationship has to be referred to the mediumship of Mr. Massey’s first wife and not to his own, as explained by him in one of his lectures. Mr. Massey’s later studies and researches bring him nearer to the Theosophists. He has never lectured better than he did in delivering his recent course of lectures in London. What he has to say is the result of profound research and wide experience, and is sure to be uttered in that masculine English of which he is a master. His list of lectures contain subjects that are Evolutionary, Anthropological, Gnostic, Neo-Naturalistic and Literary. A few of these are: –
Woman, as the Victim of Ancient Symbolism.
Mythical Mares’-Nests.
The Devil of Darkness in the Light of Evolution.
Man in Search of his Soul for 50,000 Years, and how he Found it.
The Coming Religion.
A Leaf from the Book of my Life.
The Historical Jesus of the Jews and the Mythical Egyptian Christ.
Paul the Gnostic Opponent of Historic Christianity, called by Tertullian the “Apostle of the Heretics.”
The “Logia of the Lord,” or Pre-Christian Sayings assigned to Jesus in the Gospels.
The Hebrew Creations fundamentally Explained.
The Fall of Man as an Astronomical Allegory and a Physiological Fable.
Gnostic and Historic Christianity.
Christianity in the Roman Catacombs, or the Testimony of Gnostic Art.
Luniolatry: Ancient and Modern.
Natural Origin of Spirits: Elemental, Celestial, and Human.
Mythology as a Primitive Mode of Representation.
Totemism as a Primitive Mode of Representation.
Fetishism as a Primitive Mode of Representation.
Sign-Language: From Gestures to the Alphabet.
Thought without Words.
The Anti-Shakspeare Craze; or, Shakspeare and Bacon.
Reality and Shams in Art and Literature.
Charles Lamb: The Most Unique of Humorists.
Robert Burns.
Thomas Hood: Poet and Punster.
Old England’s Sea-Kings: How they Lived, Fought, and Died.
We subjoin a sample of Mr. Massey’s teaching, from the latest of his lectures, privately printed: –
Men like Jesus, or Jehoshua ben Pandira, the Jewish political and social reformer, or Gautama, or Bruno, or Garibaldi, or Gordon, or Garfield, are in a sense Saviours of the world. They set before us an illuminated image of immortal love. They pull down on themselves, and bear for us, the heavy burden of martyrdom, because of the wolfish selfishness of the world! But there is no salva-
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tion possible for us out of the mere act of their suffering. The only salvation is for those who range themselves on the side of these martyrs, and reformers, and forerunners, against the selfishness of the world, to work and change the crude conditions of things, which for ever demand the sacrifice of the best and dearest of women and men. When Arnold von Winkelreid took the double armful of the enemies’ spears into his own breast, it was to make a way for his fellow-countrymen to pass on and widen the gap he had made – not for them to stay behind and pat him on the back, or merely subscribe to erect a statue to his memory. That the innocent are continually offered up on account of the besotted selfishness of the many is a fact. That they must continue to be thus offered up, until the world awakes to see this shameful sacrifice of others to save its own selfishness, is likewise a fact. But to erect this into a religious dogma, and call it the divine means of saving men, who wilfully continue and necessitate the conditions of society which cause and demand the martyrdom, is about the most immoral and damnable doctrine ever offered to humanity. Why, this doctrine of atonement is so unmanly, so cowardly, and currish, that, if put in its naked truth, the lowest rough in Whitechapel, if unperverted by orthodoxy, would be too manly to accept such an immoral mode of salvation. Any one who would consent to be saved at the expense of another, and an innocent person, ought only to escape, if at all, because he would not be worth the damning. Far nobler was the teaching of Captain George W. Pendleton of the Cleopatra, of Gloucester, Mass. His vessel was doomed and sinking fast, when the boat put off from the “Lord Gough” with a crew that volunteered to try and rescue the shipwrecked men. But with salvation in sight the American captain, by agreement with his men, hauled down his own flag of distress. He thought no boat could live in such a sea. “I said to my men, shall we let those brave fellows risk their lives to save ours? and they said ‘No.’ Then I hauled down the flag.” And so they deliberately elected to die first! That was the gospel according to George Pendleton! But this sacrifice of the innocent to save the guilty – of others instead of self – is the religion of savages; it belongs to the most benighted conditions of the human race, and as such is doomed to die out of any state of true civilisation. The doom of Historic Christianity is sealed, because it was based upon Dogmas against which the highest instincts of the race will for ever rise in insurrection, and doctrines that are certain to be rejected by the growing moral sense of humanity.
Enfranchised from what I have learned of the interior operations of natural law, such selfishness defeats its own end and aim. The only way of helping oneself is by helping others. The only true way of receiving is by giving. The fear of being lost never yet saved the soul of any man. Put aside the fable, and the foolish fraud that has been founded on it, and we are face to face with the fact that man has no power to lose his own soul or damn himself for all eternity. If man be immortal by nature, continuity is not based on morality – however much he may retard development by limiting his life to the lower self, which may be a hell to think of and struggle out of hereafter. Nor is the hereafter a heaven provided on purpose to make up for the man-made sufferings to those, who have been deluded and cheated and starved out of their life in this world. If it were so, then Providence would not only be responsible for all the mal-arrangement and the misery, through not merely allowing it, but for permitting it, and providing for it! Whereas we see the wrong is remediable, the sufferings are unnecessary, and the Christian way out of it is a misleading cul de sac. It is like some of the squirrel tracks in the forest with the trail ending up a tree.
The orthodox teachings are so false that they have made the utterance of truth a blasphemy, and all the proclaimers of truth blasphemers! Oppose their savage theology, and you are denounced as an Atheist. Expose the folly of their faith, and you are an Infidel all round. Deny their miracles, and they damn your morals. The Christian Rock, not knowing what to say against me that was good enough, charged me with having published a volume of indecent poetry. It was a malicious lie! – a real instance of original sin. But that was what the ignoramus said – mistaking me, as I suppose, for Mr. Swinburne. There was something grand in the ancient martyrdom suffered by the heralds of free thought; whereas the modern reformer has to endure the prolonged torture and ignominy of being kicked to death by butterflies, or gnawed to death by gnats. The religion, founded on misunderstood and perverted mythology, has made everything wrong, and nothing short of an utter reversal, with all Nature for our guide and on our side, can set us right. Its apotheosis of sorrow, of suffering and sacrifice is entirely false, because these are on account of that which, like the “Fall of Man,” never really occurred – and weeping over that which is not real is nothing more than a waste of water. Nature offers no evidence that man was meant to moan as a miserable animal. It is true that sorrow and suffering may purge and purify the life, and add a precious seeing to our sight. That which gives the wound may deposit the pearl. The iron of a stedfast soul has frequently been forged in purgatorial fires of pain. The greater the pressure from without, the more has it evoked and evolved the rebounding spirit from within. But that is because there is a power which can turn all experience to account if our life be right in its root-relationship. And human life will always have its full share of sorrow and suffering. But nothing can be falser than o try and found a religion on
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sorrow and suffering, by the representation of this world as destined to be a vale of tears, which we are bound to grow anxious to get out of as soon as we recognise that we are in it. No! it is not in sorrow, but in joy, that we can attain the greatest unconsciousness of self, and live the larger objective life for others. We learn as we come to a knowledge of joy, that all sorrow and suffering are but the passing shadows of things mortal, and not the enduring or eternal reality. When no longer darkened or eclipsed by the false creed which has benighted our minds and totally obscured so many natural truths, we can see to the end of these shadows – we can overlook them – in the larger intellectual light of a truer interpretation of the necessities of evolution and of the human environment. If nature has one revelation of truth to make more plainly apparent than another, it is that her creature, man, is intended for health and happiness here, in this life, and not merely hereafter – on condition of suffering here! Pleasure is the natural accompaniment of our creative or productive activities, and the human likeness of life itself is conceived and imaged in delight. Health, physical or mental, means happiness. And everywhere the pull of the natural forces and elements are on the side of health, and, therefore, of consequent or premeditated happiness; children of the blind who never saw, being born to see, and the children of the deaf mutes being born to talk. That delight in life was intended by means of health and happiness may likewise be read in the stern punishment administered by nature for every breach of natural law by which we injure our health and destroy our happiness; and, lest the personal memory of the fact for one generation should be too short-lived, the results and effects of the violated law are kept before us, in some cases from generation to generation, not as gibbets for mere vengeance, but as sign-posts pointing to the way of reformation. Health is intended, and happiness is the result. It is the happy who will be moral; not the miserable. Now, the Christian scheme would make us miserable, in order that we may be moral here and happy hereafter! Whereas Nature says, be happy here and now, by learning the laws of health – individual, social, political, universal; by getting rid of all opposing falsehood, and establishing the true conditions for evolving health and happiness everywhere for all.
From a mass of the most flattering testimonials, we cull the following few, for the information of those distant admirers who have not yet had the good fortune to make his personal acquaintance.
Said the London Review, speaking of his poems: –
“Brave, honest, free-spoken Gerald Massey! Assuredly, it is no vain speculation to suppose that the name of such a poet will become a household word amongst millions; that his writings will be regarded as a precious jewel amongst their domestic treasures; that wherever the English tongue is spoken, and an English heart beats with paternal love, or throbs for liberty, there will the poems of General Massey be received with welcome.”
To which, the London Quarterly Review adds: –
“His love-poetry is very pure and sweet, and frequently rivals the most genuine strains of Burns.
“To him, indeed, we owe the sweetest songs of courtship, the merriest marriage-ditties, and the most touching lays of child-life, that have ever been given to the world.”
The most appreciative and suggestive, perhaps, of all is Walter Savage Landor’s opinion of Mr. G. Massey’s writings in general. Says that able critic: –
“In the first thirty-seven pages there are all these passages and many more, perhaps, of equal beauty. Here is such poetry as the generous Laureate will read with approbation; such poetry as Jeffrey would have tossed aside with derision, and as Gifford would have torn to pieces in despair; can anything more or better be said for it?”
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John Ruskin gives him unqualified praise and says that it is his profound conviction that “few national services can be greater than that which you (he) have rendered.”
Sir Arthur Helps thinks that Mr. Massey has entered “on the one field of Shakespearean literature which has not been sufficiently explored,” and that his “Work is likely to be of permanent value.”
Lord Tennyson confesses to his having read his “Book more than once and got others to read it.” In the words of the New York Tribune: –
“Mr. Massey comes to us to lecture upon literary subjects, and he brings with him a reputation as a lecturer not second to his poetical fame. In a truer sense than any English writer he may be called the poet of the poor. But his early association with labouring people did not prevent him from becoming an ingenious scholar. He has made the most subtle and curious study of the character of Shakespeare, as shown in his writings, which has yet been put forth.”
Finally one can do no better than to close our notice by quoting a few lines from the Guardian which so well epitomizes our own opinion: –
“In whatever part of the field of literature we meet him, he deserves recognition as a writer of earnestness and ability, who has achieved success under circumstances which, in the case of the vast majority of men, would have involved total failure.”
Indian Proverbs
As transitoriness, like a nurse, takes first to its breast the new-born child, and afterwards the mother, what way is there then for grief?
Where are now the great lords of the earth, with their armies and chariots of war?
To-day the earth herself testifies that they have departed.
Whatever mighty deeds King Sagara and the great kings performed, even these deeds, yea, and the kings themselves, have sunk into night.
As the streams of a river flow on, and return not, so pass away the days and nights, taking away the lives of men.
The Secret Symbols of the Rosicrucians of the 16th and 17th Century
Alfredo Pioda · pp. 79-80
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Chants of Labour
Edited by Edward Carpenter. Published by Swan, Sonnenschein & Co., London.
THIS little volume would seem destined to be the Hymn-Book (saving the term) of the advanced Democracy. It contains over fifty “chants” set, for the most part, to old well-known, stirring tunes, such as “the Vicar of Bray,” “Scots wha ha’e,” the “Marseillaise,” &c., with a few new and original airs scattered among the old favourites. A characteristic of the book is that its poems are chiefly by members of the real working-classes; for we see appended to most of the names such descriptions as “cabinet-maker,” “machine-fitter,” “porter,” &c. But, far from this fact involving a poor quality of verse, the “chants” are most stirring in their thoughts and diction. From among the rest we may select two for special mention, the first by W. H. Dowding (cabinet maker), which runs as follows: –
“Comrade, in a world where Gold |
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For to-day we round us see |
These words come home to us with redoubled force at the present moment, when the revelations of the Sweating System are filling our minds with horror, and rousing in us all a determination to do our utmost to strangle this demon of commercial competition.
From the second (by Evelyn Pyne), we have only space to quote one verse: –
“Young men ’reft of love, my brothers, |
To this “Song-book of the People,” Walter Crane has designed the frontispiece with his customary command of ornamental outline; and, with this attractive sketch to recommend it to notice, we look for a wide success of a volume which appeals to all who are beginning to awake to the evermore articulate cry of the “masses.”
Woman Vol. II
IN the above volume Saladin prosecutes the campaign against Christianity to which he has devoted the larger part of his literary work. Readers of Lucifer will recall the recent review of the previous volume of the book in these columns, and the favourable criticisms which this brilliant writer then evoked. We have now simply to endorse that verdict, and, although unable to agree with the extreme conclusions occasionally arrived at by Mr. Ross, we cannot but see in the terrible indictment before us an impeachment of Christian morality which admits of no answer. Christian ethics and Christian practice are exposed and satirized with merciless severity, and the reader is confronted with a vast array of facts bearing on “modern civilization” which show the total inadequacy of present creeds to grapple with the vices and brutality of man.
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“Woman” is never dull; it is, on the contrary, so sparkling and versatile as to throw a charm even over the most plain-spoken passages where English impurity is brought to light. But let no reader of a pharisaical or fastidious turn of mind peruse his work. Saladin is a pure-minded and high-souled writer, but he stops at no revelation when he intends to prove his case. The annals of vice are deliberately sifted – from the support and legalization of prostitution by the English Christian Government in the East down to the revolting secrets of “modern Babylon” at home. The exposure is not pleasant reading, it reads far worse than anything penned by Tacitus regarding Roman vice under the emperors, but it is unfortunately true. “And yet,” writes the author, after unveiling one hideous sore, “the pulpit and the religious press are possessed of sufficient ignorance (?) and effrontery to declare that Christianity has exalted the status of woman and sweetened and purified the atmosphere of social and domestic life. To writers of this sort “Woman” will prove a very efficient eye-opener.
[We copy this extract from a review of “Agnosticism and Christianity,”…]
[We copy this extract from a review of “Agnosticism and Christianity,” by “Julian” (Secular Review, June 2nd, 1888), as embodying remarkably logical and philosophical arguments against some so-called axioms which can never be accepted as such – Ed.]
“Mr. Samuel Laing, in his new booklet, ‘Agnosticism and Christianity,’ begins with stating Professor Huxley’s definition of knowledge. The Professor is made to say: ‘A man shall not say he knows or believes that which he has no scientific grounds for professing to know or believe.’ As an axiom this is most faulty. As a universal truth it is, me judice, wholly untenable. It may be in part true, so far as phenomenal ‘knowledge’ is concerned, but certainly is not at all true of ‘belief.’ Belief is based solely on man’s faith in the competency and credibility of the person who professes to instruct, and not ‘on scientific grounds,’ as the Professor states. Children do not believe on scientific grounds, but solely because they think the person who tells them is competent to know and honest to state what he knows. All our belief in history is based entirely on our faith in the historian. Nine-tenths of our knowledge is that of faith; the remaining tenth is of a very mixed character indeed, and very often inferential and most erroneous. Experiment is by no means infallible; data are by no means always to be trusted. Hasty inferences from experiment and data have led to a legion of errors, and new experiments with new data often re-write the ‘knowledge’ thus obtained.
“Then, again, not one in a million has any ‘scientific grounds for his knowledge or belief’ even in phenomena. He is taught by a master, that master by other masters or by books, and those masters or books were most of them only second-hand. Phenomenal knowledge, no doubt, must be originally based on personal observation, data, or experiment; but such science forms only an infinitesimal part of our ‘knowledge or belief.’
“Then, in regard to the other dictum of Professor Huxley, quoted by Mr. Laing – ‘We know nothing beyond phenomena’ – it is by no means clear what the Professor means. We know scores and scores of things besides phenomena; but of phenomena themselves we only know what our senses inform us of, or
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what we believe the senses of others have taught them. Thus a blind man has no personal knowledge of the phenomena of sight; but all he knows of such matters is from faith. And very often the knowledge derived from our five senses is quite erroneous, and requires correction. Trusting to our eyes, the sun, moon, and stars are round planes like plates; but telescopes inform us they are balls or spheres. A ship at sea viewed from the beach seems quite near at hand, but may be many a long mile off the spectator.
“Sometimes these corrections are truly marvellous, as when rays of light of widely different lengths appear to be all equal: as, for example, in the sun, many thousands of miles make no difference in the apparent lengths of the rays of light, so that those from the solar equator seem no longer than those from the pole nearest the earth. Our sight, therefore, is not trustworthy; our sense of touch is equally deceptive; and so is our sense of hearing, which perpetually leads us astray in regard to the direction and source of sounds.
“If, however, Professor Huxley, by the phrase ‘beyond phenomena,’ means what is called ‘noumenon,’ then he only expresses a platitude and means by ‘beyond phenomena’ what the old schoolmen called ‘substratum.’ Thus, in a rose the petals do not make the rose, the perfume does not, the colour does not, the shape does not: all these are logical accidents, subject to change; but, when all accidents are taken away, a substratum remains, which evades knowledge and escapes detection.”
Once in Persia reigned a king |
| Theodore Tilton. |
From the Note Book of an Unpopular Philosopher
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 84-88
88
Words from the “Book of Friendly Instruction”
Let the wise think on wisdom as unfading and immortal; let him fulfil his duty as though Death grasped him by the hair.
The shadow of a cloud, the favour of the base, new corn, a bouquet, these last only a little time; so it is with youth and riches.
In this world, fugitive as tempest-driven waves, death for another is a rich prize earned by virtue in a former birth.
Unenduring are youth, beauty, life, wealth, lordship, the society of the beloved; let not the wise be deluded by these.
No. 14 – October 1888
Lodges of Magic
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 89-93
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Consciousness
CONSCIOUSNESS is the seat of the real life of the human individual. The mere carrying on of his bodily functions is not his life. Those functions are the channels and avenues through which his real being has communion with the phenomenal world, and with other units of consciousness similar to his own. Through them his life is greatly affected; by their means his thoughts are fed, his feelings modified, his actions suggested. But let us consider the modes in which consciousness may work, and the specific forms in which it may manifest itself. Observation of human modes and objects of life indicates three classes of consciousness. In other words, there are three modes of existence which the consciousness of an individual may fall into, or work itself into, and the adoption of the particular mode, knowingly and deliberately, or the contrary, determines the character and intrinsic value of the consciousness.
The elementary or simplest mode of consciousness we designate as lineal. In this, the feelings, thoughts, and energies of the individual lie not only on one plane but merely in one direction on that plane.
The consciousness which belongs to this class is limited to the faculty of moving backwards or forwards in a straight line. It is bound like a railway train to its special track. This form of consciousness is very common. It is the lot of those who have only one aim in life, and that a personal one. Whatever the chief aim of the life may be, whether that of the shopkeeper, merely to earn money, or of the professional man in his special sphere, or of society men and women, in their incessant flittings to and fro in the whirl of pleasure and excitement, it matters nothing; the consciousness, which is the essence of the individual, exercises itself and possesses power only in the limited sphere described. It is simply necessary to look around to observe many examples of this class. A very large number of men and women of the present day belong to it.
In the second class the consciousness enjoys a wider freedom.
The dimensions of the realm over which it rules lie in two directions; for, in addition to backward and forward movement, the consciousness may traverse regions that lie to the right and to the left.
This form of consciousness we shall term the superficial; it has length and breadth, but no depth. It is the possession of those who, while devoted to one special employment which absorbs their chief energies, also occupy themselves, as adjuncts of life, in other spheres having for them a particular interest. This consciousness predominates largely
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amongst men and women who, following a daily avocation to supply the main needs of life, have sufficient mental or emotional activity to lead them into secondary engagements that exercise thought or fulfil an aim. The persons possessing this form of consciousness are active and seem to follow a purpose, though the purpose may not be noble or of intrinsic value. Naturally, this consciousness enjoys much more of life than the form belonging to the class designated as lineal. Men of business, not wholly immersed in the getting of money, clergymen and ministers of wise sympathies, teachers not limited to one peculiar tendency of thought, and persons whose lives generally are useful and active, are those who belong to the second class of superficial consciousness.
The consciousness, the nature of which remains to be described, is of vastly greater extent than either of the two classes already discussed.
Its dimensions lie in three directions. Not only does it exist in all directions superficially, but it further penetrates below the surface in possessing the quality of depth. It is true that the superficial area may vary in extent. This may appear, to the observer, but limited, or it may seem to spread far and wide, but the circumstance of depth in its nature and extent will be recognised only by the few, and not even by them to its full extent. The territory below the surface can neither be seen nor gauged, except by the faculties of a consciousness of similar nature. In the depth of an object there is capacity for substance, and consciousness is of a nature so real that wherever it exists in depth it is as true substance. The objects with which the lineal and superficial forms of consciousness deal are but of temporal character and will pass away, but those that are the possession of the solid form are secure beyond possibility of removal.
Within that deep region, and corresponding to its intricacy and in the extent to which it penetrates, there are tracks of infinite variety and number.
In exploring these, the consciousness may find unending employment. This class of consciousness gives to the world those men from whom it learns, whose depth of nature is the abyss from which spring fountains and rills that irrigate life, and turn its wheels, and cause it to be fruitful.
Such men are the richest of earthly beings; their wealth is inexhaustible and imperishable. That depth, in which their consciousness revels, belongs to another world than that of ordinary human existence; it is the universe of eternal and infinite life, of which they are already subjects.
The first-named form of consciousness we should term sensuous, or that which operates merely through the senses and the nervous system; the second form we should call the intellectual or inner-sensuous; the third form is the spiritual or super-sensuous.
Sensuous consciousness delights merely in the external forms of
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objects and receives impressions only from those forms as they are found.
Intellectual consciousness finds its exciting cause not so much in the forms of external objects as in their movements and the effects of those movements upon the objects themselves.
The spiritual consciousness moves amidst the hidden causes of the sensuous and intellectual.
I.
Before and After
My life is like a flight of stairs |
My life is like a flight of stairs |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
Accursed!
Vera Jelihovsky · pp. 97-105
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Theosophical Activities
AT a meeting of members of the Theosophical Society held at Cambridge, England, on the 6th day of October 1888, Mr. G. A. Passingham in the chair, it was resolved to form a Local Branch under the title “The Cambridge Theosophical Society.”
Upon motion it was resolved that the bye-laws of the Parent Society be temporarily adopted, and the following members of the T. S. present were appointed a committee to draft permanent bye-laws for the Branch.
Mr. W. S. Macgowan.
Mr. H. T. Edge.
Mrs. C. A. Passingham.
The election of officers being next in order, the following were unanimously chosen:
PRESIDENT: Mrs. C. A. Passingham.
Vice-President: Mr. C. V. Naidu.
Secretary & Treasurer: Mrs. Gillig.
There being no other business, the meeting formally adjourned.
Amy Gillig, secretary.
Attest. Richard Harte.
Special representative of the President Founder.
The following advertisement appeared in LIGHT of Oct. 6th: –
A Liverpool Branch Lodge of the Indian Theosophical Society is now in process of formation. Those interested in the Society are requested to communicate immediately with Sidney G. P. Coryn, 86, Queen’s-road, Bootle, Liverpool.
A Glance at "Parsifal"?
W. Ashton Ellis · pp. 106-109
Giordano Bruno
Charles Johnston · pp. 110-113
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Notice
The Lending Library of the T. P. S. will be opened to the Members and Public on the 1st October. The charge will be Twopence per week for each Volume. All inquiries should be addressed to “T. P. S. Library,” 7, Duke Street, Adelphi, W.C.
Country Readers will be charged postage.
Donations of books, or funds for their purchase, will be thankfully received.
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From the East of Time
THAT my letter must be of the most fragmentary kind you will understand as I proceed, and you will pardon me if, from time to time, I fail in the transmission of that complete sympathy of thought which, as writer, I would strive to give.
I am a man neither young nor old, and yet the blight of countless ages seems to have descended upon me to make me what I am. Could you see me it would sadden you. See? yes, with the inward eye; in the truest sense conveyed by the simple word. For to see with the eye is nothing if the brain fail more deeply to perceive.
My life has been spent in a single pursuit – a pursuit which never gains its end, for in the momentary satisfaction I have learned that there can only lie that which the oil gives to the flame – and there is no water to quench the thirst in my soul.
Have I done well? I cannot tell. Have I lost my life, or gained it, who shall say?
Mine was always a dreamy nature – dreamy without that sympathy for the beautiful – without that depth which finds a harmony in the fresh airs of spring and bursting of the buds upon the field – dreamy with a vain selfishness which fed upon its lifeless self.
I was never young, for I have never tasted youth. What can I remember in the days which have been which I would desire to recall? Ah! Let the past – my past – be the dead, dumb thing it has become.
Curious that I should say so now! How vaguely do my senses conceive their own volition – how dimly do I understand myself; I who would penetrate into that darkness which is gone – into that darkness far far beyond the years which my memory might recall.
Never young – no, surely never young – and I wonder at those whose youth hangs about them like the ivy that clings to the rotten tree.
No such ivy has circled round the stem of my life, as the years rolled by. Zealously have I pursued my way – only now – now that I know that I possess more than I can understand – have I wakened to the reality of what I am.
There is a great demon within me – an evil spirit that cries endlessly, “Seek – seek – seek and know,” and I have sought, for who could disobey. Thus has it always been. Yes, I have sought for good or ill – I have sought ceaselessly for the knowledge which is now stored within.
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Knowledge! Thine is the unquenchable flame that consumes my soul – thine the fuel added to the fire – thine the never-ending thirst.
Have I wakened to some truer thing? How shall I say, who write these lines?
Enough. Thus I am young in years, yet old – with a brain stored with accumulated wisdom – fired with the desire, endless in its unsatisfied intensity for more – knowing earthly things as you cannot know them, and desiring that you who read should hesitate upon the threshold of the House where Knowledge dwells.
I write you from the East of Time. It is a strange expression is it not? Yet I can find no other fitted to what I would convey. How far East you must judge, not I. Many centuries have rolled onwards since you inhabited the earth. It is through the vista of these centuries that I speak to you now, for I am writing to an age which seems to have passed away.
Centuries lie between you and me, and I who write do so by a strange means backwards through Time!
And if I tremble and am filled with wonderment at the power which knowledge has given to me, how can you understand, who live countless generations before. Is it possible for you to grasp that which I cannot grasp? You forget who and what I am. You forget who it is who writes to you. You fail to remember what he has written of his youthless life.
You cannot believe? Why not? Must the unknown be always refused belief. Is it not possible that others who live after you (who gather from your research a little, it may be), understand more deeply than you.
And I am one of these, and still I say I do not understand.
I simply know what is, and, therefore, must believe.
Do not think that I have not sought to understand. Even as I write to you I would strive at this; and more, I would tell to you the little that I know.
I have studied to be with you, even to think with you, for your age, your little century out of all the past draws me towards it, and were it possible, I would fain have existed amongst you, and with you instead of existing now, hundreds of years in what to you is future time.
I have told you that I know what is – that I believe because I know and yet cannot fathom all.
This is what I cannot understand; – that you and I are co-existing, living in the world at the same time! You in the nineteenth century, I in the twenty fourth!!!
What is time? How is it that we, you and I, are living (as we must be if I can communicate with you) and yet live different lives in cities
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and in towns that are not the same with you and me. It is impossible, and yet I write to you – How can I penetrate the past if it is not living, breathing, existing now?
One word. Can you explain to me the meaning of the word “Everlasting”? Think well before you frame an answer. Let your mind try to grasp its vastness, its impossibility, and then tell me what it means! What is Time? Time is everlasting, are its parts less so? If Time exist for ever it must simply be, it cannot move, so there can be no part that is not present, no future that is not existing now.
But for me, a mortal, it is too deep a question to entertain, and my brain cannot think otherwise than that you are in the past even as I am in the present to myself and in the far future to you!
I write you from the East of Time, that is all. From the land of the ever-rising sun to the land where the sun has long since set.
You are in the distant West to me. I in the far East to you. And I am writing to you through the power of mind over mind, a mental telegraphy if you will, which connects myself with one of you.
You have wondrous tales as to the Mesmeric power, have you not? I smile sometimes when I read in the old old books of your faint beliefs and strong and firm disbeliefs. You do not know the powers that are given to man.
What little I understand I will endeavour to make clear to you – to you as you think hundreds of years ago! I will take an instance which I think may be intelligible to you.
Suppose that I were in India, you in England. If I telegraphed to you, you have my message from beyond the seas to all appearance hours before it was sent off by me. A simple thing bearing nothing on the point at issue! So you say, but wait. We admit that though by the electric current time appears to have been gained it has been really lost. But supposing that the telegram had come instantaneous as a flash from mind to mind, what then? It was instantaneous; that was all, no more, there was no gain! Granted! but the fact remains that you in England have conceived my thought, actually at the same moment, and also actually, as we mortals look upon Time measured in days by the circling of the globe, hours before it had origin with me.
And this is all that I can give you which may be in a degree intelligible to you, the people in the West: –
Think of me as of one in a land more distant than India (I am in England though none of your generation have met me face to face). Think of me as of one in some far Eastern clime influencing by the mesmeric power the man who is writing my words in the distant West! and the truth may be near you now.
The centuries which have rolled since you were, have changed the world you used to know. I have read much of your day, and I have of late been buried in research, thus it is most interesting for me to write to
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you. Could you read the History of the world during the ages which have intervened, I think you would marvel that such things could have been but I do not tell you of these, for mine is a selfish task. I would penetrate into and know something of your time rather than inform you of mine. Yet it is easier for me to write to you than to be with you until –
I broke off suddenly because of the arrival of some news. It comes at all hours and interrupts me frequently when I would be still. And a curious question now occurs to me.
What was my medium – the author who pens for me my words, five hundred years ago – what was he doing during those few seconds whilst I was perusing what had come? Most strange, most unintelligible.
It may be that his inspiration seemed to leave him, for I doubt not he is unconscious even as he writes these words that it is my thought, the thought of the man in the East, that he puts upon the page.
Perhaps he sat backwarks in his chair merely waiting, or perhaps he crumpled an odd corner of his blotting sheet and threw it into his curious old fire. I would that I could see these things!
I am waiting and I hope that it may be!
My news? you are curious as to what it was and how it came? It may interest you, it is so different from what you knew.
There is a little case standing in the corner of my room. When the bell rings something has occurred and a paper falls out upon the lower shelf which tells me all. Very different, is it not, from those quaint old sheets of which I have quite a number somewhere in my store. And to get my news as it occurs I think I pay considerably less money annually than you expend on your evening “Globe.”
Are there no newspapers for sale then in my age? Certainly for those who choose to buy, but you would scarcely know them as such, I think, and it is preferable, is it not, to learn important events as they occur and to have the resumé printed by the same machine at a later hour.
This paper that I have crumpled in my hand comes through the medium of The Universal Agency.
“The Bridge across the Gulf has just been opened in presence of a vast crowd. There have been no accidents!”
That is the sum and substance. The powers of the world have been present and I at this moment, a disinterested individual, am calmly sitting here. The Gulf crossed at last!.a huge cavity into which the sea rushed fifty years ago when those who lived belived the world was at an end. It is crossed now, and America I suppose is a single continent once more!
I too shall cross my gulf, a greater gulf it may be, a gulf which I have already half bridged across, the gulf between the present and the past.
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For I stand now amongst my fellows as one different from them and callous to the present time.
Do you understand the selfishness of my design? It is to be amongst you though it be but as a dream, to live in your bygone age and to leave this present which I detest, not to write to you of the age in which I live.
In Mesmerism, as in electricity, there is a negative power, and upon this do I base my hopes. I, who am mesmerising the man who writes in the West, wait till he shall unknown to himself grow as it were a part of me and call me by the power of his thought over mine into a life that has existence hundreds of years ago!
Meantime I wait.
Amongst my books I came across one lately which I had never opened before, for I have a vast library which I may never live to read, although my time has been ceaselessly spent amongst my books. It was the Biography of an author, in a word that of the man who is writing now, who transcribes as his own this letter from the East of Time. Whence the book came I have been unable to discover. The author’s works are unknown now, no one even knows his name, and yet in your day he must have gained a certain fame, else surely none had written of his life! The book is entitled, “An Essay upon the Life and Works of Geoffrey Harborough, in 2 vols.”
And I alone possess the book that tells me of his career, a career which interests me deeply for reasons more than one!
I have told you that your age, out of all the past, draws me towards it with a longing to know of your time, a longing which has grown into an unquenchable thirst to be with you and exist with you. This reason made me read the book. It was of your time, and I read.
Often have I longed to pass into the days gone by, and being aware of the power which is mine, that of Mesmerism in its most intense depths, was it not strange that I should hesitate to take the first step?
One moment and I shall explain.
Why should I step into a nature uncongenial to mine?
Where should I find one which could be otherwise?
These two problems held me back. I have never liked my fellows of the present time. My gloomy nature, the knowledge which I have amassed, my vague unending desires to know, separate me from them; and I stand apart.
Shall we suppose it to be a nature alien to mine which lives and breathes my thoughts upon the page you now read five hundred years ago – do you think my communication would be so clear?
That is a small matter to me. This is the greater: – With an alien nature mine would strive. I should never then be able to descend to
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your age because, consciously or unconsciously, I should resist the negative power, and my mind would refuse to yield to another which it might despise or could not trust. The second problem was solved on the day I found that book, and its solution meant the solution of the first and of all else.
There is a portrait – a curious old thing – at the commencement of the book. When my eye fell upon it a strange excitement filled me, for I seemed to see something of my own nature mirrored on the face of a man still young. The likeness was taken in his youth.
I read the little book with avidity, nor, till I came to the last page that it contains, did I pay attention to the fact that the volume was but one of two, and that I did not possess the whole. The second volume is not in my possession!
My whole library have I ransacked in its search. It is useless, for I cannot find it. But I have enough to prove to me that this, of all others, is the man whose nature is most akin to mine, and yet I would that I might have read the whole.
His portrait first: – I have opened the old volume beside me, and am sitting with it before me, whilst the original of the picture, five hundred years ago, obeys my will and writes this description of himself: –
It is a young face, rather round than otherwise, and somewhat too heavy in features to be esteemed good-looking. Of the face the nose is the most prominent part. The mouth is at once firm and weak; the upper lip exhibits a certain strength; the lower contradicts it, and the slight dimples at either end add to the boyishness of the face. It is in the eyes and forehead that there are some signs of thought. The brows run straight, not curved, and by the power which they indicate might cause us to overlook the sadness which is inseparably connected with the eye itself. For the rest his hair is light, and in the portrait brushed from the brow and too long, and the face itself is hairless. The likeness is that of a young man upon whose features I read chiefly these things – first, Self-conceit, Arrogance, and Belief in his own powers; secondly, Something of sensuality and the gloom of those feelings which intermingle with poesy and love; and lastly, The capabilities of unending misery and mental pain.
Is it strange to you that I should choose this man out of all the ages that have been? Why should I not choose thus? My life, as I have said, has known no youth. I have no longing for the youth which others know. And yet I could know – ah, no! I long to know – such a youth as may be his.
There is something in his face, be it in the eye, be it where it will, that speaks to my heart and tells me that he and I have something which others have not, and which is ours alone. I turn again to the book. It is a musty old volume – many pages have here and there been lost, and what remains is yellow and faded with the age of centuries.
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Strange, is it not, that I have this before me, I who influence his life in part, stranger still it would be had I the volume I have sought, the second of the two telling of his life. What does it contain? what is the end of the man who interests me, who is inspired by my thought, and who writes now to my will. I have followed his life to the conclusion of the twenty-fifth year. He commenced to write in his early youth, and the volume before me is filled with extracts from his earlier works. It is useless to cry against a fate which has hidden from me the volume which is lost.
There is little to arouse the curiosity even of the most excitable in the account which I hold of the poet-author’s earlier years. Were it not that I feel that we are akin, I doubt not but that the book had been cast aside ere now. As it is I have read and re-read, and I have sought in vain for the remainder of the book – it is not to be found.
Yes, there is but little which would interest you in the earlier half of the author’s life. He is an orphan where my volume ceases, not wealthy, almost a beggar, and yet not looked upon as such, because his wealthy uncle has taken him under his roof. Does his soul chafe against the dependence forced upon him? Does his heart beat wildly to be free – to face the wild winds of poverty rather than view the gilded cage? My volume does not say!
I have read and re-read, and this poem, simple and crude, if you will, tells me there are thoughts which cannot be chronicled by other than himself. He has a youth – it tells me so.
He has a youth, and I, who have none, long greedily to share its joys.
Lilies cluster round |
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Sadness sheds a beauty |
And then I read the concluding lines of the contents of Volume I. of the author’s life. With this the little book stops abruptly and several pages appear to be amissing.
“He had now entered upon his twenty-sixth year, and it was during this year that he fell in love. This love, from the depth of his poetic nature, became a passion of the most intensified character, and was the cause of that change which cast a shadow upon * * * *”
I connect the two! And to gain his youth, his passion and his love, I will brave the unknown shadow of which the volume speaks.
It is at this period in his lifetime that I would enter your century, your age. I would pierce the veil of centuries, that my mind might be as his mind, to dwell with him – to be with him whilst my earthly frame is left in trance five hundred years in Eastern Time!
I do not want his boyhood – if I shun my own past, let me shun his – let me enter his life as I leave my own, at the age of twenty-five.
And even as I am writing – as he is writing shall I not rather say? I draw nearer to him, for I feel that the negative influence is surely and slowly assuming power, and that it may be that he will call me at last from the future to his time.
I shall know his youth. I who have never tasted youth’s joys, shall taste them with his lips. Why not? He can love – why not I.
I thirst that his youth may be mine – that his tale for good or ill, for sorrow or for joy – may be mine, as it shall be when the mesmeric circle is complete.
What change lies before him – as he writes he seems to question his own fate, but it is I, not he, who create the thought.
And I who have read of his youth seek to read in the Book of Life the contents of that second volume which I cannot find!
Do I calculate my risk? What risk?
I exist five hundred years in future time. What is the risk if I step back to be with you. Must I then always live in your age in a day I now look upon as past? No! You forget that there is an awakening from the trance, and my awakening will come in the good time, only I pray it may not be too soon.
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I am yielding to the influence that comes back to me – slowly my brain is changing from that which gives an impression to that which receives, and it is by my will notwithstanding that this is done. The circle will complete itself!
Onora Mayne – I would love you – yet what have I to do with love? Onora Mayne, I near you – where are you, for all is dark and dim around? Onora Mayne! Onora Mayne!
My spirit is falling – falling – downwards – downwards – into an abyss whose depth I cannot gauge – and still I fall.
I have apparently been writing as one in a dream, for I have no consciousness of having transcribed all that I now see written upon the sheets which, as usual, I have cast upon the floor as I wrote. Yet there is something familiar to me in what I now read over for the first time, and some change seems actually to influence me as though an inspiration which were given to me had not yet expended its full force, and still dwelt about me and around me. What a strange thing. I shudder at the thought. Am I then no longer the being that I was? A deeper gloom descends upon me. Onora – Onora. I forget. What has happened to me? Onora! I cannot call your face before me! what blight has fallen upon my soul.
What have I forgotten? I am as one drunken with much wine.
Everything around me seems strange and new, and yet it is the same. The same? As what?
I cannot tell. Only it is as though all were familiar to me just as I have met strange things in dreams which yet were as if real and as possessing an existence which I had known.
I seem to have slowly regained possession of myself.
I have re-perused the unearthly thing which I have written. How did I write it? Under what inspiration? I cannot believe that these words came from my pen for I have never conceived. I could not have conceived of anything so far beyond my comprehension.
This man it would seem, existing in a wonderful world of which we can have no conception (what changes will have lit upon the world by the time spoken of by him!), throws himself back into the past in order to share my youth. Let me think a moment. I cannot understand the full meaning of what my thought puts before me. Let me think.
First – there is the impossibility of such a thing. I am living now. I, Geoffrey Harborough, am living now, how then can any being as yet unborn communicate with me through the space of centuries? It cannot be! Why does my mind not cast aside the thought and cease to dwell upon the unknown? Why can I not say “It is untrue”? My
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soul is groping in the dark. A species of madness and weird suspicion of the terrible and of hidden things falls upon and enwraps me as in a cloud of dark impenetrable mist.
Let me read this thing again. I cannot have written this, and yet my eyesight is not deceived, my hand has traced every line. Am I still as in a dream, no for I am waking as surely as man was ever so. I swear it. I live and am awake and still I seem to dream.
Strangest of all, these verses are my own. Two days ago, I penned them to you Onora, though you knew it not, and now they come to me thrown backwards by the centuries as though to cause me to believe.
The portrait too! It must be mine!
Suppose then that I do believe, that I accept you, strange unknown spirit from another sphere, that I allow that you, who will exist five hundred years after I am dead, can be with me now, what then? I become yours, do I not, for you share my life – why not?
Who said “Why not?” a second time. Why does every thought seem to have an echo within my brain?
I cannot write just now. I feel weak and faint as I never felt before, something is strange within me, my pen falls from my hand.
God help me! I know it now. Know it as surely as you know that you have an immortal soul, that some spirit has descended upon me for good or ill with me for evermore.
It is as though I had been born again with two souls, as though two minds dwelt and mingled within me in eternal conflict, which is yet never conflict because the weaker must always yield. And it is as though the old self was subordinate to the newer self, and I cry aloud “God help me!”
In eternal conflict, a silent unseen conflict, for the one soul which is within me must sleep, whilst the other wakes, and when the spirit which has come upon me arises from lethargic sleep to steal my youth, the soul which is mine own passes from me as it were in dream.
One sleepeth and the other waketh! Yet neither sleep, because the two are one.
This cannot be!
And still it is!!
It is early dawn. I am haggard and wan for want of sleep, and the long night has nearly passed away.
I can hear the birds chirping in the trees, though the mist which is rising from the lawn restrains my sight. Though it is summer I feel chilled, for I have spent the night without seeking my couch, and I am glad that the day has come. I remember leaving them early last night, for it was my intention to write for an hour or two at that time, but my work
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still stands as before, and I have some doubt now if I shall complete it in good time.
You are aware how I have spent the night! A calm has temporarily descended upon me. I know that it cannot last, for what has been written is true!
All that has gone before must have been written, as I am not in the habit of writing, – a little at a time. There must have been many intervals and long intervals, and yet I took no count of time.
I resumed my writing when I had opened my window just now and looked out upon the mist of the lawn, and it must have been after a very lengthy pause that I did so.
And you ask me now – now that you find me in my sober senses, so you think, and now that you recognise me as the author whom you have perchance known, what is the meaning of all that has gone before. And I ask you in reply, have you been with me whilst I wrote, can you follow sensations, sometimes mine, sometimes apparently given to me, and have you then looked upon me only as one frenzied with his own thought?
Friends it is not so. You ask me now, now that my passions, my despair, and the great struggle to be free, are done, what have I to say?
This only:
Every word I believe to be true!
Despair wears itself away into a vague monotony, perhaps it is thus with me, for I am calm, as calm as I have ever been, now, when I declare to you that I am not the man I was, that another has come to share my youth.
Cast your eye back a few pages. You have read, have you not, that my works gain me an immortality (false vanity of a bygone dream!) which reaches through the centuries to come – not in my works but through the medium of a single antique volume giving an account of the earlier part of my author life, a life of which only one man at that distant date comes to learn or to read. He is with me as a part of me in the spirit now.
You have not read that volume because it does not yet exist, nor have I, for the power of that which has come from the future time brings with it no recollection, for it has passed back as it were to be born again side by side with my soul. But you and I can read now a part of the volume, that part which came to me from that East of Time before the mind which gave it to me left its own century to enter mine.
And we read there this:
“He had now entered upon his twenty-sixth year, and it was during this year that he fell in love. This love, from the depth of his poetic nature, became a passion of the most intensified character, and was the cause of that change which cast a shadow upon * * * *”
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I am Geoffrey Harborough, and I have met Onora Mayne.
How the lovely sunlight of the day is lighting with its tints of gold the far off sky! I love the early morn! My spirit wanders into argent fields where the young lambs bleat in harmony with the new born day.
“Breaks the dawn, the distant beacons |
Behold the dazzling hierarchies which Rome, |
| Mary W. Gale. |
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A Sufi's Mystical Apologue
IT seems to me on perusing the foregoing apologue and notes that the divine “Thee” mentioned therein, can be nothing but the primal androgynous being developed within the tissues of the present gross body, and which will survive its decay, such decay and death being caused by the evolution of that higher body. I look upon this “thee” as the spiritual body or “soma pneumatikon” of St. Paul, and the “soma augoeides” of the Neoplatonists, the original human being mentioned in “Genesis,” as having been created male and female, androgynous, and which is alluded to in Plato’s “Banquet.”
How this originally biune being came to be separated into two incomplete beings – male and female – is a question too deep for man’s present faculty and sources of knowledge, and no doubt lies at the root of the present state of human misery.
It is only by the re-creation or new birth – re-union of these two fragmentary, and consequently wretched and suffering individuals that the primal happiness consisting in their love-union can be produced. This will be the next stage of the evolution of man – replacing the present stage of his separated crucifixion. The void within the soul – that bottomless abyss which everyone now feels within his and her central being, arising from unsatisfied love, can only be filled up by this change to an ever present androgyneity, the male and female elements becoming a new biune being.
It is also my opinion that this androgynous being is the Comforter promised by Jesus, who is to come to each in the future devolution referred to by him.
Behold the season – the time of comfort and joy is at hand! Let each, therefore, prepare for this new advent by purity in heart and soul and body, and by self-sacrifice and devotion to altruistic or world aims and ends, casting out from his and her consciousness all desires for mere personal selfish objects; in other words, let us enter into the sphere of love, so that our lives may be realized by the new creation within each of us of the new biune man and woman.
When this new child of God (the all Father-Mother), shall be developed on earth, then the reign of sorrow shall cease, and that of joy take its place; then shall be fulfilled the taking down from the Cross and the transfiguration and ascension of humanity typified by those events in the life of Jesus – the divine typal Man.
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The duality mentioned in the last verse is the separated male and female nature; and when these are reunited the true sympneuma or androgynous celestial being shall be formed, and the present duality shall disappear in the unity of the sympneuma – and in unity with God.
There are many legends and traditions of great antiquity which may perhaps be explained by this doctrine of the “Sympneuma,” or the biune nature of the future human being. Of this class of legends is that widespread belief that at a certain epoch spiritual beings, by the ancients called “Gods,” held friendly and loving intercourse with the daughters of men. See Genesis. There are also numerous stories of female divinities – nymphs, &c., who had intercourse, friendship and love with men; as in the beautiful stories of Undine, and the New Melusine of Goethe. Ancient mythology indeed is full of these romances, and it is difficult to understand how they all could have originated unless there had been at some remote epoch a foundation in fact for this common and widespread tradition. In almost all mythologies the Gods were male and female – husband and wife; but whether this can be ascribed to anything else than the early anthromorphic tendency of the religious process is difficult to say.[8]
One of the most interesting of these old stories is told by Plutarch of Numa. (It would be curious if this name Numa should have some connection with the Greek “pneuma” = Spirit, and with the old Egyptian spiritual God, Num.)
“was endued with a soul rarely tempered by Nature, and disposed to virtue, which he had yet more subdued by discipline, a severe life and the study of philosophy; means which had not only succeeded in expelling the baser passions, but also the violent and rapacious temper which barbarians are apt to think highly of; true bravery, in his judgment, was regarded as consisting in the subjugation of our passions by reason!” “Numa, leaving the conversation of the town (after the death of his wife), betook himself to a country life, and in a solitary manner frequented the groves and fields consecrated to the Gods, passing his life in desert places.”
This life in the wilderness appears, in all these old histories of spiritual heroes, to be a necessary stage in the development of the spirit or pneuma, as in the case of the Hindu Rishis, Buddha, Jesus, and many others.
“And this in particular gave occasion to the story about the Goddess, namely, that Numa did not retire from human society out of any melancholy or disorder of mind, but because he had tasted the joys of more elevated intercourse, and, admitted to celestial wedlock in
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the love and converse of the Goddess Egeria, had attained to blessedness and to a divine wisdom. The story evidently resembles those very ancient fables which the Phrygians have received and still recount of Atys, the Bithynians of Herodotus, the Arcadians of Eudymion, not to mention several others who were thought blessed and beloved of the Gods.”
It is worthy of remark that Numa presents in his rare and beautiful character, lofty aspirations, habits of restraint, simplicity of life and philosophical and transcendental temperament, education and discipline, all the marks which are considered necessary for the evolution of this higher stage of humanity – the celestial androgynous – being.
This Egeria was the most celebrated of the Camenæ – the Latin Muses – the blessed and pure Singers (as the word Camenæ signifies) and Inspirers of sacred song.
Happy was the wise Numa to have been united – in whatever sense of the word – to such a Muse, who, it is said, led him into the assemblies of her sisters in the sacred grove. By her advice, too, Numa abolished the cruel practice of human sacrifices, and introduced law and order into the state. It is also related of Numa that with her advice and assistance he bound the rural, coarse, popular Gods, Faunus (Sensuality), and Picus (Inharmony). Another story, seemingly of a transcendental import, is related of her, viz., that on one occasion when Numa was entertaining his guests, the usual food and the coarse earthenware dishes were suddenly changed, by means of her occult power, into golden vessels filled with godly – ambrosial food. When a Muse (a sympneumatic Spirit) is attracted towards a mortal, and unites herself to him spiritually and somatically, then indeed that happy mortal is born again, the divine inspiration fills the soul, and every event of daily life, here typified by daily food, the necessary source of active life, becomes divine – the veil is rent, the phenomenal world, that circle of pain with its unsatisfying vanities has passed away, or been penetrated and seen through, and the true interior world of beauty and love has become present; the humble vessel of clay (the body) has been changed to gold (soma augoeides) and become a resplendent – glowing organism, suited for the higher or rather the interior spheres of being.[9]
There are hints contained in this beautiful legend that seem to point to Egeria being a prophetic type of the female Sympneuma, and that she and Numa symbolize the dual, androgynous being of the future. She was regarded, for instance, as having power over births, like Diana, and her aid was invoked by Roman women when in childbirth. Even her name seems to point to her as presiding over the birth – the new birth – that crisis and cataclysm of progress from a lower to a higher stage of being, as it is probably connected with “egero” = to bear – to send out. She is the spirit-mother of the new “Soul-Spirit Man,” the complete
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being, the two segments united, perhaps reunited, what Swedenborg calls the “celestial angel,” which is to be the next birth for man out of the womb of Time.
Egeria had a sister Muse whom she wished to be more honoured even than herself, the Camena Tacita (Silence). Let us, too, honour this divine Silence, and be dumb as to this mystery of the future, but let us cherish, in the deep silence of our incomplete, sorrowing and divided hearts, hope and faith in this coming of the Comforter.
Another beautiful story of a similar kind is that of the mysterious love of Diana for Endymion, and it is curious that the word Diana seems to have some connection, in its root, with the Sanskrit “Dhyana,” expressing amongst other things the abnormal faculty of perception of supersensual beings, spiritual vision, and trance phenomena in general.
Another instance is the occult symbolical tale of Cupid and Psyche related by Apuleius, who was one of the Initiates into the sacred mysteries, and was therefore well acquainted with the old wisdom concerning the correspondences between the invisible and the visible, and the development of the higher human faculties out of the lower.
In modern times the most remarkable case of this kind is that of the celebrated German mystic Gichtel (1638-1710), who affirmed that he was regularly visited by an inhabitant of the supersensual spheres whom he called Sophia, identifying her with the Sophia[10] or Wisdom, and Celestial Virgin of the Gnostics and Occultists. It appears that Gichtel had long loved this mysterious being in the spirit, but had never seen her until Christmas day of 1673, when she appeared to him as a shining heavenly virgin with a beautiful and resplendent body (Crookes’s “radiant matter”) and accepted him as her husband, whereupon the marriage was consummated in ineffable delights, she vowing conjugal fidelity, and promising that she would “always dwell with him in the luminous ground within.” She also gave him hopes of spiritual progeniture, and for dower brought with her “essential – substantial” faith, hope, and charity.
This attribution of essential substantiality to our concepts of faith, hope and charity would seem to point to the view of Mr. Oliphant, that in a higher state of human development (of which perhaps Gichtel was an instance, in an imperfect way) what to us now is mere idea will then become a feeling or sensation. This Sophia (Sympneuma) is said also to have enjoyed an interior language without words, which Gichtel was able to understand. This existence of an interior or spiritual language independent of words (which are necessarily all borrowed from sensible objects) is common to many of those who exhibited occult qualities, as was notably the case with the Seeress of Prevorst. Sophia continued to reveal to Gichtel one wonder after another, and he declared that he lived
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with her more in heaven than on earth; he always followed her directions, having no will of his own, and it is also said of her that like an earthly woman she was very jealous. It is also said that after Gichtel’s death she returned to his house on several occasions in order to put his papers in order and to complete and correct his manuscripts with her own hand. Sophia also made herself visible to some friends of Gichtel’s, and amongst them to a Mr. Uberfeld. See as to Gichtel, “Theosophic Correspondence” of St. Martin, translated by E. B. Penny, p. 117 (London, 1863), and “La philosophic mystiques en France,” par Ad. Franck (Paris, 1864).
In one of Gichtel’s letters he says, “Sophia is a spirit but maketh to herself a regenerate-sensible body, inapprehensible to the natural man,” and in another letter are these remarkable words,
“She is the regenerate Christian’s new spiritual body which can stand in the fire, and what the earthly bones are to the gross body that Sophia is to the divine image in the new man, namely, strength – power – and might to fulfil the will of God. This power was extinguished in Adam (Sophia withdrew from him) when he ate of the tree of knowledge. What a nature wife is to her affianced husband, that Sophia is to the soul. What her power in faith is, and her sweetness in the spiritual taste, and what takes place in the soul at the marriage cannot be expressed in words. He that is the bridegroom leadeth home the bride, and the wedding guests rejoice.”
Another instance of the mysterious evolution of a celestial bride, is said to have occurred with the well known sensitive, T. Lake Harris.
Until some positive evidence of such abnormal facts as these shall be given, adepts ought not to be offended at outsiders applying the rule mentioned by Plutarch, viz., “for difference of opinion here, the road is broad!”
To that numerous class of unscientific Scientists, and their faithful followers, their “moutons de Panurge,” who believe that they already are well acquainted with all the laws of Nature, and who affirm that no further evolution of human life is possible, and that nothing exists in the universe but that which is now manifested to man by his present five senses, the basis of the foregoing remarks will appear as folly; but to those who are acquainted with the history of the sciences, and above all of medicine, steam, electricity, &c., and have thereby come to know how so many co-called follies have become facts, much weight will not be given to any scientific views held “a priori,” on these mysterious abnormal subjects.
Lucerne
A. J. C.
[Editors’ reply to A. J. C. on spirit brides]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 131-132
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– Shakespeare.
The day is dark, all is murky, |
| July, 1885. M. Mull. |
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Aspiration and Environment
IT has been wisely remarked that the old adage, “The truth lies between two extremes,” does not necessarily imply that it lies exactly in the middle. That can only be the case where the exaggerating and the underrating have been precisely equal, which can very seldom occur, if ever. The truth will generally be found to lie much nearer to one extreme than to the other, according to the preponderance of abuse over disuse or the reverse.
With regard to the subject of this paper there are two diametrically opposed schools of thought. One – at present in the heyday of popularity – asserts that man is in the most absolute sense the creature of his surroundings, that character is merely a mechanical product of circumstance. The other – comprising most of the mystics and enthusiasts of all ages – declares that by subtle but invariable laws man is the creator of his surroundings, that circumstance is merely the fruit of character. The truth lies between the two extremes, but much nearer to the latter than to the former.
Undoubtedly we are influenced, and that most powerfully, by our environment. Until we begin to think in earnest, we have no idea of the extent to which our thoughts, feelings, likes and dislikes are coloured by the conditions of our birth, training, and position in the world. Not one man in a million is able even by the most strenuous and prolonged effort to free himself entirely from these invisible chains, or so to “purge the eyes with euphrasy and rue” that he can see Truth in what Bacon calls a “dry light.” On the mists of our passions and affections the white rays of the absolute break and disintegrate, and we see, not the pure Eternal Light, but the rainbow; beautiful, indeed, but partial.
(I do not forget or ignore the action of Karma. The environment with which each one starts in every fresh incarnation is determined by the net product of acquired tendencies – that is, by “character”; only modified by the national and cyclic Karmas. But the self-causation of our position in the world does not affect the fact that circumstances have a powerful influence in the further development of “character,” which is all for which I am contending.)
Nevertheless, that character moulds circumstance is equally patent. Books of “Good Advice to Young Men” (who are somewhat advised to distraction, by the way) abound in instances. It would be a waste of precious space to quote. Everyone knows, or at any rate has read, of scores of such cases.
Are then the two forces equal? Natural Philosophy teaches that
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when two opposed forces are equal the result is a deadlock. One of the two must be the stronger. And the Higher Wisdom asserts most positively that the power of aspiration excels the power of environment. For the former is of the spirit. Divine; the latter of the body, Human. The one has the vis inertiæ of dead matter (“dead,” that is, relatively to our normal perceptions); the other the creative energy of the One-Life.
Very subtly does the higher force work, as is evidenced by the fact of its mere existence being so often denied; but so, for that matter, does the law of electrical affinity, which no one dreams of doubting. That the magnet, plunged into a heap of mingled sawdust and iron filings, should draw to itself the latter, is as mysterious every whit as that the spirit should draw to itself those material surroundings which best suit its present state. There are modes of action of which our physical senses can take no cognizance. But they are none the less real.
It should be observed that this force is what we call “moral” rather than what we call “mental.” It is Aspiration which influences environment, rather than Intellectuality. A man’s surroundings will be shaped more by his character than by his abilities. Doubtless the latter have much to do with the matter; they exert an influence analogous to the power of his muscles on a lower plane. But it is the former which is the chief factor in the equation of life.
“Like to Like!” It is the law of the universe. Our desires, impulses, longings, aspirations, if they do not influence the material world directly, do so indirectly, by constantly generating a stream of psychic or soul forces, which act upon the objects of the bodily senses. Too abstruse in its undercurrents to be easily traced, it can be seen at work plainly enough in some of its phases. That we seize or let slip this or that opportunity as it comes, depends very largely upon the frame of mind in which we are at the time. To the soul that aspires, circumstances are stepping-stones; to the soul that creeps, they are hindrances.
The application of this truth to the social life must for brevity’s sake be left untouched, beyond the remark that the paramount aim of all reformers should be the inspiring of a better spirit. The paramount; not, of course, the only. It is true that little higher development is possible for those whose lives are one long drudgery, whose homes are kennels and whose bodies mere machines. Material progress and moral or spiritual must advance “pari passu,” with equal steps. But the material improvements must be regarded as a means, not as an end. And it must never be forgotten that the strongest incentive to a change of surroundings is a change of spirit.
But it is in its application to the individual life that this truth is of special interest and value. How common is dissatisfaction with one’s lot, not because it is particularly hard, but on account of the limitations which it imposes (or seems to impose) on one’s aspirations! How
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frequent the cry, “O that I had more leisure, more wealth, a different station, more congenial occupations and surroundings! O that I had room to spread my wings! How I would then develope myself and grow liker to the unattainable Ideal!” Aye? That depends. It is one of the saddest but not least unfrequent sights of life to see aspirations wither away in the very atmosphere for which they craved, it being obtained; to note how the man who, poor, longed for wealth that he might have opportunities of unfolding his higher nature, rich, forget all dreams and become like Bunyan’s man with the muckrake. “Set a beggar on horseback and he will – !” Why? Because he is still a “beggar” at heart. Only the clothes are changed; the man remains the same. And as a rule it may be safely prophesied, that those who have so little knowledge of themselves and of the meaning of Life as to sigh idly for an Eldorado in which they might be what they have made up their minds they cannot be where they are, will not know how to use that for which they long, if Fortune is cruel enough to answer their prayers.
And anyway, it is beginning at the wrong end. “First deserve, then desire.” Though the restrictions inseparable from material conditions, though the injustice of others may surround us with barriers in which the aspirations cannot burst into glorious fruition, at any rate they can (as a rule) put forth the first tender shoots. And do not fear that the growing tree cannot shatter its prison-walls! A seed lodged in the crevice between two blocks of hugest and most firmly cemented masonry can force them apart by sheer force of growth. For they are dead, and it is alive.
Is there not many a Theosophist who longs to enter with full consecration upon the Path, but is prevented by sheer force of his environment from gaining admittance into even the lowest rank of Chelas? Let such a one be wise. If the hindrance is indeed real and not merely apparent, no clearer proof could be given that he is not yet ripe for Chelaship. If his longing is genuine and pure, and not an emotional flash of ambition or curiosity, he will steadily set himself so to live that upon his next return to earth he may find himself environed suitably for the solemn initiation.
He who is wise will not long for better environment; he will strive rather to “better himself,” in the true sense of those terribly misused words, knowing that the fitter environment will come of itself. He will leave to children the desire for that for which he is not fitted. The baby would clutch at and cut himself with the razor; the modest youth leaves it alone till he needs it! by which time, it is to be hoped, he will know how to use it.
Aspire! aspire! only aspire! Believe that matter is but the shadow of spirit; it is the truth. If you are not in that condition of life where you want to be, it is strong presumptive evidence that you are not fit
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for it; and if not fit, its attainment would be a curse and not a blessing. Promotion is sure, when earned; but it must be earned first. The promotion, however, may not be – seldom is – rapid; for it is only by hairbreadths at a time that we can raise ourselves – our Selves, mark; perhaps not enough in one short lifetime to bring about any very appreciable change in environment. Nevertheless, making every allowance and deduction, the truth of the matter may be summed up in one sentence: if you are dissatisfied with your lot in life, and would change it, change yourself.
Editorial Notice
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 136
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A Glance at Theosophy from Outside
TO attempt anything like what is asked of me,[11] that is a criticism of the philosophical notions and strange events grouped together in the history of modern Theosophy, would be impossible, on account both of my imperfect knowledge and of the reasonable limitations of an ordinary magazine article. The utmost I can hope to do is to set before you clearly a few of the chief points wherein I fancy you will find that many earnest people sympathise with you, and others wherein they will differ from you; people who measure all possible theories and even the most miraculous of facts by one simple standard; namely the direct practical bearing which they have upon the one really valuable and wonderful thing that we know of, the Life which we, men and women, now live in the flesh. I am a little more confident of succeeding in the attempt than I should otherwise be, because of the strong sympathy that I feel with some of the purposes of Theosophy, and the direct and living contact with fervent and most excellent Theosophists which I count among my cherished privileges Sound criticism being, as I take it, more dependent upon feeling and vital connection with embodied facts, than upon acute research and profound scholarship.
From the time when “Theosophy” as a system of faith, or rather of science and morals, was first heard of, I, as an old student of so-called Spiritualism (though transcendental materialism might be a better title), found myself much interested in its fortunes, and have since followed them carefully through good and evil report up to the present moment. The most evil report of all came, of course, from India in 1885, and curiously enough I had the opportunity given me of hearing at the same time, privately, the opposite versions of the story told in letters from Adyar and from the Free Church College at Madras, before the matter was debated in the newspapers. Suffice it to say that the impression left upon me after it was all over has never varied from then till now. I see in Madame Blavatsky an extremely clever,[12] enthusiastic
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and impressionable woman, surrounded by a crowd of enthusiastic and rather stupid disciples craving for a “proof from miracles” before they could do anything energetic for the cause which she had at heart and for which she had risked life and fortune. In order to satisfy and quiet these weak brethren, to induce them to leave off gaping and to begin working, Madame Blavatsky apparently did what many a religious, and irreligious, missionary has done under similar circumstances, she made cherries drop from Heaven into their open mouths.[13] So long as the changing of pens into pen-wipers, the falling of mysterious missiles, the appearance of unexpected visitors and the sudden mending of broken china is generally held to prove either the virtues of a Teacher, or the value of his doctrine, the same sort of appeal will continue to be made by those who consider that in Philosophy and Religion, no less than in prize-fighting, it is important to have a good mob-backing.[14] But however reprehensible it may be to become either a miracle-worker or a mountebank for the sake of a philosophical Idea,[15] it is assuredly far
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worse to declare that one has assisted in working miracles for the sake of a living, and afterwards to turn informer, leave the scavengers of society to pick out from the unsavoury heap of mud and magic whatever abominations they shall choose, and assign all blame to those who have befriended us. And since the direct evidence against Madame Blavatsky rests entirely upon the word and deed of those accomplished conjurors and unprincipled adventurers, M. and Mme. Coulomb, it ought to be received, I think, with extremest caution by people who desire to treat all things humanely.
Now a word about the good reports of the Society. These have little to do with miracles and deal with far more interesting subjects. The revival in India of an intensely keen interest in ancient Aryan literature, the strengthening of the bond of fellowship between native and European, the renewal of a healthy and hopeful activity in venerable Faiths which had almost ceased to influence conduct, the levelling of the barriers of sect and caste, and the publication of delightfully quaint fragments of ancient tradition, noble poetry, pithy fable and neglected folk-lore, by natives who had passed through no system of foreign culture, and who would have suffered many things rather than open their ancient treasure-houses to the investigations of an ordinary English editor.[16] Work of this kind has been the real business of the Theosophical Society, and much of it has been done both honourably and well. Work that remains, as I endeavoured to point out to the S.P.R. unaffected by the actuality or falsehood of those little pieces of alleged Mahatma-performance at Adyar, just as Christianity remains unaffected by the gymnastics of the nearest pulpit, the hysteria of Paray le Monail or the tours de force of Simon Magus. And I might have added that though, to a Society intent upon Telepathy, blown bladders and sliding panels were naturally disappointing, though the simulation and the shifting were inexcusable on the part of professing philanthropists, yet for us, the externally interested public, it was well worth while for the sake of one early volume of the Theosophist, that the “household utensils should fall” several times “upon the head of Damodar.”[17]
Having thus glanced at a few of the practical and supernatural workings of Theosophy, I come now to the consideration of it as a philosophical and religious system.
I have often said to my friends that philosophies and religions, so far
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as they are dogmatic, resolve themselves always into idealisations of the condition of life to which the authors and receivers of them have been accustomed, that they are in fact the far-projected shadows of the conditions under which men find themselves placed in the world, and this will, I think, be found true whatever the particular case may be to which we choose to apply it. Among races and nations and under circumstances where strong feeling is naturally called out, philosophers and philosophies seldom arise, but Religions always do so. For what is religion but the sum of the grander perceptions, grounded upon the mental and moral life of men, transfigured, as Arnold says, by emotion? Speculative philosophy is the sum of similar perceptions remaining untransfigured; and there is no test so crucial which can be applied to the higher imagination of any people as the one which they apply to it themselves, in calling those imaginations by the name of religion or philosophy, or by a new-fashioned double-barrelled title now popular in America – “Religio-Philosophy.” The Religio-Philosophy par excellence is what Theosophy claims to be, the ultimate of the loving hopes nourished in times when feeling is strong – the final religion. The ultimate of the feverish quest after knowledge of men brought up upon the Binomial Theorem and in the physiological laboratory – the final “Philosophy.” Now finality to some ears has always a fatal ring about it and causes distrust at the outset. We are beginning to feel that Infallibility is about the least desirable claim that religion can make for herself, because Infallibility must necessarily involve something manifestly tiresome and hopeless, and that is immobility. To believe that somebody, somewhere, even though he be called a Mahatma and dwell upon the highest peak of Kanchanjunga, can say the last word about the human soul, the word which all the ages have been trying to utter and which our own age has made just a little more articulate, is a concession to the Individual that few are prepared to make who confide in human solidarity. Nay, further, the kind of cherubic sense of vigour and peace aimed at and possessed by more than one Theosophist in large measure, is attainable, I think they would tell me, in shorter and more simple ways, than by making interminable walking tours round and round the Universe by oneself.
As regards metaphysical infallibility, it has been claimed so often, by so many people, and for so many systems, that the reiteration of the claim by Theosophists is less striking than they might wish it to be. With evolution, the Indian theories as to Reincarnation, the indisputable phenomena of English and American “Spiritualism,” to start with, a little subtle and diligent interweaving by an educated Hindu, or a speculative Scotchman, would bring something very similar to birth in a year.[18]
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Let the question of religious and metaphysical perfection be winnowed away then, along with the conjuring, and let us see if we have no strengthening wheat left in the little heap below our flails. Let us look upon Theosophy naturally, as a product of our own time, and not of the aeons or the Absolute, recognizing to the fullest extent how it has come to include within itself the unexhausted tendency of our Puritan breeding towards conflict between soul and body – toward what is called religious asceticism. Then the increasing tendency of unemployed but well-to-do persons towards marvel-hunting. And lastly the tendency of feverish and unhealthy brain-stimulation towards fruitless endeavour to plausibly solve the insoluble. Having done this honestly, we shall find afterwards on looking into each of these tendencies a little more closely, that they have, like every other product of human thought, valuable aspects as well as foolish ones, things to be taken to heart as well as things to be lightly passed over.[19]
Take first of all Asceticism, the assertion of the supremacy of the Spirit and the reiterated advice to have done with the temporary and the fleshly,[20] separated as it is in later Theosophical literature from anything like a detailed creed or a selfish motive; for the new infallible Religion is in many things as protestant and private-judging as Emerson’s. Is not this assertion one more evidence of a general moving up to higher levels of consciousness, of earnest people engaged in the most various kinds of physical and mental occupation? Experiment, as well as experience, justify us in looking for inward evolution of this sort, and its gradual manifestation is already acting as an effectual check upon the hasty conclusions drawn by the pseudo-scientific, who reason only upon their avowedly limited sense-relationship to their present environment.
Our highest nature is, it goes without saying, the part of us that is tuned to the finest issues, and the realisation of a “vast flowing vigour” of unselfish affection and of mental freedom undreamed of before, repels us most powerfully from the places in which we do not expect, and have always been taught not to expect, any similar exhilarations. Those places are our bodily structure and earthly surroundings. Faber, speaking from a high level of the merely Christian consciousness, expresses the feeling exactly: – “Earth looks so little,” he says, “and so low when faith shines full and bright.” Now the sense of larger living in Theosophy being undoubtedly a more complex, though I will not say a more delightful, thing than it is in Catholicism, involves the same
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kind of rebound from the physical and sensual world. The result being that while making tentative discoveries, which I hope to speak of more particularly presently, in a region of subtle sensation previously almost unentered, Theosophy warns us away from absorption in common life, just as fervently as does Buddhism or monkish Christianity.[21] Indeed such abandonment seems always something of a necessity, till the man within the man can hold his ground beside the good-natured dog, and the less good-natured wolf within him; though there are happy indications and heraldings of a good time coming when our children will be able to live a million times more vividly true than (with some notable exceptions) we can to-day to the “kindred points of heaven and home.” Nevertheless, while the “good grey poet” is still vigourous over there in America surely even we ourselves need not despair of feeling “through all this fleshly dress (some) bright shoots of everlastingness.” Meantime let us give due meed of thanks to those who are leading into mountain air in one direction, while he is leading into it in another.
Next month with your permission I may have something more to say upon the subject.
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The Turn of the Tide
A LETTER just received by the President Founder from one of the Australasian colonies, is worthy of reproduction, as it shows so forcibly that no amount of calumny is capable of obscuring unprejudiced and well-balanced minds. The malicious attempt by the S. P. R. of London, or rather Cambridge, in 1886, to upset a good and useful movement, and to cover with opprobrium two innocent people who have devoted their lives to the Cause of Truth, does not seem to bear much fruit. These are some verbatim extracts.
I enclose a form of application for admission into the Theosophical Society, etc.
I have been a student of the Theosophical philosophy for the last six years, and a subscriber to the Theosophist since 1883. I was at first greatly prejudiced against Theosophical views, but by degrees my early impressions wore off, and in their place arose an absorbing interest in the Esoteric philosophy. I introduced the subject often to my friends, and we were about to form a Branch and apply for admission into the parent Society; but, the so-called exposé . . . shocked my faith and separated our intending members. Then some died, others never recovered their interest ... I have closely followed the discussion on the bonâ-fides of Theosophy since, for ... I can only get satisfaction through my reason, and need evidence and analysis to get conviction. I have been in correspondence with – , have read, I think, all the pamphlets (Mdme. Coulomb’s, Hartmann’s, Sinnett’s, and the latest attack, The Report of the “Society for Psychical Research,” etc. etc.), and it may interest you to know that I do not consider a case is made out against the Society, or its leaders. Indeed it is mainly owing to a re-perusal of the “S. P. R.’s” Report, that I have decided to take the step of applying for admission into the Theosophical Society. Notwithstanding the character there given to yourself and others like Mdme. B(lavatsky). . . whom I have learned to honour, and what must appear to any one only superficially acquainted with the subject as the crushing effect of the whole article, I, rising fresh from a perusal of the Report, assert it fails to destroy the evidence of the general truth of the Esoteric phenomena, even to a mind like my own, open to evidence on either side, and only reaching its conclusions slowly and by dint of study and earnest attention.
Forgive me if I dilate on this, for I feel sure such an expression of opinion from a stranger like myself, far removed from personal contact with Theosophists or their enemies, must be some slight consolation to you for the reward you and your colleagues have received for your unselfish efforts to promote the good of humanity, from your opponents in India and other parts of the world. The success which still attends
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the Society – especially the bright prospects among the 60,000,000 of America – is the substantial answer to your detractors, and I earnestly hope that this answer you will be able to give more fully and admirably every year.
With every fervent wish for the success of your Society and the happiness and welfare of yourself and colleagues, I remain, etc. etc.
“And now, having filled the life of the unfortunate Queen with gall, he gives her the last deadly blow by depriving her of her only child; making of her a Rachel weeping, and refusing to be comforted.” . . .
“An American mother has been deprived of the custody of her daughter by the Swedish guardian of the helpless invalid, who is detained in an Austrian private asylum against her mother’s wishes.”
“They have ta’en the Prince from the fair young Queen, |
| By Mrs. Bloomfield-Moore. Zurich, 2nd September. |
To Theosophists
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 145-147
[Extracts from a letter to H. S. Olcott]
K. H. · pp. 146-147
A Joint Note
H. P. Blavatsky; H. S. Olcott · pp. 147-148
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[Translated from the German.]
Beloved and good mother, O bear me no ill-will! |
| New York “Echo.” |
The National Epic of Finland
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 149-152
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Emendations of “Paradise Lost.”
IN reviewing Mr. Mull’s edition of Hamlet in our August number, we called attention to his wonderful genius for discerning false readings, and his unfailing discrimination in emendation; and the edition of “Paradise Lost,” Books I.-VI., by the same hand, which we have before us, strongly confirms us in our admiration of these qualities of Mr. Mull’s work.
That the text of “Paradise Lost” is extremely corrupt is doubtless a surprising piece of intelligence not only to lovers of English Literature but also to scholars; and the honour of discovering this corruption – strongly suspected by Bentley – not less than of remedying it to no small degree, belongs preeminently to Mr. Mull.
And yet this faulty condition of Milton’s text arises from causes universally recognised, though not traced to their legitimate conclusion – the fact of Milton’s blindness, his inability to procure proper amanuenses, his consequent dependence on casual and unskilful aid, added to the well-known ignorance and stupidity of the early printers – all these might have induced at
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least suspicion, where we find nothing but awe-struck reverence for the original text.
Yet another evident cause of corruption, Milton’s constant use of latinisms; when we remember that a printer has to carry in his mind a complete clause, while collecting the type, it at once becomes clear how easily a more familiar word might slip in and displace one of Milton’s “golden” terms.
“the discovery that much of the charm and splendour of the lofty Epic of the English-speaking race has been buried under a farrago of unmeaning verbiage, as though some great artistic production, the admiration of the world, had been bedaubed and defaced, or some fair creation of Nature had been despoiled of its beauty;” and again, “I assert that the whole dramatic character of the Poem is rendered weak and unspeakably inanimate throughout by the accepted punctuation; and all that is involved therein – pathos and passion, tenderness and tumult, joy and sorrow, repose and impetuousness, every emotion and element that give character and effect to a drama, which move feeling and stir imagination – is left to be laboriously supplied (or not) by the reader at every step of his progress.”
Of Mr. Mull’s essay on the Value of Milton’s works to Intellectual Development, we need only say that their effect shines through every page of Mr. Mull’s own writing.
Of verbal emendations, the following appear to us the most noteworthy and valuable: in Book I. Mr. Mull reads: –
With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused |
| [Line 480] |
Substituting deck for the usually accepted seek. This strikes us as admirable.
The next emendation requires careful consideration. Mr. Mull supports it with great skill, but we cannot yet consider it as certainly right: it is, in Mr. Mull’s reading: –
The Ionian gods, of Javan’s issue (held [to be] |
| [Line 510] |
Substituting from for than, with important changes in punctuation.
This quotation instances what we cannot but consider a fault, though a slight one, in Mr. Mull’s system of printing. It is the insertion, in square brackets, of glosses which do not belong to the text, and which are likely to mislead the eye, and jar the sense of rythmic continuity of lovers of Milton who are not scholars. Perhaps, in his second edition, Mr. Mull will hit upon some plan of banishing these hypermetric strangers.
Again, Mr. Mull reads: –
The vasty multitude admiring entered . . . |
| [Line 730] |
Substituting vasty for “hasty.”
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In Book II. we find the following important changes: –
Without hope of end, |
| [Lines 89-92] |
The ordinary reading and punctuation are: –
Without hope of end, |
Undoubtedly Mr. Mull’s reading approaches very close to the true one, but we find a syllable too much in the second foot of the last line. It is true that tribrachs and anapæsts occur in Milton, as Coleridge pointed out, but this line has not the Miltonic ring. Perhaps Mr. Mull reads the line: –
Galls us to d’fiance? More destroyed than thus |
Such a contraction is not unknown in Milton, nor was it rare in his century, – especially the contraction of the into th’; the following reading is possible: –
Galls to defiance? More destroyed than thus |
We find the same difficulty of metre in Mr. Mull’s reading: –
his look denounced |
| [Line 108] |
Instead of the older: –
battle dangerous |
The difficulty of metre Mr. Mull partly conquers by making the second half of the line begin a new passage, with a pause between. But there is still a difficulty of sense. It seems to us that Milton may have written: –
battle dangerous |
Mr. Mull reads: –
and build up here |
| [Line 315] |
Instead of a growing empire.
And again: –
What sit we, then, projecting peace or war? |
Instead of peace and war.
These are as certain as any emendation can be. Equally good is: –
the subtle fiend his lust |
| [Line 815] |
Instead of – his lore soon learned.
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In Book III. the following readings are the most notable: –
should Man, |
| [Line 150] |
For Mr. Mull’s excellent defence of his substitution of “youngest born” for “youngest son,” we must refer readers to his book.
Again:
The Heaven of Heavens and all the Powers therein |
| [Line 390] |
Reading The for He.
One of the best emendations in the whole of Mr. Mull’s work is the following:
Thee only extolled, sword of thy Father’s might |
| [Line 398] |
Instead of “Son of thy Father’s might.”
Very important also are the three changes of clause which follow; we give Mr. Mull’s arrangement of the lines: –
to be found was none, |
| [Line 445] |
The second clause change is: –
Cleombrotus; and many more, too long [to tell], |
| [Line 473] |
And a little later –
The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown |
| [Line 498] |
To appreciate the value of these three changes, we advise our readers to get their Miltons and read them first after Mr. Mull, and then as usually printed.
In Book IV. we note the following: –
for now |
| [Line 9] |
The received reading is,
Satan, now first inflamed with rage, came down. |
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And further on,
the unpierced shade |
| [Line 256] |
Instead of “Imbrowned the noontide bowers.”
Mr. Mull’s change is like an echo of the refrain of Rossetti’s well-known “Eden Bower.”
The opening lines of Book V. are reconstructed by Mr. Mull as follows:
Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime |
The change is excellent, and deserving of the highest praise. The third line seems still imperfect; perhaps it may be: –
Sowed the earth with orient pearl; |
For in Eden even the chill morning vapours had something heavenly.
In conclusion, we must sincerely thank Mr. Mull for the unalloyed pleasure the study of his book has given us; if his life-work were to stop here, he would have already conferred on all lovers of the great and good in our national literature a boon which not even gratitude could repay, a pleasure which time could not efface. But Mr. Mull generously increases our pleasure by giving us the hope that at no distant date we shall receive the six later books of “Paradise Lost” from his hands; and we believe that Mr. Mull has also a dozen or more of Shakespeare’s plays in preparation; if this is so, and their production depends on the reception the present work receives, we sincerely hope that that reception will be as generous as our debt to Mr. Mull is great. We learn that his “Macbeth” is now in the press.
The Seventh Dream
THIS shilling publication justifies fully the opinion passed on the author by the critic in the Whitehall Review with regard to her preceding novelette: “Every fresh piece of work which ‘Rita’ publishes shows an increase of power and a decided advance on the last.” This was said of “The Mystery of a Turkish Bath,” and “The Seventh Dream” excels the latter, or, indeed, any of the works we have hitherto read from the pen of this talented lady. This would seem almost ridiculous to say of a small booklet in large type, of only 116 pages; nevertheless, it is strictly true. For “Rita” has a
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way, essentially her own, of compressing within the smallest space, ideas and thoughts sufficient to serve as subject matter, for the most thrilling mystical novels in three 8vo volumes each. Her little “One shillings” are like “Liebig’s Extracts,” true literary tin-pots of Occult essences. Her “Seventh Dream” may be only a good railway companion to the profane. To the Mystic and Occultist, however, it is full of esoteric truths, of deeply hidden roots, the gaudy and fictitious blossoms of which are only as so many landmarks and sign-posts throughout the realm of the Occult. The ideas and short sentences scattered throughout the little volume, show more than a simple “call from the occult world which seems to have left her a partial believer,” as remarked by one of her critics. They show such ideas inherent in the very nature of the author, more, a pre-natal possession of such truths.
This looks more like a “psychometrical delineation of character” in the language of the Spiritual mediums – of Rita herself than a review of her “Seventh Dream.” But – le style c’est l’homme. The leaflet torn out from the life of a dreamer, of a “madman,” and his disquisitions upon subjects “not of this world,” show in the author more than a superficial insight into such things unseen, and an exuberance of imagination second to none among our popular novelists.
In the short story under review – the unbroken narrative of a dream, and no more – one finds correct aphorisms upon Karma, Re-birth, and the origin of evil; reflections upon various possibilities of white and black magic, and passages upon the many phases of hypnotic or rather mesmeric power, which are full of weird suggestion. One must have a certain knowledge of the laws of the Occult, with regard to the dual nature of man who lives at once in Heaven and on Earth, inside and outside his form of clay, to be able to describe such terribly realistic scenes. In this case, the Occult teacher of the dreamer is a bright being of the Fairy Land, a female spirit in whom the Occultist sees the impersonation of the Occult Wisdom, like in the vision of the gnostic Marcus, and the followers of Laurence Oliphant’s doctrine of “Sympneumata,” are likely to suspect the dreamer’s Twin Soul.
“Nature’s laws change not,” says the “White Queen” of “the city of the Future,” speaking of terrestrial suffering –
“Let man infringe them in the smallest detail, and he brings suffering and sorrow on his head. Creeds and forms and prayers avail nothing. . .”
The “Magic Lake,” in the bowers of the Silver City, whose waters of “intense, clear, glowing green” show the gazer into their emerald depths “the secrets of earth” attract not the White Queen to them. Nyleta is a reincarnation of a slave of days of old, the victim of Chaldean masters, of whom she says: –
“Great was their power and their spells, and their methods of using the subtle and material force of nature. But theirs was the power of an evil sorcery, for, as doubtless my lord knows, the motive alone influences the power of magic, and gives to it malignance or beneficence.”
Who is Nyleta? She is the heroine of dreamland, a dream within a dream dreamt by a City man who lost his way in a London fog. The man, an habitual dreamer, knocks his head in the Egyptian darkness of that fog against a dead wall of a house, and a few minutes later another man shares the same fate. The latter proves to be the proprietor of the house, as
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well as a magician, an old Alchemist and a sorcerer – “a shape of uncanny and evil mystery” indeed, since his gifts do not prevent him from coming to grief through the fog like any other profane blinded by the pest of London. The old man offers hospitality to the younger one, in a quaint room wherein all is sevened; seven black stars on a red carpet, seven brass candlesticks on the mantel-shelf, seven books in the book-case, and seven curiously shaped tiles on the hearth. He finds also his thoughts read and answered by his uncanny host, and recognizes in him an associate of a recent dream. He knows it, he says: –
“Because I shared it, I know it because I met you there. Oh, foolish and blind, for what, think you, are those glimpses into other worlds and other scenes granted? For how long will you, and thousands such as you, be content to look no deeper and inquire no further into the mystery of yourselves? Shall I prove to you . . . the dual life? Nay, I do but bid you close your eyes and you will know, even as I know, where even one step further on the path of the hidden Wisdom may lead. . . .”
The magician proved his word good by putting his guest to sleep. It is on the series of dreams that follow, that the episode and the terrible events embracing several months’ duration are cleverly built.
This is the Prologue. The several acts and the Epilogue of the Seventh and most terrible dream, will be divulged to anyone who has an hour or two for the perusal of this little book and – a shilling, to spare. The thrilling little novel belongs by right to the Literature of Occult fiction, and no library of theosophist or mystic ought to be without it.
The Life of Jehoshua
THE title of this book will probably convey much of what it contains; at any rate, it at once gives the leading character to the contents.
The author throughout bases the life of the Christ of the New Testament on the life of Jehoshua ben Pandira, as contained in the Sepher Toldos Jeshu and other similar works. Curiously enough Dr. Hartmann, while taking this foundation for his work, and while declaring that the “Gospel history” was a compilation, does not make very clear what his own opinion is concerning the facts he has collated in this book.
One thing however is plain. The facts, as narrated in the New Testament, are not physical facts necessarily to Dr. Hartmann, but are allegorical symbols pertaining to psychic and psycho-spiritual occurrences in the life of Jehoshua ben Pandira.
The book is valuable, not so much for the historical evidence put forward in it, nor for the comparison of the various disputes of learned historians: but for the manner in which it has enabled the author to convey in intelligible form certain truths which pertain to the history of initiation.
Jehoshua’s childhood and boyhood are slightly described, but the centre of interest is at once transferred to Jehoshua as a candidate for initiation into the
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Wisdom of the Egyptians. Of course it may be open to question whether Dr. Hartmann has disclosed facts concerning initiation in their correct sequence and detail. Probably, judging by all that has ever been declared, the account is purposely jumbled and confused. But in any case, correct in sequence and detail or not, the account serves the purpose of conveying to the student much information of a most valuable character. There is a marked resemblance between much of Dr. Hartmann’s explanations concerning initiation and those treated by Mdme. Blavatsky in her forthcoming work on the “Secret Doctrine”; her explanations being based, as she says, on truths divulged only in the mysteries of initiation. Further, Dr. Hartmann makes very plain in this that the laws which govern the psychic and astral worlds are closely connected with and are the lower correlations of the laws which govern the moral and spiritual worlds. Again, although the candidate might gain the command of the psychic and astral forces, he was never allowed to go forth into the external physical world until he had gained the consciousness of the moral and spiritual laws which alone would enable him to direct these forces rightly and become a co-worker with nature. So far Dr. Hartmann seems to have gathered his materials from sources other than those to be found in the New Testament. He now brings Jehoshua back to his native land and shows him as exposed to the temptations, not of the individual personal man, but to those of the leader among men – to those of a man of larger life and scope. These Jehoshua met in his “Temptation” in the desert; Dr. Hartmann giving an explanation which differs from that ordinarily accepted.
Following this comes the explanation concerning the “Sermon on the Mount”; and both these explanations may be studied with interest, even though one may not agree with them.
The author treats of Herodias and St. John the Baptist, of Jehoshua’s journey to Jerusalem, and the loss of his life. It is in this part of the book that one is sometimes puzzled to determine how far Dr. Hartmann considers the history as historical, and how far allegorical. He gives many new meanings to the facts narrated if they are allegorical; but, if historical, his explanations are not always logical or consistent.
What he makes very plain is that he does not consider Jehoshua or Jesus to be a God but to be a man made divine by union with the Absolute. He shows too how his immediate followers materialised his teaching and distorted it for their own purpose. Thus they created a system of ecclesiastical polity which has grown into a church with dogmas resembling those of the Pharisees. That the founder of Christianity would approve of such a creation or of the acts of his followers, is certainly open to grave doubt; and it is only by the appearance of such books as Dr. Hartmann’s that the world may be aroused to the right conception of the character of Jehoshua or Jesus and may appreciate his efforts as well as those of other Adept-enlighteners of mankind.
Anyhow, whatever the inner conviction of the author, the biography of Jesus of Nazareth in the Gospels is not historical, and the whole is an allegory based upon a personage who lived, taught and suffered, probably more than a century before the year 1, a.d. Opinions may be divided upon the question among the profane, but among the Occultists of any learning and standing, there can be
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but one conviction. A Jesus or Jehoshua has lived at some time or other, though the alleged biographical sketches of the drama in the four Gospels, are, as appears plain to any Occultist or Kabalist not a narrative of real events, but an allegory which depicts the trials, sufferings and temporary death of a disciple on probation or a postulant to adeptship, and final victory of the candidate for Initiation into the sublime Mysteries.
The Book is more than worth reading. It is a valuable addition to the literature now being demanded by the general desire to look into the truth.
Buddhist Catechism
THE above is the translation of the title of a new German book which has recently appeared at Braunschweig. In the preface we are informed that Col. Olcott’s “Buddhist Catechism” having originally been intended merely as a book of primary instruction for Singhalese children; this new catechism is intended to carry the reader deeper into the mysteries of Buddhism, and thus to supply a want felt by the educated and intelligent public of Germany.
It can only be gratifying to Buddhists to see an increase of Buddhistic literature in Europe, and we therefore welcome this contribution in spite of its language being in some places ungrammatical and mixed with provincialisms, and although some of its questions are puerile. The contents justify its claims, for it contains a great deal of valuable information, and enters far deeper into the true spirit of Buddhism than any similar publication.
Unfortunately, the value of the book is considerably lessened by some serious mis statements in the accompanying foot-notes.
Thus, on page 19 we are informed that each mother of a Buddha has to die seven days after the birth of the latter, “because her womb can henceforth no more give birth to ordinary children,” making it appear as if a woman had no other choice but to die or to give birth to children.
On page 22 it is stated that one of the first conditions in accepting Buddhism is to give up all of one’s earthly possessions. If this were true, there would be very few Buddhists in the world.
On page 25 we are told that a yogi becomes an Adept by hypnotizing himself. He “suggests” to himself that he is an Adept and thus he makes an (imaginary?) Adept out of himself. We would suggest to the writer the idea that nobody can truly imagine himself to be a real Adept unless he can realize that state, and that before he can realize it he would have to be an Adept.
There are a number of other similar mistakes in this book, and it is to be hoped that they will all be corrected in the second edition.
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Four New Pamphlets
THE T. P. S. continues manfully its work of propaganda by issuing pamphlets from time to time on theosophical subjects. It is a pity that theosophists do not support it better, for more subscribers means more pamphlets. If there were a few thousand members of the T. P. S., there would be a continual stream of interesting monographs flowing from 7, Duke Street, Adelphi. Five shillings a year, after all, is very little more than a penny a week, a sum which does not seem extravagant as a yearly subscription, if it be remembered how freely it is spent in other ways.
Number 10 of the series is an interesting paper on Elementals, or nature spirits, by “Nizida,” whose writings are well known to Spiritualists, and who, being clairvoyante, speaks as one having authority, at least, as regards the appearances. This essay is followed by another on Elementaries, under which head come several classes of more or less familiar “bogies.”
Number 11 is called “The Higher Science,” and is pronounced by a great many readers the best of the Series so far issued. It is by Mr. William Kingsland, a man of science, and an electrician. Clear, logical, and wide in its generalizations, this number deserves to be read with attention by anyone who wishes to get an idea of the wide range over which Theosophy spreads its wings.
Number 12 is a criticism of the personality of Jesus, in answer to the question, “Was Jesus a perfect man?” Those who have not gone very deep into mysticism will find of much interest the view of the character of Jesus therein put forth, as it is written more from the sceptical than from the Occult standpoint.
Number 13 is a reprint, whereas 10, 11, and 12 are original essays, It is, however, the reprint of a little work which, most probably, not ten persons in England know anything about. When it is remembered that the popular superstition about the number 13 being unlucky is traced to the fact that Judas was the 13th person at the last supper, it certainly seems a little odd that the 13th issue of this series should have reference to the Wandering Jew. According to this curious pamphlet, published over thirty years ago, and long since out of print, the mission of the Wandering Jew is to bring about the restoration of the Jews to Palestine. For this purpose he is re-incarnated again and again, being possessed of the secret of Solomon’s Seal, and lending its miraculous powers to those whom he thinks will further his fixed purpose. “The Hebrew Talisman” is evidently the work of someone who was au courant with the public life of his day, political and financial; and some things in the reprint it might have been questionable taste to have republished, had not the events and persons concerned passed by this time into the realm of “ancient history.”
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Mysteries of the Hand
[25] &c.
AN excellent little contribution to the Materialistic School of Palmistry comes to us from St. Louis, U.S.A. It bears the title, “Mysteries of the Hand Revealed and Explained,” and the author, Mr. Robert Allen Campbell, evidently understands his subject. It is a curious matter for reflection that while on the one hand policemen were never more active than they are to-day in arresting humble persons who practise palmistry among the Masses, and magistrates never more zealous in sentencing these poor wretches to prison; on the other hand, palmistry has, perhaps, never before in “Christian times” been so favourite a study, and fashionable amusement, as it is to-day among the Classes, and new books on the subject are constantly appearing, which are eagerly purchased by people of education. One would have thought that sauce for the servant-maid’s goose ought to be served, in this case, to the mistress’s gander (Classes and Masses both end in “asses”!). It is very doubtful, after all, whether fortune-telling is more seriously regarded, and therefore more dangerous, in the kitchen than in the drawing-room. In both spheres it is regarded as a species of amusement, which a certain percentage of its more impressional devotees are disposed to take somewhat in earnest; and those who do take it in earnest are superstitious in very good company, according to our author, for he claims the Patriarch Job as a professor of the Science, as well as Socrates, Aristotle, and Plato, and a long line of later worthies, ending with the lamented W. H. Vanderbilt – to say nothing of the Egyptian Magicians and Chaldean Magi.
The author “unequivocally discards” the Astral theory of Palmistry, which maintains that the destiny of man is determined by his susceptibility to Astral influences – the influences, that is to say, of the seven planets, through each of which there flows one of the seven rays or streams of influence that together compose the Astral light – just as the seven rays of the solar spectrum compose the white light of the sun. This theory is the most mystical and the most fashionable among the Classes; but our author prefers the other, namely, that character determines the hand (not the hand the character). Palmistry thus treated is a sister science to phrenology, a simple body of deductions from observation, leaving causes out of sight, and dealing only with effects, and having no more pretensions to tell the future or the past than any other “official” science. By this system a good line of life might show a healthy constitution, and therefore the probability of living long, just as a good pair of legs shows the probability of winning a race, or escaping from a policeman; and a skilled practitioner of this science ought to be able, without much difficulty, we should think, to make up a little history from such-like signs and hints, that would pass with the majority (mistresses as well as maids) for oracular.
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Spirit Communion
LUCIFER has been favoured with one of the one hundred copies printed of the above work. It is a reprint of Inspirational Utterances by Mr. H. B. Champion, originally published in 1854, and contains matter of very much higher grade than is usual for such productions, reminding us of Mr. Stainton Moses’s “Spirit Teachings.” The motto of the book, a saying of Mr. Champion, gives a good idea of the lines on which the work runs; it reads:
“Love is the immutable principle that must bind in harmony and union this extended Universe. Then will God be God in the heart of Humanity:”
The chief inspirer of the medium is claimed to have been the celebrated Unitarian minister Dr. Channing; but in the preface to the present edition an important qualification is made in regard to the meaning of this claim; for we read as follows:
“It was asked, ‘Do we really hold personal and direct communication with the spirit of Dr. William Ellery Channing?’ It was answered, Yes, and no. Names have an occult meaning. They bring the person en rapport with the qualities of the person who is named; hence, both the danger and advantage of the invocation of names. The ancients understood this, and made it a solemn part of their worship. It survives only, in the present day, in the Catholic Church. The name Jesus has an especial significance to all Christians. The name of Channing has such a responsive significance to all who love the qualities expressed by his life-work. When in the form he was in spiritual rapport with an innumerable host connecting him mediately with God. All bear this relation.”
This teaching is half-way between Spiritualism and Occultism.
Nevertheless, in page 104 we read, “On the next day Mr. C. came under the direction of an Indian chief, and commanding me to follow him, wended his way directly to the family cemetery, and there pointed out to us the tombs of many whose spirits, he said, had greeted us the night before.’ This association of the “Spirit” with the churchyard is, of course, spiritualism of the most grossly materialistic kind. In turning over the pages of this book, as of other works purporting to come from spirits, the reader is constantly in doubt whether it is a spirit that is speaking, and, if so, which spirit. They all give vent to similar ideas, in much the same language; and there is not a line which might not have been written by an intelligent spirit still inhabiting the flesh. That the inspirer was not a disembodied spirit, who has learned new truths, is proved by the fact that he gives utterance to the ideas current at the time – chiefly broad generalities. Channing knew nothing of reincarnation or karma, neither does his “spirit.” No mention of either of them occurs in the book, and at the present day it would seem to be a very difficult task to write a book treating of a future life and a spiritual world without bringing in these central pivots of Theosophy, and, indeed, of all true Occultism; in fact, one can hardly meet with a modern spiritualistic work in which, if not the names, reincarnation and karma, at least the things signified are not considered and discussed.
"Christian Science"
Ursula N. Gestefeld · pp. 164-168
The Barisal Guns
C. Carter Blake · pp. 168
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The Shuttle of Karma
Thinking over the correspondence on the subject of Karma in the July Lucifer, it does seem to one observer at least that some writers on the philosophy of human life from the Theosophical Society’s standpoint are more concerned about our deserts than our duties, more anxious to explain “undeserved” misery than ready to accept the idea of our all needing lessons, be they bitter or be they sweet. To the mind wont to regard the workings of Divine Providence as absolute perfection in their sphere of education, the notion of Karma lapsing here or there from justice and “making it up” on another occasion is as droll as the other suggestion (vide footnote p. 415). That circumstances cropping up in a casual kind of way, like a stray bullet may hit the wrong man!
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If the elements of our environment, our contact with men and things, be not included in the working of Karma, pray what is its field of action? And if they be, then it should adjust itself as minutely to the inner states of its subjects as a perfect machine to the fulfilment of its functions. Now, is Karma a teacher or is it a police magistrate? In the one case our past record of action is of the slightest consequence except as evidence of our spiritual level at any given time; and as the same deed may be an outcome of quite different mental states according to the characters of the doers, the Karma resulting for each should depend not on any external doing but on internal being; while the manifestation on the external plane is merely the raw material we each supply for Karmic purposes directed toward the whole race. In this light our deeds here in London are as pertinent to the Patagonian savage as to our next neighbour – they are but spinning the yarn while Karma throws the shuttle where she knows the web has need.
Perhaps I do the Karma of the Theosophists more than justice – perhaps her function is indeed that of the police court, in one scale so much naughty behaviour, in the other so many stripes – and there an end. Or possibly a last state worse than the first; for is not Avitchi looming in the distance? But it seems to me that the real Karma, the true law of adjustment in human life, must enter as surely and deeply into the inner needs of humanity as the sea into its bays and caves, and must bring its salt wave of healing into the hidden depths each flow of its tide fraught with new life.
As to “personal merit,” “desert,” and the like, it is difficult to understand when separateness embodies in itself all evil tendencies, how merit peculiar to one alone can be anything but an aggravation of that chief sin. The child of the race, in other words, the Son of Man, was content to declare – there is none good but God alone.
To conclude with a word of comment on the objection brought against “Christian Science” in the interests of Karma (Lucifer, July, p. 413), which latter is supposed to be in danger of losing its rights, and can “hardly be satisfied with such an easy arrangement.” How about chloroform? – another easy arrangement. Are so many ages of Karma’s birchen rod to have taught nothing yet, and are we all to be chastised with the same twig for ever and ever because that has been part of the lesson? The Reincarnationists surely ought to be glad that some of us poor pilgrims have gained high enough ground to throw their packs behind them and catch a glimpse of the Delectable Mountains. Disease is part of Karma; yes, and so is healing. Those who can pass on their way rejoicing because the Karma of disease has no more lessons for them are fulfilling Karma’s laws instead of avoiding them.
K.
London, July 24, 1888.
Karma and Free Will
Thomas B. Harbottle · pp. 169-170
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The Devil – Who is He?
Sir, – Mr. Thomas May (under the above title) tells your readers in the September number of Lucifer that, with the accumulation of centuries, a very Gordian knot of theological confusion, contradictions and contrarieties, has been made, which has caused an unedifying intermingling of the attributes of “the Supreme,” and that he, Mr. Thomas May, can cut this knot in a moment, by simply telling your readers that the Devil and Jesus, or the Devil and God, are one and the same Supreme being or person, only seen under different aspects at different periods of time. (1.)[27]
And with this simple statement that two contradictory ideas have only one and the same supreme being or person for their origin, Mr. May seems to imagine that he has at once removed all the theological confusion, contradictions and contrarieties, which for centuries have accumulated and perplexed mankind respecting Jesus and the Devil, God and Satan, good and evil.
But when it is conceded to Mr. May that there is but one Supreme being or person: it yet remains to be determined, revealed, or understood what “the Supreme” is? and whether “the Supreme” is good, or evil.
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Mr. May in his letter would seem to imply that “the Supreme” is both evil and good, in like manner as a period of 24 hours, which we call a day, is partly light and partly dark. (2.)
But then this dark period of the day, which we call night, is not evil, but, on the contrary, it is a period of beneficial rest for recruiting and renewing the strength of our bodies in sleep.
And it is possible that Mr. May might also say that what is commonly called evil is also not evil, but is only a course of educational training which is highly beneficial for our spiritual growth and strength.
But when good and evil are thus intermingled as being one and the same, the danger immediately arises of creating theological confusion, contradictions and contrarieties. And I do not learn from Mr. May’s letter that he has avoided this religious difficulty (3), but that he has himself created it, by speaking of good and evil as being one and the same.
For although Isaiah tells us that God alone is the Supreme Creator both of good and evil, yet it is only in a corrective sense, as a Father would correct his Child, that Isaiah intends to speak of God as creating evil; because the whole burden of Isaiah’s writing is to reproach those who called the good evil, the evil good, and the doing of evil doing good.
And it is because this intermingling of God and the Devil, and of good and evil, as being one and the same, made it such a complicated question, that therefore the Scriptures were written in order to make manifest what is good and what is evil. (4.) And in the Scriptures it is recorded that so great had become the power of those who made the Word of God of none effect by their evil traditions that they conspired to betray “the Son of Man,” who would reconcile the ways of God as being good and not evil, to be crucified as a devil.
And it is the true lesson which is to be learnt (when freedom in the Church can be obtained to teach it) from the Crucifixion of “the Son of Man,” which can alone remove the religious difficulty which disturbs both the Christian and he Jewish World: because it is not true, as Mr. May asserts, that good and evil, or Jesus and the Devil, are one and the same. (5.)
Manor House, Petersham, S.W.
[Editors’ notes on “The Devil – Who is He?” by T. G. Headley]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 171-172
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Pertinent Queries
You invite questions respecting all points of difficulty in subjects connected with Occult Science. I cannot reconcile some things relating to the Apostles of Modern Theosophy.
In the “Preface to the Original Edition” (page xxii. of the 5th Edition) of “Esoteric Buddhism,” by Mr. A. P. Sinnett, there are these words – “Two years ago, neither I, nor any other European living, knew the alphabet of the science here for the first time put into a scientific statement.” This is an emphatic expression; it would seem to imply that the thinking world is exclusively indebted to this book and to its author for that knowledge of the truths of Esoteric Science, which is now making its way amongst European and American Theosophists. But this can hardly be Mr. Sinnett’s meaning.
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For, can the statement and its implication be consistent with the fact that Madame Blavatsky, herself a European,[28] had, some years previously, written “Isis Unveiled,” which though it does not give the same constructive teaching respecting the mysteries of the Universe as does “Esoteric Buddhism,” does yet imply a knowledge on the part of its author of much more than “the alphabet of the science”?
But is it not true, as indicated in “The Occult World,” that Mr. Sinnett owed to Madame Blavatsky his own first knowledge of Esoteric Science, and also his introduction to the adept teacher, the Master from whom he derived the bulk of his information? Madame Blavatsky, we have been led to understand, taught these truths of Occult Science years previously to Colonel Olcott, and in so doing converted him from a Spiritualist to a Theosophist. It is further likely that Madame Blavatsky taught others the same truths.[29]
I would also ask if there are no secret students of Science, in its broadest aspects, who have known these things in advance of its recent publication?
It would be a satisfaction to myself and others if it could be stated how the recent teachings of Occult Science really originated, and what the true position of “Esoteric Buddhism” is as an authoritative exponent of Occult truth.
Now that Theosophical teachings are taking hold of men’s minds, it is very desirable that the genesis of the modern movement should be truthfully known. I acknowledge myself greatly indebted to “Esoteric Buddhism,” but I am very anxious to understand the facts to which I have alluded, and to have them reconciled.
Yours faithfully,
Charles B. Ingham.
[Editors’ answer to “Pertinent Queries” by Charles B. Ingham]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 173-174
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How to Help Theosophy
The recent spread of theosophical literature renders it advisable to increase the information given out by this means, both through the Path, and the International Theosophical Publication Society (T.P.S.) in London. The expenses of both fall heavily upon some half-dozen individuals, such enterprises, in general, “paying” only through advertisements. Students of limited means are constantly heard from, to whom literature is a necessity denied. Such a need ought to be fraternally met, and is now very inadequately met for want of sufficient funds.
These publications are not confined to purely theosophical subjects. Topics of the day will receive due attention and explanation, both from specialists and also in the light of occult teachings. It is hoped that new developments will take place in all departments of Thought, and that people of all opinions will receive a fresh impetus, and enlargement, whether in Christian Science, in Spiritualism, in Dynamics, in Mesmerism, etc., and in Spiritual Truth, which underlies all the rest.
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To this end the support of all thoughtful persons (whether theosophists or not) is needed. This being the age of Investigation and Co-operation, we hope they will be glad to aid in this liberal movement by contributing to a Fund to be wholly devoted to such purposes. Only the minimum of help is asked from each person. In this way, none need be debarred from giving for the enlightenment of Humanity. If all will aid in this scheme (not original with us), a fund will be raised with little trouble.
Each person receiving this paper is asked to make two (2) copies of it, putting the next number higher, and the same letter at the top of each copy, and to send each to a friend, at the same time mailing the paper received to Mrs. J. C. Ver-Planck, Wayne, Delaware Co., Penn., with ten cents in stamps enclosed. The two friends are asked to go through the same process with as little delay as possible.
Anyone declining this small aid is requested to send the paper received back to Mrs. Ver-Planck at once, for this is the only way she has of knowing that the chain is broken: though it only means ten cents and a little trouble to each person, yet any break in the chain will involve serious loss to the Fund.
Endorsements of the scheme will be found in The Path and Lucifer.
Wayne, Del. Co., Pa. Sep. 1888.
Editors’ Note. – This scheme deserves the careful attention of all who are anxious to serve theosophy. Too many people, who profess an interest in theosophy, are inclined to call upon others to make bricks without straw. Therefore this suggestion has the hearty approval of the Editors.
Sunshine and melody follow the rain – |
| New York “Echo.” |
The Esoteric Section of the Theosophical Society
H. S. Olcott; H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 176
No. 15 – November 1888
Is Theosophy a Religion?
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 177-187
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Notice
With the December Number of Lucifer will commence the publication of a Serial Story entitled “The Speaking Image of Ooroor,” by Dr. Franz Hartmann, Author of “Paracelsus,” “Magic White and Black,” “Jehoshua,” etc., etc. To those acquainted with this gifted and versatile writer, further recommendation of his new story is unnecessary.
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I stand and wait on this wind-smitten shore, |
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E’en as I spoke a strong, fierce wind sprang high, |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
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The Function of Attention in Personal Development
TRUE study of any branch of knowledge consists in giving the matter of that branch such repetitions of attentive consideration that it at length becomes an integral part of the domain of the consciousness, and can at any time, under any correlated stimulus, be made use of by automatic mental action.
True Study of an Art consists, primarily, in the attentive repetitions of the action of the physiological organs, involved in the productions of that Art, until that action becomes automatic, and is as well and so naturally performed as any original reflex physiological function.
In these definitions the word qualifying the necessary processes is the adjective attentive, denoting the presence of attention in the operation. Without this word the definitions would not merely be imperfect, they would be essentially incorrect and misleading.
Only in the quality of being attentive can the reiterated consideration and the reiterated action, respectively, result in the possession, on the one hand, of a new realm of knowledge, or, on the other hand, of a new area of power.
What is the nature and manner of expression of this supreme quality Attention?
An appreciative intellectual grasp of the answer to this question and a realisation of the function of its subject in the processes of human personal evolution, should be recognised as fundamental elements in the knowledge and understanding of the true educationist, be he teacher or not.
The word Attention is used largely, but loosely, in educational employments, yet we have no other word with which, habitually, to express that attitude of the consciousness which, in any study or acquisition of power, is absolutely and continuously demanded, in order to ensure intrinsic results. The term concentration is more literally correct in this relation, but concentration has, with most persons, too limited and too special an application to render it available for ordinary use instead of Attention.
Yet the Attention we are discussing, the attention of all knowledge-acquiring processes, may perhaps be better understood and realized if it is regarded as Concentrated Attention.
Attention is that condition or attitude of consciousness in which its rays are steadily and unintermittently centred upon the thing being done or the subject of study. This may be presented to the consciousness
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by one or more of the special senses, or it may already be a content of the mind; the special element in the attitude being the intentness with which the consciousness operates. This intentness of gaze must proceed to such a degree that all other sensible or mental objects, except the one, become excluded from its range.
In the effort to do this – to maintain concentrated attention, the Will of the individual is brought into play, and its function in the process may be compared to that played by a burning-glass held between the sun and the surface of an object. If it is intended that the sun’s rays shall produce, through the burning-glass, a definite and observable effect, the glass must be held in such a relation to the object that the rays of light converge upon one spot. This spot, or focus, then receives the whole force of the rays that pass through the glass; it alone, of all the surrounding surface, is brought out into relief and operated upon. In like manner the Will, in sustaining attention, focuses the rays of the consciousness, with all their inherent dynamic forces, upon one circumscribed area, physiological, mental, or moral, as the case may be, wherein lies the work to be done.
Thus we see that Attention is intentness of Mental Vision, concentrated and maintained by action of the Will. It is not a separate function or property of the mind, like perception, imagination, reason, &c., as some psychologists might lead us to suppose, but a mode of action, – the true mode of the Will’s action. In other words it is the definite, efficient expression of the Volition or Will-force of the individual.
The functions perception, conception, imagination, &c., are instruments of the Ego for operating upon the phenomenal world and upon mental appropriations of that world; when one or more of these thus operates with all its force, undiverted from its employment by any surrounding object, then Attention is exhibited.
Will is the manifestation or action of the real human Ego; Attention designates the mode in which that manifestation is functionally exhibited, and by which alone permanent results are produced.
In relation to the psychological realm in which Attention is a feature, we may formulate the following scheme. This scheme may serve to make the general bearings of the subject clearer and to more definitely indicate the part played by Attention in all psychological phenomena.
| The source of mental movement arises in | Emotion | = | the desire to know. |
| The direction of the movement lies with | Reason | = | how and what to know. |
| The machinery of the movement is provided by | The mental activities (Perception, etc.) |
= | the means by which the knowledge is gained. |
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| The maintaining force of the movement resides in the | Will (the Energy of the Ego). |
= | the mode by which continuity of operation is ensured. |
The efficient relation of the two last groups of factors to each other, and their joint relation to the object under study, are expressed by our term Attention. The Will holds the mental activities employed rigidly and persistently to their work.
The Ego, through Volition, can only establish relations with objects external to itself through the mental activities, Perception, Conception, Judgment, Imagination, &c., and to effect this, the latter must be maintained in operation in a direct line between the Ego, represented by Volition, and the object to be studied; just as the gun of the sportsman must be held with exact precision longitudinally between his eye and the object he desires to hit. If the gun be allowed to deviate in the least degree from the exact line of vision, the sportsman misses his object, so, also, if Perception, or Conception, or Judgment, or Imagination, whichever of these activities or faculties is in use, is permitted to lose its direct bearing upon the work in hand absolute failure of purpose ensues. In this illustration the steady maintenance of the gun in precise position is a parallel to the psychological action of Attention.
When we grasp the full bearing of the truths here pointed out, we cannot fail to perceive the significant relation which the mental attitude of Attention holds to all educational processes and employments, nor can we assign it too prominent a position in laying down true and efficient methods of culture. Let Volition, the Mental Activities, the Light of Reason, the Physiological System of nerves and muscles, and vast mines of possible knowledge, all be provided; what intrinsic and permanent result can be accomplished amongst them if the manner in which they are used does not include Attention?
Modern Education fails, as evident to all thoughtful observers of human life, very largely because of its neglect to maintain this essential factor of personal evolution in its due place. The desultoriness, aimlessness and mental commonplaceness of the general adult life around us, spring from this omission.
Modern Education, in its multitude of subjects, in its haste in passing from one subject to another, and in its lack of precise aim, exhibits desultoriness in employment of time and faculty.
Desultoriness is the antithesis of Systematic Attention.
Modern Education rules over an area from which nothing new arises as the fruit of its fostering care, it brings no new thing into being from out its world of chaos.
This results from its desultoriness of method and action.
The Human Will is, however, a natural creator when it operates through Concentrated Attention, but education fails in its true mission as a stimulus
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and guide to individual creative force, because of this unreasonable neglect of a fundamental principle.
Every area of acquired skill is a new creation; it has a real, patent existence and is an object of possession and use in the world of human life, which did not exist previous to its evolution by the personal Will operating through the mental activities upon a physiological chaos.
To prevent possible confusion of thought in tracing out the subject, it may be remarked here that there is a mental attitude to which the term, Attention is commonly applied. This may be termed Passive Attention.
Passive Attention rules the consciousness when one listens to an eloquent speech or interesting lecture.
In such instances the Will is in abeyance, the consciousness being probably held entranced by forces which the Occultist might term Mantramic.
Passive attention also rules when the mind follows an absorbing train of thought. But this form is not that demanded for personal growth; educationally it is of slight value and without necessary relation to our subject.
Attention plays its necessary part in each one of the realms or planes of life to which the human individual belongs: –
1. On the physical plane; – in the physiological realm of the special senses and the nervous and muscular systems. Conscious action under its rule in this realm results in skill, the basis not only of all art and artistic performance, but of every nicely adapted movement of the human limbs and frame for practical purpose or for the display of agility and gracefulness.
2. On the mental plane; – in the psychological realm of concepts comparisons, judgments, deductions, speculations and ideals. On this plane intellectual energy under the control of Attention, creates logical systematic and consecutive forms of thought, true panoramic fields of vision out of detached intellectual details, and new emotional forms of power and beauty.
3. On the moral plane; – in the spiritual realm of supreme truths, vital principles, gropings after the Infinite, the laws of human relationships, and the application of all these to the entire conduct of the personal life. In this supreme area the moral sentiments and spiritual aspirations after perfection of life, concentrate their attention upon definite details of personal thought and behaviour, the production of grace of spirit, reliability of disposition, agreement of conduct with principle, altruism in all its effective forms, and the development of a personal influence ever tending towards the evolution of a vitalizing social harmony.
In the evolution of personal life, when the object of its action is an area or detail of any one of these realms, Attention may be termed
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specific, and when the control of the adopted purpose of existence as a whole is maintained through its means, establishing an efficient and well-ordered unity amongst the many divisions and details of that purpose, then we may designate Attention as supreme.
“Genius” has been defined as “an infinite capacity for taking pains.” The expression “taking pains” is merely a synonym for “close attention to minute details.” “Close attention to details” takes each brick of which the “mansion for all lovely forms,” – the structure of personal knowledge, capacity and ability, is to be built, and carefully places it in its due position, cementing it there at once. The structure so put together is substantial, capacious, beautiful, and efficient.
This structure, the result of infinite pains long continued, is that which the world wonders at and worships and calls Genius. Nearly all men, if first guided and supported along the toilsome track and afterwards urged along it by pressure of their own Wills, might develop some form of power and skill which would elevate them considerably towards that height from which Genius looks down, and thus render the ordinary world much less commonplace, monotonous and unskilful than it is at present. To sum up: –
Concentrated Attention is the expression of the Will, and Will is the central, animating force proceeding from the Ego. Will, operating under the condition of Attention upon the chaos of its attendant world, and co-ordinating the energies, forces and movements of that world, converts it into a realm of form, power, and purpose, centreing around the Ego.
This constitutes Personal Evolution resulting at length in a perfected Individuality, the creation of its own Will.
I.
What is our life? ... A beetling precipice |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
Accursed!
Vera Jelihovsky · pp. 195-204
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The vision of Christ that thou dost see |
| William Blake’s “Poetical Works,” Aldine Edition, p. 144. |
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A Buddhist Prince's View of the Universe and the Nature of Man
BROTHERS, allow me to converse with you about my own conviction relating to the Universe and the Nature of Man, or rather about what I understand from the truths taught by our beloved, merciful and omniscient Lord Buddha, to whom we all owe our morality in present lives, and our destiny in future.
The Lord taught us that all things, both known and unknown, are without exception, subject to the law of impermanency or changeableness; and that man’s cause of re-birth is no other than his own ignorance of nature, together with his good or evil actions in life, which will make him reap sweet or sour fruit in his future existence. What the Lord has taught us is, that what will remain permanent and everlasting are Akasa and Nirvana.
The former means the Universe, which I understand to comprise all matter, force, and space; and if this idea be correct, of course, all the heavenly bodies are also included in this term. This Akasa (or Universe) although it is self-existing, absolute, infinite, universal, and perfect, without beginning and without end, is yet subject to the immutable law of changes.[31] According to my own opinion, I think that all the heavenly bodies are but the inhabitants of infinite space; just in the same manner as we, ourselves, are the inhabitants of this earth. The difference, I suppose, being only in the scale of construction and perfection both physically and psychically. If this belief is reasonable, I then infer that the heavenly bodies are born in something the same manner as ourselves: that is, by virtue of existing species. The factor of this virtue is, I understand, the force of attraction inherent in the molecules of matter, either dormant or active; because we all know that we move, work, and do all actions by the forces which are inherent in our bodies; and not by the mere lifeless matter which constitutes our physical systems.
This important idea being understood, I will go on further to suppose that if this solar system of ours, which includes the sun, the moon, and planets, were to be destroyed, or die out by efflux of time, the matter which constitutes their bodies will naturally decay and be turned into elements, while their forces become dormant; just as in the case with ourselves, our bodies when we die will be turned into the elements out of
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which we are made. When such an event occurs, according to my own conviction, all the other systems of heavenly bodies existing in space, will naturally, by virtue of their affinities to this system, form out of the molecules of matter and dormant forces a new system to supply the vacancy. And this process, of course, is done entirely by mutual attractions or forces.[32]
Now we come to the vegetable and animal kingdoms, and to these again I suppose that the same law applies that, by virtue of the living species, new beings are made up by the attractions of their affinities from the remains of those which have died long before.[33] Thus from heavenly bodies down to animals and vegetables, the same principle of reproduction is going on round and round without end. When one has lived long enough and died or changed away the substance of its body, by virtue of the forces or attractions of the rest, the dead one or the changed matter and dormant force is brought to life again; and so on the existence is kept up by mutual dependence. But in such a process of reproduction or of attraction, we must not forget that, in the course of time the forms and properties of all bodies, both heavenly and earthly, are undergoing a series of unknowable changes. Now I will pass from materialism into the abstract, and in doing so, I must summarize what I have before mentioned – when I say there are forces or attractions inherent in all matter or molecules of matter either dormant or active I also say that we move, work, and do all our actions by the forces that are inherent in our bodies, and not by the mere lifeless matter which constitutes our physical bodies. By this conviction we can, therefore, plainly see that the important factors in all bodies are only their forces or attractions while physical matter is but of secondary importance.
Let me now proceed further to a more complex and critical part of nature than that regarding which we have spoken – that is to say, the soul of man and his succession of re-births. The soul is conceived by many people as an immortal entity in man, which governs his body in life; but how at his death it leaves him, either to be re-born or to live with an imaginary god, is beyond my comprehension. What I call a soul is nothing but the active force or attraction in man which, when he dies, must die with him.[34]
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Reader, because of my thinking thus: – I hope you will not take me for an unbeliever in the verified laws of re-birth and of Karma, but hear me patiently, and you will see that I am a true Buddhist. I believe that our souls in this life are but the results of attractions or volitions created through ignorance of nature, by dead men at the time they were dying, and not the souls of the dead that are within our bodies. In short, I believe that we are but the images or representatives of their good or evil characters during life, taken by a process of natural photography. If this belief can be granted as being reasonable, I infer further that the power of volition or attraction in man is as inconceivably great as that in nature itself, that is to say, man has power to exercise mentally, more or less, his attraction over the forces of beings; that he can form out of such forces any imaginary picture of his thoughts, or put them in motion in somewhat the same manner as he does physical objects. But so long as he lives, the pictures of his thought, or the forces that he has put into motion, will be imperfect, so that they cannot take a re-birth.
This is owing to the exercise of volition being not exhaustive, or to his neutralizing it by turning his attention to other matters. The process, however, takes place very decidedly and effectually at the time he is dying, no matter whether he is sensible or not – his mere habits being quite sufficient for the work. In proof of this fact the modern science of mesmerism stands as witness. Although I am not personally acquainted with this science, yet I sincerely believe that it is an undoubted fact. Now, taking for granted my conviction is correct, I may explain further how a dying man takes his re-birth. I believe that in the case of an ordinary man, i.e., a man who is full of passions and inclinations it may be for this earthly life, to continue his existence, or it may be to cease for ever from existence; in short, who has all kinds of yearning desires which assert his psychical force or volition at the time he is dying, perhaps so strongly that they form an exact picture of his thought in the molecules of dormant forces of long dead beings that may be present in the air, and the once dead spirit, thus coming into motion again, is taken up, in obedience to the law of force, by a living person who possesses a similar disposition to the dying man himself.
To speak briefly, I believe that the dying man asserts his volition or transmits the picture of his good or bad character to the spirit or dormant force of long dead beings, and when the latter becomes thus charged with motion, it is taken up by the attraction of a living person. As a comparison for illustration, when an artist paints his own likeness, the materials which he uses for colours are not made from material parts of his body, but from ordinary materials outside; so the process of re-birth is effected by a dying man through the assertion of his thinking habits; from the elements outside; just as the phonograph is effected by the motions of the voice. The process of re-birth, however,
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takes place at death only, because then the exertion of physical thought, being exhaustive, is quite fixed for ever, and the connecting links of active attraction cease to generate from the body. Just as if the earth’s attraction ceased, the moon, its attending satellite, must inevitably be displaced from its course.
Thus goes on the great wheel of Sansara, without beginning and without end, until one is wise enough, and has acquired in his habits the non-inclination to put to motion, or to assert his psychical image on the element or dormant spirits of long dead beings, when he is completely free from that whirling wheel of nature, and attains the blessed state of Nirvana, the only everlasting abode of happiness in subjective existence. This explanation will be found to agree with the teachings of our enlightened Lord Buddha, particularly in his denial of the existence of a soul, such as is generally believed to exist. And from this belief we are able to infer that there is no such soul in man as will leave him when he dies, either for the purpose of taking a re-birth, or to live with God; or that it can move of its own accord or under any influence of the laws of nature. For if there is actually a soul like this, there can never exist Nirvana. As I have already mentioned, our Lord has taught us that the only things that can exist for ever are the Akasa and Nirvana. And this Akasa, according to what I understand, must include all matter, force and space. Now if there exists an objective Nirvana[35] it must also be included in the Akasa, because the latter is including even space, and if there is Nirvana just as there is Akasa, the former must naturally be either matter or space, otherwise a moving soul cannot live in it. Now, you will see that there can be no such Nirvana in which a soul can live to enjoy an everlasting happiness, because if there be such, it must be within the Akasa, and the soul in it therefore, according to the law of changes or Karma, must inevitably take a re-birth again. The true subjective Nirvana is just the reverse of the objective Akasa, as heaven, or hell, is the reverse of our objective earth. It is true that to go to heaven or hell it requires a supposed soul or a psychical image to impress on the dormant spirits, in order that it may be taken up by the attraction of a deva or a hellish being according to circumstances; but then, heaven or hell is included in the Akasa, because the earth itself is but a speck of the Universe, and consequently the beings in it are still subject to natural changes. While in the case of Nirvana there needs no supposed soul, or any picture of thought whatever, as Nirvana itself is but nothingness, therefore it requires a free, pure, innocent soul of nothingness to live in it. If any one should ask, “If Nirvana is nothingness, what good is there in craving for it?” I must then ask the inquirer whether he really enjoys constant
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changes, or whether he likes the sorrows and sufferings attending life both physically and mentally.
This is a sufficient answer as to why wise men wish for the attainment of Nirvana.
Just a few more words about the non-existence of a soul which survives death. Suppose any one holds that there is such soul in man, I must then ask him courteously whether he knows, or can guess, out of what such a soul is evolved. The answer may probably be that it is made from matter, or force, or space, or a combination of all these, or one or two of these without the other; or perhaps that God made it out of nothing. Now the reader will see that this answer means that in course of time, a day will come when all the souls which are made out of the substances enumerated will all enter Nirvana, or else ascend to heaven somewhere outside the Universe, and no more beings will exist; nay, even all the heavenly bodies or space itself will exist no more, because then all matter or force, and even space which forms the Universe, are all used up. What will then be the aspect of the empty Universe? This is the reason why I am unable to believe that an immortal soul exists.[36]
I must now go back to the objects we call inanimate, which includes all the heavenly bodies and the whole of nature with the exception of animals. These again are, according to the law of force, subject to a nearly similar process of re-birth. The only difference is that which arises from the fact that the animate and the inanimate differ in their construction and mode of existence. To explain the process I must repeat again something of what I have said with regard to man; that the dying body asserts powerfully though ignorantly its inclinations or its attractive forces as its habit may dictate when in health, so that if in the case of a heavenly body the nebulous matter or the elements of long dead heavenly bodies become charged with action, by the aid of attractions from all other heavenly bodies, these gradually assume the form and property of the dying body, as in the case of re-birth with man, Thus goes on the process of Akasa, whirling its great wheel round and round with myriads of imaginable and unimaginable changes.
All I have said will, I hope, be found in harmony with the teachings of our enlightened Lord as well as with the belief in spiritualism,[37] mesmerism, and all other natural powers by which phenomena are produced
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by man. And you will see at a glance that there cannot exist a personal or intelligent God who is supposed to be the Guardian of the Universe, for the system of all the natures I have enumerated is so perfectly complete in itself, that by virtue of the mutual dependence of matter, force and space, the system is able to keep up its self-existence for ever, without requiring any beginning from God at all. Brothers, we also see that all things which form the Universe, from the heavenly bodies down to ourselves, are nothing different in nature, and what we glorify as a reality of happiness or what we hate as an actual sorrow in life, is in truth no other than nothingness. The worlds, stars, vegetables, animals, and all things which we take to be different, are nothing but the results of changing operations of matter, forces and space, which form the Universe.
Brothers, we now plainly see that nothing material or immaterial, either in our bodies or our minds, can be a soul that will survive death; our true souls and selves that will take re-birth are simply the good or bad actions done in life. So then, Brothers, while we are as yet but on the threshold of Nirvana, let us strive to cultivate an universal love, which will undoubtedly tend to good actions, the only tools with which we can paint our perfect likenesses at death.[38]
In conclusion, I may mention that my conjecture is in perfect harmony with the principles of nature.
1. That all natures exist in pairs, or opposites.
2. That all natures act and exist only by mutual dependence.
3. That no nature can ever produce something out of nothing.
4. That all natures act on objects in succession.
5. That all natures seek to unite with their affinities.
All these rules apply to physiology as well as psychology.
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Now, Brothers, for want of time, I must close my article here, and if you take pleasure in my conjectures or the truths that I make out, I shall very pleased to converse with you further in another article, on subjects relating to the law of Karma, heaven, hell, causes of fate and chance, and other matters of interest.
I do not intend to mislead any one by my article, but I ask you to consider it only as the statement of my own convictions in relation to the teachings of our Blessed Lord. If you will be good enough to criticize my belief I shall be exceedingly obliged.
I avail myself of the opportunity of wishing you all, Brothers, a long life, happiness and prosperity.
Chandrdhat Chudhathar,
Prince of Siam.
The day of the Cross is over! |
| Mary Frances Wight, F.T.S. |
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Was he Mad?
“The senses,” said the Professor as we were sitting over the fire one evening, “the senses are of course our only messengers from the world of existence. They five are the only travellers on whose accounts we have to rely for our information concerning the Isness of the Universe. And they five are each acquainted with a different aspect of the Universe. Just as different facts and observations impress variously different voyagers to new lands, so each of these our five messengers comes to us rendering his own peculiar version. If there had been one less of these messengers, we should have had a very different notion of things. Now the most important of the senses is of course – ”
“The sense of Sight,” I interposed.
“Certainly not,” he said. “No, the most important undoubtedly is the sense of Touch. Not only because all the senses are but modes or forms of the sensation of touch, but for other reasons. The sense of Sight is the sense of Touch awakened by the impinging of a wave of ether, just as hearing is the Touch of a wave of air. Taste and Smell too are the results of Touch in the glands and tissues and nerves of the body itself. But the importance – the super-importance of Touch is more manifest when we consider that by it we become aware of the three dimensions of matter. I am speaking of Touch in its ordinary sense now, apart from its operation in Sight, Hearing, Taste and Smell Were it possible to imagine ourselves bereft of the power of touch while retaining our other senses, we should imagine ourselves in a condition in which we could not possibly have any evidence of such a thing as we now call thickness. It would not enter into our experience, nor consequently into our imagination.”
“Stay a moment,” said I, “surely you are going a little too far. I follow you when you say it would not enter into our experience – at least, I think I follow you, though it is exceedingly difficult to clear one’s mind of this notion of the three dimensions of space, after being from the dawn of consciousness accustomed to it. It is, I say, very difficult to imagine oneself without it. You might as well try to rid your mind of the idea of time, and then conjecture what manner of ideas would then remain in the mind. It cannot be done without long and deep thought. But even granting that you are right and that all our ideas of perspective and of the trinal dimensions of matter are not due to the stereoscopic effect of our binocular vision, but that they accompany that stereoscopic effect as associations of the results of experiments in the sense of touch,
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I am still at a loss to understand how that can preclude imagination from picturing to itself so extremely simple a condition of matter as a cube – nay I can hardly think imagination could avoid falling into the idea, for space itself must needs have three dimensions – no more and no less – to fill it.”
“We had better stop there,” said the Professor, as I was just about to explain myself at further length, “as you are already slipping into a good many fallacies. Let us look at this matter a little more closely before our ideas become more complicated and therefore confused. You do not see why imagination cannot picture things which are not stored in memory by experience. This is your fundamental fallacy. A very little thought would show you clearly that imagination can only combine and arrange in fresh forms the materials which it finds in the memory. Can you imagine a colour not in the solar spectrum? Peacock-blue! Why surely all the shades of which this compound colour is made up exist in the rainbow. No; I say, tell me if you can picture in your mind a new tint altogether – a simple colour not compounded of nor resembling any tint you ever saw? You cannot? No, certainly not. Of course not. Not because there are no such colours, for it happens there are, but because there are none in your memory. A man, blind from his birth, cannot imagine either light or colour because they are not in his experience. The fact that imagination arranges and does not originate thoughts – analyses, synthesises, classifies, sub-divides, re-combines and so forth, the various materials in the storehouse of the memory, but creates them not, is well known to every beginner in philosophy – it is almost an axiomatic doctrine.”
“This is true enough,” I said, as I felt myself getting wedged into a corner, though I thought I could still see a loophole of exit. “But you cannot deny that many things have been imagined which have never had any existence in experience at all, or how could a novelist or a dramatist originate such characters as a Hamlet or a Touchstone or even a Pickwick or a Sam Weller?”
I saw the absurdity of my remark as I spoke. How often has it happened to me that the very utterance of a false argument seems to invoke the spirit of its refutation. Especially has this been the case in my talks with the Professor. Often enough when I have laid before him difficulties which I have puzzled over all my life, the solution has burst forth upon me while I spoke – like a lightning flash darting across the cloud of my doubt. I fancy it must be that the explanation is so uppermost in the Professor’s mind that its “sphere,” as he calls it, extends into my understanding even before he utters it forth in language. And on this very occasion, I felt my argument answered by a silent forerunner of the Professor’s reply.
“Surely,” he said, “these very instances that you quote are as good witnesses as could be selected for the truth of what I was just saying.
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Shakespeare and Dickens were above their fellows in these two things – that they observed better and could put their observations more aptly into language than others.”
But still I was unwilling to allow myself completely vanquished.
“But how about Shakespere’s Julius Cæsar?” I said. “You cannot pretend that he observed the doings of a man who died centuries before?”
“Why not?” replied the professor, and in a moment I again felt within me the mysterious precursor of his reproof.
“Can we not observe the dead,” he continued, “when we have their lives and actions before us in black and white? Can we not – ”
“Enough!” I cried. “You are right, and my whole interruption was uncalled for. Proceed. You were telling me, and I see it now, that but for the power of touch we should not, even in imagination, conceive of a third dimension.”
“No, we should not,” he said. “I am glad that is quite clear, because that is the fundamental statement on which rests all that I am about to remark. If, indeed, some one among us, or some man in past times, or some being of superior intelligence, were to give us an account of a third dimension of space, which with our four senses (supposing we had only four) we could not of ourselves have discovered, we should still find ourselves unable to attach any very clear meaning to his words. We should but be like men, blind from their birth, listening to an account of the wonders of light. We could take it on faith, and if we had reasons for giving credit to the revealer of this unknown and unimaginable dimension of matter, we should probably do well to trust him for this declaration of a third dimension, although we should not be able to understand. It would be faith – not knowledge. Now what I want to arrive at is this: – If the addition of one sense provides us with such a different aspect of the whole universe, is it not a little more than probable that, were yet another superimposed upon the five, we should have an altogether fresh view compared with which the cube itself would be but a superficies?”
“Now,” said I, “you are beyond my depth. That is a thing I cannot at all comprehend. The cube fills up all space as it seems to me, and compare it with what you will, it cannot appear to be a superficies.”
“I see,” he remarked, in a tone of evident disappointment, “that you have missed the purport of all that I have been trying to say.”
He was wrong, for I saw more than I pretended to see. But I disliked metaphysical theories about a possible fourth dimension, and did not wish to drift off into surmisings about the Unknowable, a course which has always seemed to me unscientific and unprogressive.
“How can I put it to you in a clearer light?” he added presently, after pausing for a while and looking intently into the fire. “Look here,” he
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exclaimed, as though he had suddenly found the key to my understanding “Do you believe that there is a Spiritual World?”
“Yes,” I said slowly, wondering into what corner this admission would drive me. “Yes, I don’t think physical phenomena are at all explicable without some sort of postulated metaphysical.”
“Good expression,” he said in a satisfied way, which made me think I had really said a clever thing. “You think,” he continued, “that a spiritual world exists, but of its nature you know nothing.”
“Exactly,” I answered.
“Well, what is the difference between believing in a spiritual world – a postulated metaphysical, as you neatly express it – and in believing that the three dimensions are not the all in all of being.”
I paused, feeling confused and uncertain and hardly knowing where we were. “Do you mean,” I said hesitatingly, “that a spiritual world and a fourth dimension are identical?”
“Why not?” asked the Professor, with extraordinary emphasis and earnestness.
“What a strange fancy!” I said, “but it pleases me, I must confess; and though the idea is so new to me that I cannot on the moment pronounce any definite opinion upon it, yet certainly I think I have never heard any theory of spiritual existence that seems more possible and more reasonable. The notion is nevertheless enshrouded in vague clouds of doubt which prevent me from accepting it at once, but it is full of suggestions of its own truth.”
“Think it over,” said the Professor, looking at me steadfastly as he rose to take his departure, “and if when I next call you are confirmed in the opinion, I shall make you my confident for strange disclosures,” and with a firm grasp of the hand he bade me good night and left.
For more than an hour after he departed, I sat over the dying embers of the fire reflecting deeply upon this singular idea; and the more I thought it out the more reasonable and the more possible it appeared, and something made me feel it must be true.
It was two weeks before the Professor and I again found an occasion for a quiet chat alone, though we met once a few days after at the house of a friend. It was a singular fact, which I had often noted with surprise, that the Professor would never enter into a philosophic vein of talk except when we were alone together. We frequently met socially, but no matter how small and select the circle, he would never rise above the most common-place conversation in the presence of a third person.
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Indeed, he would always appear a man with very little to say for himself, for it was his maxim that people should argue on general matters only occasionally, on political matters very rarely, and on religious matters never. So that with these three channels of converse barred, and philosophy vanished, there was little opportunity left for him to show the real depth and fertility of his intellectual nature. If anyone introduced any abstruse subject, he would promptly and skilfully turn the drift of conversation, and edge off the deeper question as though it were something too sacred to be allowed in the social circle. To me, of course, who knew him more intimately, he was a very different being; in fact, I might say I knew, or seemed to know two Professors – one the learned metaphysician, and the other the easy-going, inoffensive sine quâ non of certain dinner-parties. I once asked him – the metaphysical one, I mean of course – why he kept up this dual nature, and allowed himself to be so needlessly under-estimated by all except myself.
“I have a purpose to serve,” he answered, “in making you my Elisha, and the real fact is that I have no special desire for unnecessary confinement in a mad-house, which might be my lot were I to say publicly some things that I know. Of course, I might guard my most advanced and difficult utterances, but when certain mysteries are daily present to me, it is not easy in speaking of them, to keep within bounds, and I should run the risk of my supposed insanity being certified by the infallible decrees of orthodox medical science. Even if I were not actually made to suffer physical restraint, there is little doubt I should be branded as a harmless lunatic, a consummation I naturally object to, not only personally, but because it would be a serious blow to my mission in the world.”
This reply it was that first roused my suspicions, not, indeed, as to the Professor’s sanity, for I knew him too well not to be fully convinced that his mental faculties were of the highest order, but as to what his “mission” might be, and I began to fancy he had some discovery or secret with which he was thinking of entrusting me. And I was not altogether wrong.
On the 7th of November, 1886, just a fortnight after the conversation narrated in the first chapter, I was again with him alone, sitting as before over my fire. It was about eleven o’clock at night, and after a rather dreary pause, he again referred to his anxiety that the world should not be permitted to ridicule and misjudge his advanced notions.
“Now, candidly,” he said, “what do you yourself suppose an ordinary business man would think of such a conversation as our’s of about a fortnight ago?”
“I should expect him to smile, and put us down as two rather overinoculated patients of M. Pasteur,” I said.
“Good,” answered he, laughing. “That is to say, they would suppose that we had taken into our systems such a lot of his hellish virus that we had gone stark, staring mad.”
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“That puts it more plainly still,” said I. “We should no doubt be reckoned mad – harmless madmen. In fact, it was but the other day I was speaking to a friend of mine – one of the shrewdest men I know, and he began talking about the very matter that we were speaking of – a a possible fourth dimension of space. How such a subject crept up in our conversation I forget, but I know his remark was that he always considered that a man who could believe in such damned nonsense as that must have a tile loose.”
The Professor turned impatiently in his chair, and gave the fire a vigorous and vindictive dig with the poker.
“The shrewdest man you know!” he exclaimed sarcastically. “And you – what did you say to this shrewdest man?”
“Well, I hardly knew what I ought to say. I could not find courage to confess that I was at least half a believer in this very folly that he was deriding. Moreover, I felt that I knew so little about the matter that I certainly could not give any lucid reason for the half-faith that I held; and therefore, though I blush to say it, I gave way to a strong temptation which beset me to change the subject, and no doubt my friend believes at this moment that I have as much contempt as he for such wild notions.”
“There is no need to blush because you carried out the scriptural precept not to cast your pearls before swine,” said the Professor. “Your shrewd man was not the kind of man to be able to comprehend the possibility of anything existing which could not be made manifest to his five senses. Because his five fingers each touched one point of the great universe, there was no room for a sixth point. That would be his style of logic! What end, then, could be served by talking to such a man of things which were as far beyond the scope of his mind as heaven is above earth. Your silence was commendable. But enough of him. Let us now have a little serious talk. I have some remarkable disclosures to make to you if I find you in a due state of receptivity – as I have reason to suppose I shall find.”
What could he mean, I wondered.
Presently he went on: “I have made up my mind,” he said, “to show you some very wonderful experiments which I cannot demonstrate to the world at large, simply because, like your ‘shrewd’ friend, people would only think me mad, and would not believe even if I showed them the experiments before their own eyes. For the generality of men do not believe a thing because it is shown to be true, unless it is ‘orthodox’ – unless ‘any of the rulers’ have believed in it, and, above all, unless it is what they want to believe. But first of all you must make up your mind that nothing which I am about to show you shall alarm you, however strange and unusual it may be. And now look here . . . .”
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Letters on Magic and Alchemy
THE term “occult” is applied to certain things which are beyond the power of being perceived by the external physical senses and which can be known only in a higher than the ordinary state of consciousness. To those who are able to enter that superior consciousness in which the spiritual faculties are opened, these things will cease to be “occult”; but to those who are deficient in that power, and especially to those who deny the possibility of any higher perceptive faculty than that of the external senses, the inner mysteries of Nature will be incomprehensible, and the reading of books on metaphysics and occultism will perhaps have no other effect than to disorder their imagination. The inner mysteries of the “Temple” cannot be unveiled; it is the observer himself who must remove the veil that hangs before his eyes; there is no other key to the understanding of Nature than the power of understanding itself.
Logical argumentation and inductive or deductive reasoning are good enough as far as they go, but they are only crutches for those who cannot walk on their own legs; they are means by which those who cannot see certain things may form a more or less correct opinion as to how these things would look if they were able to see them; they are the aids of speculative science, but they do not convey real knowledge, for real knowledge is the direct perception and understanding of a truth as it is and not merely as what it is said or imagined to be.
Real knowledge is therefore not obtained by mere theoretical speculation but it is the result of experience, and as a person without well-developed external senses can have only an incomplete experience in regard to external and sensual things; likewise he who is unconscious of the things of the spirit can have no real knowledge of spiritual truths; nor can he who is in possession of real self-knowledge communicate it to another who has no such experience; for however true a thing may be to him who knows, it will be only a matter of opinion or belief to those who have not had the same kind of experience.
It is therefore exceedingly difficult to speak in a comprehensive manner about things in regard to which the majority of mankind have only very vague opinions, and even the terms which must be employed to express thoughts on occult subjects differ widely in their meaning according to the intellectual or spiritual standpoint of the reader. No sooner is a new term applied to signify some spiritual power, it is immediately travestied and misapplied to external things by those who have not the least conception that such powers exist. Thus the word
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“Faith,” which originally meant “spiritual knowledge,” is now universally misapplied for “belief” or “creed”; “attraction” is called “love,” while, in fact, it is only the reaction of love; “begging,” i.e. the requests for the gratification of selfish desires, is called “prayer,” which in its true sense means the aspiration of the soul for the highest, implying entire forgetting of self; “magic,” or the exercise of spiritual powers for a wise purpose, is misnamed “witchcraft,” &c., &c.
Terms are misleading unless they are properly understood, and to avoid as much as possible such an unfortunate misunderstanding, it will be necessary to preface the following articles by giving an exact definition of some of the terms used therein:
God. – The infinite, unlimited, unconditioned, omnipresent and unmanifested Absolute; the intellectually incomprehensible, fundamental and universal Cause of all that exists, in which all exists and in which we all are, and live, and have our being.
Substance. – The universal invisible essence of which all visible and invisible forms are made; whether in its transcendental aspect as “Mind-substance” or the matter which gives shape to thoughts; or in its more gross, dense and material aspect, where its outward appearance becomes manifest to the external senses and in which state it is usually called “Matter.”
Power. – A state of Substance in which it manifests activity. This activity may manifest itself in various forms and on various planes of existence. It may act without or with relative consciousness. As there is only one fundamental Substance, there is only one fundamental Power, and the two are only two aspects or modes of manifestation of the eternal unmanifested One called God.
Will. – The fundamental and original Power from which all other forces and activities in the universe spring. Every imaginable power or force, from relatively unconscious motion up to self-conscious spiritual love, is therefore nothing else but a certain mode of manifestation of Will, and all the different terms applied to these forces, such as “life,” “light,” “sound,” “electricity,” “heat,” &c., merely signify the various aspects and modes of manifestation of that one fundamental power called the Will; in the same sense as all imaginable substances, from relatively unconscious granite rock up to self-conscious spirit forms, are only various shapes of one fundamental original substance which assumes various qualities in its various forms of manifestation, according to the nature of its internally acting Will.
Imagination. – The creative power of Deity, acting in Nature as a whole, or in individual beings, which governs the construction of form according to a certain pre-conceived plan or pre-existing idea. The Imagination like the Will, may act with or without relative consciousness, and be exercised with or without any voluntary conscious effort. The growth of a tree is the result of the image of the future tree existing
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unconsciously within the imagination of the seed, and being gradually rendered objective by the internally acting and relatively unconscious will having been stimulated into action by influences coming from external surroundings. There are many things existing in man’s imagination; but he is not conscious of all of them at one given moment of time.
Thought. – The exercise of the power by which the images in the mind come to the consciousness of the latter. Man creates no ideas; he merely grasps the ideas which are already existing and whose images are reflected in his mind as in a mirror, and by the act of thinking he combines or resolves them and puts them into new shapes. The lower animals perceive only the images which are reflected in their minds without any effort on their part; but man has the power to rise by his will into the higher region of ideas, and to select and grasp ideas according to his choice.
Spirit. – Will and Imagination united into one, and acting undividedly in the same direction and for the same purpose. The will, by identifying itself with a thought, invests the latter with a spiritual power; the imagination uniting itself with the will guides the latter, and thus a spiritual and self-conscious power may be made to act as far as thought can travel, or as far as the will can reach.
Consciousness. – Certain states, resulting from the action of the Will upon the Imagination. There can be no absolute unconsciousness in the universe, for all things are the products of an activity which is eternal and therefore self-existent and self-conscious, even if it is without any relative consciousness in regard to any existing form. External things may come to man’s external consciousness by means of his external perceptions; but spiritual and “invisible” things come to his inner consciousness by means of the emotions and sensations produced within the sphere of his Mind.
Ether. – The universal but invisible element of “Matter” in its aspect as non-molecular substance.
It seems almost unnecessary to reiterate the statement that all the above explained terms are not intended to represent these things as being essentially different from each other; they only refer to different aspects or forms of manifestation of the eternal One for which there is no name and no definition. He who spiritually knows of the One will find the doctrines of Occultism easy enough to be understood; he who is incapable to spiritually recognize the Unity of the All, will get lost in the labyrinth of the multiplicity of external phenomena, and however experienced and learned he may be in the classification of such phenomena and in giving to them the names adopted by science, he will necessarily remain ignorant of the Cause of all things, without the knowledge of which nothing can truly be known. Therefore the ancient Rosicrucians said that he who knows many things knows very little, while he who knows only One – knows all.
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The requirements of human language have made it necessary to give separate names to the various kinds of manifestations produced by the absolute One, and from this circumstance arises the illusion which makes it appear in the eyes of the ignorant as if these things were different from each other, not merely in their external appearance but in their essential nature. If we were permitted to speak correctly we would have to say in speaking of a Man, a Horse, a Stone: That of which we intellectually know nothing, and for which we have no appropriate name, having manifested itself to our external consciousness in the form of what we have chosen to call a “man,” a “horse,” a “stone,” &c. Instead of speaking about Life, Light, Sound, &c., we would perhaps have to say: “Those vibrations of the universal Ether of Space, which are invisible and intangible to our senses, but which, by acting upon certain media and under certain conditions, produce within our external consciousness the phenomena which we call “life,” “light,” “sound,” etc. Such a roundabout way of speaking would be more philosophical: but it is doubtful whether it would be more comprehensible and practicable for use. Language is, after all, only an aid and not a substitute for the exchange of thought. Minds who are in harmony with each other will have no great difficulty in understanding each others thoughts, even without the use of a great many words, while those who are in disharmony with each other will only increase their misunderstanding by using a great many words. External language like any other external thing, can only be relatively true; absolute truth is self-evident to those who can see it, and requires no human testimony or certificates. Every assertion requiring logical proof is therefore true or false according to the aspect under which the object is seen; a circle seen from the plane in which it exists, is only a straight line with two ends and a middle part; seen from above or below it is a circle without any end; looked at sideways, it is an ellipsoid and if one half of it is invisible it may appear to be a parabole. All external science, however true it may be in one way, is false in another, and all dogmatic assertions prove nothing but the vanity of him from whom they originate; for there is no one who knows absolute Truth except He who is Himself the Life, the Way and the Truth, the self-conscious divine Spirit in Man.
Under such circumstances it would perhaps be wisest to be silent and to say nothing at all, and if we nevertheless attempt to speak about things belonging to the interior realm of Nature, it is not for the purpose that our views should be regarded as being intended to give any new revelations; but merely as furnishing food for thought and as an aid by which the Truth which exists within the inner consciousness of the reader may come nearer to his intellectual understanding. To those who have already found the truth, we have nothing to say.
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A GREAT deal has been written about the question: “What is Matter and what is Mind?” Scientific and philosophical dissertations have been written without very much elucidating the subject, the usual answer having resulted in: “Mind is no matter, and matter never mind.” Nevertheless, the answer seems plain; for “Matter” and “Mind” are undoubtedly two terms signifying two different aspects or modes of motion of the eternal One. This truth is clear to the spiritual perception of those who can see with the eye of Reason, and they require no further proof; but even to those who are accustomed to reason only from the plane of external observation, the Unity of the All and the consequent identity of Matter and Mind is a fact which gradually forces itself upon their scientific attention.
The scientific and religious world seems to be gradually rising out of the profundity of its ignorance. Some 288 years ago Giordano Bruno was burned alive as a heretic for having proclaimed the fact that there is only one God and consequently only one Substance in the universe, and now the same truth is believed in by some of the greatest luminaries of science. Professor Suess, in his inaugural address as rector magnificus of the university of Vienna in 1888, publicly expressed his belief in the Unity of the All, even in the stronghold of Roman Catholicism, without being burned or even challenged by the followers of orthodoxy. Having called the attention of his hearers to the newest discoveries of science made by means of the spectroscope, by which the identity of material substances existing upon the various planets and stars is proved, and having mentioned the important discoveries of Mendelejeff, which go to show that there is a scale of harmony of chemical substances resembling that of colour and sound, he spoke the following memorable words:
“As the dawn precedes the sunrise, likewise all great discoveries are preceded by a foreboding of their coming. To-day the Unity of all Substance is instinctively felt to be a truth, but the united labour of all nations will soon discover the way to prove it intellectually to be so.”
This old and nevertheless ever new truth that the All is only One, and that the great variety of forms in Nature is merely a variety of forms and not of essential being, is the fundamental basis in the pursuit of occult study. It begins to be universally recognised, and yet its full importance is seen only by few. It is the most sublime idea which can be grasped by the human mind, and the consequences of its recognition reach far beyond the limits of time into Infinity. Cornelius Agrippa says:
“The One completely penetrates every other number; it is the common measure, the foundation and origin of all numbers. It is unchangeable and excludes multiplicity. Multiplied with itself it is its own product; it cannot be divided into parts but every division produces
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a multiplication, i.e., it produces units, of which none is larger or smaller than the original unit and of which every part is the whole. It is the beginning and end of all things, but it has itself neither a beginning nor an end. All things originate from the One, and all tends towards unity in the end; all that exists finds its true being in the One, and those who seek for salvation in the One must get rid of their multiplicity and return to the One.”
There can only be one Love, one Life, one Power, one Wisdom, one Truth, one Substance, one God, although each of them may become manifest in an endless number of forms, and all these terms merely represent various aspects of the One, whose name consists of one letter.
The One is self existent and self sufficient, and therefore eternal and not subject to change. It will forever be intellectually incomprehensible, because the intellect is only one of the many forms of its manifestations and a part cannot comprehend the whole. A scientific examination can therefore have nothing to do with qualities of the absolute One, it can only deal with its manifestations. As soon as the One begins to manifest itself, it steps out of the sphere of pure being and a duality comes into existence. Formerly it was only Cause; now it is Cause and Effect and as every Action produces a Reaction, it becomes at once a Trinity of Cause, Action and Reaction the incomprehensible mathematical point; extending in three dimensions, assumes the aspect of a triangle constituted of Matter and Motion and Space.
Space represents Causality, it is unchangeable; Matter and Motion manifest themselves in a great many ways. There are forms of matter or Substance in the mineral, vegetable and animal Kingdoms; there are substantial forms in the realm of the Elementals and in the Kingdom of gods. There are forms of Motion, from unconscious motion up to conscious thought, and still higher up to the action of the self-conscious Spirit; but Space remains always the same, and there can be no other but a three-dimensional Space; for “Space” represents Form, and Three is the number of Form. A form with more or less than three dimensions is unthinkable, and can have no existence for us.
To recapitulate, we have therefore the Unity of the Cause; the Duality of the form of its manifestation, and the Trinity of the Effect. Within the eternal absolute One, Matter and Motion, Will and Ideation are one; but as soon as they manifest themselves they appear as a duality, producing a trinity, the child, in which the qualities of the Father and Mother find their united representation.
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Wagner's Gospel
WHAT a grand example Nature yields to the artist, the scientist, and the workman! She is never satisfied with her work, but continually varies the detail, and alters the type, lest by any chance there should exist better means to a given end than she has yet made manifest. She is continually trying experiments; here an extra petal, there a crimson spot; here a longer hair, there a shorter ear; here she broadens the curve of a bay, there she develops a strip of low-lying land; here she builds up a mountain, there she lowers a precipice; and, over all this practical work, she throws the artistic glamour – the sculptor’s grace of outline, the painter’s sweetness of color – and with her mighty hands draws music from everything; from the waves as they fret the shore, from the clouds as they fall in rippling showers, from the rhythmic swing of the wind-blown branches, from the waving of the grass and the corn, from the cadences of falling water, and the soft murmuring of the rivers and little streamlets; yea, even from the fresh young leaves as they smite cymbal-wise together in the laughing spring weather. Now and again she feels the necessity of expressing this universal music in concrete form, and then she develops the artist, as, in the flower-world she would develop from the old pink-flowered variety a crimson rose, with an added fragrance, a sweeter grace, a more subtle charm, to indicate the greatest perfection a flower-life could at that time attain to, and be to the flowers a representative-rose. And so all ages have had their representative men. In every age one man’s mind stands out broadly, as a type of what his time could do, and think, and dream, and suffer; in his work is enshrined its deepest philosophy, holiest religion, highest poetry, and truest science; and to this man it has fallen, his sight being clearer, his soul broader, his intellect swifter, and more subtle than his contemporaries’, to rebuke their sins, ridicule their follies, strengthen their combats, brighten their ideal aims, and lift them one step nearer that perfected humanity which he feels, rather than sees, lightening the dim distance of futurity.
It has been said, “Art interprets Nature to man”; but we may go further, and say, “Art interprets God to man.” Art renders visible the divine beneath its material veil, gathers into a focus all those scattered rays of light which fall athwart the darkened chamber of life, and shows that the many-hued prism of existence is but one white radiance of glory set in the dawn of eternity. It is to the artist then we must look for this representative mind; the priest anointed by God himself to make his ways known unto us; and though a Buddha may
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shine out through all ages by the exceptional beauty of his life until that life affects us with the mystery of a living poem, or a tangible strain of music, vibrating on the air-waves of humanity for ever, yet, for the most part, we need our lessons in concrete form, that form which is beauty, and which Dante tells us “che l’universo a dio fa somigliante.” A poem, a picture, a statue, and lastly, and perhaps most powerfully, a tone-drama, reveal us to ourselves; strike responsive but dormant chords in our nature, and bring those vague spiritual visitations hovering around us from cradle to the grave into direct communication with the spiritual in us, without which they are too liable to “fly forgotten like a dream,” and thus fail to re-act on that life they hallow, and glorify. It has always been the task of the greatest minds, those who “knowing most, the most believe,” to protest against the unbelief of their Age, whether that unbelief takes the form of word-refining and credulity, or the rougher, but more honest, absolute denial of spiritual power at all: “nier est facile, it s’agit d’expliquer,” says Figuier, and whether we are able to explain or not, the negation of some spiritual power beyond us, yet with whom we at rare intervals hold communion, tends to narrow our humanity and lessen its glory. And so we find these representative men set at intervals on the ladder of life to mark the height attained; thus in the record of past ages humanity rose as high as Plato, or as Shakspere, and in the future it will be seen that in this nineteenth century Wagner marks our progress; humanity rose as high as Wagner. In speaking of Wagner and his teaching, we wish it clearly understood that we shall examine his work from no scientific standpoint, whether his method be true or false to the received theories of composition; whether he fulfils or disobeys the laws of harmony, as laid down by the old Masters, or carries out the axiom of Novalis “Nur seinen eignenen Gesetzen soll der mensch gehorchen.” All these questions are of no value to our present enquiry; we simply seek to determine his value as a teacher to that great multitude to whom all such questions are as sealed volumes, yet who are none the less influenced by their results. We contend that Art must not be judged by its power over the few priests, but by its broad influence on the many, its effects on the people as shown in thought, life and conduct. It must penetrate, like Jesus, to the poor and the sinning, and raise, purify, and elevate them. The art that inspires a school is great possibly, but it is only in its first phase of development. By-and-bye it will leave its narrow bounds, and spring, and spread, and influence the world, or it will dwindle away and die out of knowledge, and sight. “But,” it will be asked, “since all Art must begin by inspiring a school, that is, must at first be confined to a few, how distinguish the true from the false – the Art that shall live from the Art that shall die?” By examining its teaching: if we find that based on some universal truth of our nature, and not merely shrouding
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a passing phase of sentiment in fantastic garb to catch attention, we may feel sure that Art will live. Opposition will but strengthen it, and abuse fall from it like rain from the gleaming wings of the eagle. And these universal truths are ideas of the Infinite, gathered from the contemplation of the finite shadows; in other words, they are the recognition of the One in the many:
“The One remains, the many change and pass; |
the search amidst the ever-changing flux of becoming, for the eternal is, the true being: and to bring this abstract idea into concrete form is the mission of art! It recognises the fact that life, in itself, has no present; it is but a hopeless glance into the twilight of the past, or the darkness of the future; but it also recognises as the reverse of this changeful life, the steadfastness of eternal being; where neither past nor future exist, but the present is all in all, and it strives to find the connecting link between the human and divine, and finds it in what has been taught under a great variety of names with one and the same meaning: “Love,” “God,” “inspiration,” “ecstacy,” “self-annihilation,” “reason,” “innate ideas” – numberless are the terms, but the signification is one – we will call it “Love,” as the word, hallowed by the Christian teaching and elevated to a crowned supremacy by Shelley expresses better to our minds the almost infinite variety contained in the one expression. Not by ignoring the human, not by denying the divine, neither by asceticism nor sensualism will the truth be reached: with a slight variation of Plato’s beautiful myth, we might say the chariot of the soul has two winged horses, the divine and human, and a charioteer called Love, who, if he will, can drive them safely to the end; but woe to him if in his enthusiasm for the divine he neglects the human, and does not insist that the two draw equally. If the one stumble or the other grow restive, the chariot is overturned and ruined. Wise is the charioteer and faithful who knows that on mutual help and support depends the safety of his car, and so cherishes both! So much for the necessary basis of art; we have now to consider the distinguishing characteristic of the artist. We shall find this to be an universal sympathy, boundless in its stretch, all-embracing in its love. This universal sympathy produces a sensitiveness alive to the smallest influences, whether of nature, art, humanity or God; a sensitiveness not only responding to purely outward influences, but being played upon by and echoing internal impressions, emotions and ideal passions; a sensitiveness which, from its finely-strung nerves, can imagine or create what others never really comprehend or know; and this creation is merely the excess of sympathy which makes possible the exchange of emotion between the soul of the creator (the artist) and something outside his mind, yet by the power of sympathy inextricably linked to his
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mind. How does he create? By calling out of chaos, order; out of darkness, light; in short, by sympathy with the hidden possibilities lying coiled up in the matter his soul touches and breathes life into. An artist must see with the hundred eyes of Argus, and hear with world-wide ears; nothing is so small, common, or unclean but to him it can suggest grandeur, rarity, purity! He creates from a word, an object; and describes it so graphically that though his bodily eyes may never have beheld it yet his mental ones note every shade, every tint, every tone; thus it is not infrequent to find poets describing minutely things they have never seen, so that they enable others to behold, and realise what, to them, is purely a sympathetic intuition of the possibility lying dormant in Matter.
An artist like Prospero has only to wave his wand, and behold, the reign of magic has begun! A word, conjures up an object; a perfume, a passion, and, it may be, unknown to himself, he reveals truths of which he believed himself unconscious. The very teaching the language of his art expresses may be unintelligible to him; he may be merely the vehicle for the revelation, as the wind, unknowing its mission, carries the seeds of future forests on its careless wings, or the electric flash is chained for human enlightenment as it swiftly flits through the air. He will require no teaching per se, either of joy or suffering, for he will hear in himself the depths of personally unfelt sorrow, as well as the crowned heights of personally untasted joy; his soul will be like a perfect instrument from which the lightest touch draws music, now sad, now mirthful, now passionate, but music always, that is, truth – truth to somebody; not perhaps truth to us who criticise, and from the narrowness of our minds call only what we ourselves experience truth; but truth, nevertheless, a deeper truth than we can grasp, unless with it we grasp all Nature. Language in common life seems an unmusical thing enough; a poor, broken-to-harness drudge, with very little beauty or charm left; but note the change when, under the sympathetic hands of the poet, language, leaving the beaten track of commonplace, soars above to the heights of poetry, grand, ennobled, beautiful; the common words fall into chains of jewelled sound, caress the ear, woo the air into their likeness, and behold, the despised drudge is a fair queen, full of grace, cleaving the blue encircling air with a thousand shadows of beauty, interlacing curves of unimaginable tenderness! A block of stone appears to have little might to move or inspire; but, behold, under the sympathetic hands of the sculptor it springs forth an Apollo, a S. John, an Aphrodité. The artist in both cases recognised, by the power of sympathy, the possibility hidden in the despised surroundings, and drew it forth. It is from the very depth and grasp of this sympathy, that we find so many artists leading solitary lives; the world around them whirls onwards, fearful, and avoiding all great emotions; hiding as much as possible, even from itself, the power latent in its soul, and
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and only venturing on the dead level of small thoughts, small aims, small pleasures, which lead to content. This world can never either plunge or mount into the regions familiar to the artist, and so he leaves it, in his highest moods, behind him, and soaring beyond its view, loses sight of the phantoms it pursues so eagerly, yea, loses his own identity, which becomes merged in the universal, and thus the highest triumphs of art are gained, and the shadows of Deity falling softly round the artist, wake his nature to active response, until the truth revealed to his soul takes objective manifestation at his hands! We have thus seen that the basis of art must be a comprehension of the possibilities in life, seen from its two sides, divine and human, and the basis of the artist’s nature, an universal sympathy, to comprehend and render these possibilities in concrete form. . . . In this age, when one Master teaches an eternal sleep to be the only possible or desirable ending to “life’s fitful fever,” and another scoffs at all spiritual communication; that is to say, all those feelings and dim experiences which cannot be directly reduced to material sources, as the results of ignorance or incipient madness; it is full time our representative mind should stand forth and say aloud that all may hear. And, behold! he stands amongst us, a crowned king of art, the art that belongs, par excellence, to this nineteenth century; music, that socialistic art, which is as easily understood and enjoyed by the beggar as the king, and even finds an echo in the breasts of those humbler creatures to whose narrowed powers we arrogantly deny the light of reason: music, to whose magic we plead, whenever we wish to move mightily the human heart, to inspire it for noble deeds or pure emotions. Do not our soldiers march to battle, spurred on by music’s voice? Are not our religious services dependent on music for the greater portion of their force and influence? Is not our most perfect enjoyment (the opera) derived from music? And, even in the legitimate drama itself, is it not music whose influence is invoked to soften and prepare the mind for the reception of the deep emotions unfolded by the play it is witnessing? Shakespere’s love of music runs like a sweet melody through all his writings; and Carlyle thus expresses its power:
“The meaning of song goes deep. Who is there that, in logical words, can express the effect music has on us? A kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech which leads us to the edge of the infinite, and lets us, for a moment, gaze into that.”
And Shelley, in most musical words, tells of music’s might over his mind:
“The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven |
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And from the edge of that Infinite, to which music has led him, Wagner turns and interprets the life around: he brimmed with its passion, pale with its yearning, with the undying thirst of the age for certainty, for perfect knowledge – that age which would rather choose to deny the existence of spiritual power than confess it beyond its comprehension, and with passionate zeal seeks to elevate humanity into a religion, yet flings it down into the abyss of Nothingness and oblivion – that age which, with frantic ardour, preaches Socialism as a creed, yet fulfills it by striving to rob its brothers, and will not, or cannot, comprehend.
“Your Fouriers failed, |
Wagner stands forth, priest of the gospel, revealed in music, and preaches mightily and clearly to all of us; with boundless sympathy for the hopeless struggles and diverse aims of his age, yet clear sight and never-failing grasp of the haven where our storm-tossed barks may ride safely after life’s perilous voyage. . . .
The mind of man has conceived, and the voice of man uttered, three gospels, the gospel of hatred and defiance, the gospel of Negation, the gospel of love, and the depths of a man’s intellect may be gauged and the worth of his doctrine proved by the gospel he preaches. Some minds receive all three at different stages of their growth; some, as Voltaire and Byron, never grow beyond the first, and can only teach us to tear the mask of beauty from ugliness and to bury our dead, though with much wailing and gnashing of teeth; some, as Mill and Schopenhauer, remain always true to the gospel of Negation, and their teaching also has great value, inasmuch as it inculcates that calm severity of thought which will utterly deny rather than half believe; but our true prophets, our veritable masters, are those who, whether from heavenly radiance of Nature or hard toil of heart, have cut their way through the “everlasting No” to the glory and brightness of the “everlasting Yea!” Such minds, piercing below the frippery of popular belief or denial, and setting at its true value the mythology in which an Age has woven the tinted weeds it gathers on the shore of eternity, and the prismatic shells flung there by the receding waters of Time, speak not to one nation or for one Age; but to all nations and for eternity! Such are Shakespere, the poet-philosopher; Shelley, the sweet singer; and Wagner the prophet. Shelley indeed, only reached the land “where music, and moonlight and feeling are one” after much beating of breast, and breaking of pinion against the darkened bars of life’s prison house; but Wagner was native there from the first, sweet strains of spiritual music, and star-like radiance shone through, and showed the bars were but imaginary barriers, mere shadowy clouds between spirit and matter;
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and so, with the perpetual passing of angels, life’s rhythmic dance sweeps on, the infinitely great and the infinitely little united in the wondrous mosaic of being:
“Stille |
If we consider his works, we shall find their texts are all taken from the Gospel of Love. Love he teaches, divine or human, is the one unconquerable, all-saving power. Love the redeemer, as in “Der Fliegende Holländer;” Love the pardoner, as in “Tannhäuser;” Love the revealer, as in “Lohengrin;” Love the conqueror, as in the “Ring der Nibelungen”; but there is a continual growth of power, in grasp and expression of the truth taught, from the love that pities to the love that pardons, of the two first dramas, and from faith in possible to the full flood of actual love, sweeping on resistless and boundless as the divinity whose shadow and symbol it is, of the two latter. No poet (we speak advisedly, for Wagner claims to be a poet, and is one, if piercing to the very heart of life and revealing the essential beneath the external constitute a poet), no poet, save Shakespere and Shelley, has so completely realised a “disembodied joy,” and in this his Art aids him mightily; and when by his magic he holds up to the human the mirror of itself, deeply shadowed and fringed with the spiritual, whence all “disembodied joys” are born, yea, interwoven with it so deftly that to draw the silver thread of inter-penetrant deity frays the web of life into meaningless strands, our spirits float on in “music’s most serene dominions,” through the air of earth, starless, and tremulous with sighs, until we reach the shining tablelands beyond. Let us briefly consider the “motif,” and treatment of “Tannhäuser” and “Lohengrin,” prefacing our remarks by repeating our leading axioms in this discussion: Art should be individual only so far as the individual typifies the universal; directly Art ceases to perceive the whole in the part, it fails in its mission. . . . “Tannhäuser” opens with the solemn strains of the Pilgrim Song, a holy phrase of great power and beauty, in which is woven the sweet music of earnest prayer, and the deep harmony of devotional yearnings; this changes to the wild unearthly music of the Venus-Berg, in which all Nature takes part with desire and passion. You hear in this wondrous witch-song the joy of the awakening earth on a spring morning, the flowers flushing beneath the sun, the fresh young leaves smiting their little hands together in rapture and praise, the cool plashing of slowly flowing rivers, lily-garlanded; the whisper of the wind amid the reeds and tall irises; the tender lisp of the little streams, the full glory of the bird-chorus and the music of the human, of the young man, and maiden rejoicing in their beauty and brimmed with the joy of life. The whole tone of this witch-song is one glad cry, “How fair is life! let us kiss her lips, and drain to the dregs the cup she offers, filled with a sweet strong wine.
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There is no soul! there is no future! Drink! enjoy!” Yet, even as this wild frenzy of passionate life possesses the listening air, we hear the sad refrain – we hear the wail of the sea-bird, half lost in the dash of the hopeless wave on an iron-bound shore; the shriek of the wind-tortured trees on dark stormy nights, when everything is hidden in thick blackness, and only weird cries tell of the work of devastation. The roar of the avalanche as it sweeps on, heedless of the anguish it causes, slaying, and to slay; and so the pilgrim-song and the witch-music shadow forth the strife of the human and the divine, and the drama of the individual life begins. Tannhäuser has sought the forbidden presence of Venus; the goddess who gives man the swift, wild joys of passion has wooed him from the holy land of song; yet plunged in these bodily pleasures, he is not happy, and at last, calling on Mary, tears away, and finds himself free again. He goes to Rome, but is denied pardon; so-called religion curses him; so-called friendship would slay; only Love, as typified in the sweet, saintly Elizabeth, remains faithful. She watches and prays; but Tannhäuser, stung to madness by the Pope’s haughty answer to his plea for pardon, “Sooner shall this staff blossom than thou be pardoned!” strives to find the home of Venus once more. Again the witch-music sounds in his ears, again the old magic begins to tinge everything in his sight, when the name of Elizabeth strikes on his shattered hearing, and, like a spell, recalls him to his better self, and he struggles away from the sensual glamour that is fast stealing away his senses. A solemn chant fills the air, and behold a mournful procession, bearing the dead body of Elizabeth! while slowly advancing across the hills march a body of pilgrims from Rome, bearing the joyful tidings that the Pope’s staff has blossomed! Tannhäuser’s sin is pardoned! Falling on his knees by the dead Elizabeth, he loses life, to be in death redeemed by the Love which was stronger than either!
Let us now turn to “Lohengrin.” It opens with a picture of cloud-land, a summer-day scene; blue stretches of sky, flecked and furrowed by faint fleecy snow-wreaths of cloud, the air is nearly still, tremulous only with light wind voices, that whisper tidings of the coming glory to the listening trees; but lo! as we watch the azure depths above, not clouds, but angels are there, and what we thought the voices of the wind is but the flutter of their snowy pinions making low music to the rhythm of their flight as they bear the mystic cup of life across the world, chanting the solemn Grail-Song, that unuttered music to which life is set. Then the pictures changes; we are carried into the thick of material life, from the glow of spirit to the darkness of Matter. Wrong and suffering abound here, as peace and joy there; but still patient endurance, truth, and courage can reach the serene comforters; the spiritual leans down, the material strains upward, and in the light of love finds salvation and joy. But woe to that reckless one who, not content with deep draughts of the mystic cup, must analyse and separate the elixir to find its
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component parts! It is the fate of Tantalus again, and the rash soul must thirst, and the rash heart hunger in vain! So Elsa, not content with the mysterious joy, the half-unknown blessings, seeks to reduce it to an ordinary gift, to certify whence it came and whither it goes, and at the instant it has left her, leaving, indeed, the calm of reason and philosophy (the brother), but never the rapture of religion, the faith in the presence of the uncomprehended (the lover), which makes the beauty and magic of life. . . . We have briefly analysed these two, but the same fundamental truth is the ground-work of all Wagner’s dramas; while in the “Nibelungen” even the very gods themselves are powerless against the might of the Supreme Love! Thus he teaches us the grandest lesson the mind of man is capable of receiving, not by ignoring the human with its needs and weaknesses; not by denying the divine, but by showing how the human may rise beyond itself into the light above, by fulfilment of its conditions, and loving strife towards the dawn; as the seed is laid in the earth, and rises to the glad sunlight, flushing to a fair flower, not by proud rejection of its lowly resting-place, but by patient development of the germ of life in its heart! He teaches us to recognise the one in the many, in a new and sweeter sense than the old masters taught, the sense of an eternal ever-present spirit that moulds the human many into the divine one, and that eternal Spirit is “Love”; not blind necessity, not iron fate, not stern justice not an avenging deity, but “Love,” a spirit that has its dwelling-place in the meanest, and, it may be faintly, it may be powerfully, according to the material it works in, moulds that meanest into some faint likeness of its own eternal beauty. To Wagner all life is holy, and worthy of reverence; we soar with him to heaven, we descend to Hell, we rest in Purgatory, we roam the earth as surely as if with Dante and Virgil we had indeed accomplished the momentous journey. Fairyland opens her silvern gates to us; elves dance in the moonlight; the world of soulless spirits, good and evil, floats round us in the air, and, like Prospero, we command their attendance and ministry or dismiss them with a wave of our magic wand.
Wagner, like Shakspere, rejects nothing as too small or mean, and fears nothing, as too high for his purpose; he has just as perfect comprehension and sympathy (in the sense we have defined) for ugliness, as beauty; passion as Law, Hell as Heaven; and, what is far rarer and more precious, he has a perfect comprehension of the regions between the two extremes, where the one imperceptibly melts into the other; the knight on his steed, the minstrel with his inspired song, the shepherd piping amid the hills, the steersman at his post, the pilgrims with their holy chant, the maidens at their spinning, the pure and wronged princess, the dauntless champion of the grail, the tender, loving, self-sacrificing maiden, the jealous, unscrupulous woman, the true-hearted knight, the world-weary Dutchman, the fierce warrior who preferred hell with his
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beloved to heaven without her, are all equally life-like, all have the same intense humanity and passionate vitality of existence. His dramas carry us into the very heart of life, with its sharply defined contrasts and conflicting interests, and there is such a wonderful air of reality about his music; people do not there die to a sentimental cavatina, or express their despair in an elegantly cadenced aria! No, the music is changeful as life itself; where, in reality, speech would rise to the grand and poetical, there we have phrases of sweet, and grand, and pathetic melody; where, in life, the human strains above itself, and becomes god-like in its tragic despair and strife, there the music swells upwards in superhuman grandeur, or sinks down in superhuman gloom; but where mean ideas, mean actions, or common-place speech would exist in life, there we find scant melody, rude phrases, hurried utterances; truly this man has swept away empirical laws, as the giant pursuing his way in the morning sunlight sweeps away the cobwebs that bar his path and passes on with a smile! Wagner (like Shakspere) writing for all ages, cannot be comprehended fully in one; as it takes innumerable years to ripen humanity to the vintage of a mind like Shakspere’s or Wagner’s, so it takes innumerable years to educate mankind to their flavour, but as slow passing time goes on, each moment casts a fairer gleam of light on their pages, and the deep truths enshrined there grow slowly clearer and clearer, until humanity sees (as they did) that the solid wall it had been vainly beating its breast against was but the morning mist, which the sun of progress is melting away. The age sneers when a prophet tells his visions; it continually
. . . “culls simples, |
but none the less is the prophet constrained to speak; it is as true now, as of old, that the prophet may not speak of himself, but a power that is above him puts words into his mouth, and though he would curse the ingratitude of the world, yet is he bound to bless by the sacred gift that is alive in his soul! Wagner proudly styles his dramas “Music of the future,” yet they breathe the very spirit of the present, when even art seems seized with that frantic thirst for perfect knowledge, and unceasingly strives for the completed circle, the fully rounded disc, and is ready to sacrifice her own beautiful existence to give life to an art that shall be greater, purer, more perfect than herself; an art which shall, from the renouncement of individual development by all its branches, rise to a grand unity, partaking indeed of the charm of painting, poetry, music and sculpture, but belonging exclusively to none of them. Such an art we find shadowed forth in these dramas, and the future historian of the nineteenth century will find, if he wishes to grasp that intangible spirit that colours every action and every thought of the age, he must go to Wagner’s music, breathe its fragrance, comprehend its sense, and then
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the bare, historical facts will take quite other faces for him, and be quite otherwise comprehensible, and his history will be not a dry record of cut-and-dried actions, meaningless to a succeeding age, with different thoughts and aims, but, like the plays of Shakspere, and the music-dramas of Wagner, a gorgeous, many-hued woof, in which the bitter-sweet of life is inextricably blended, each delicate feeling, each original action, whether good or evil, lending its color and shade, and each dimly-felt intuition, its gleam to the whole, so that it stands forth, glittering and glowing, yet black in its folds, tear-stained at its edges, with flower-like borders and perfumed fringes, amid which skulls grin and nettles and nightshade mingle. Wagner has preached his gospel well, with no faltering tone, no halting speech, and if it is not fully understood in these days, we should remember, the deeper the water the longer the nets necessary to dredge for its treasures. Any eye can perceive the pebbles hidden in a shallow, brawling stream, but where do the coral and pearl come from? There, or the deep, still ocean? His teaching, as graven in gleaming letters, on his works, his actions, and probably, his thoughts, seem condensed into
“We are spirits, my brothers, and akin to God! Around us the spirit-world hovers; hold out your hands, and you may reach it; open your hearts, and it will fill them with truth and love, and lift them into the light; shut them, and you fall into the starless darkness of material life, made glorious by no dreams, but iron-barred from your kindred, and voiceless, save from your sighs. We seek the completed circle, and behold it is the spiritual alone that can round life’s rainbow of passion and anguish into it! You cannot see with your minds, but you can, if you will, perceive with your souls, though the curtain of death be drawn across, and a river of tears rolls between!”
and in that perception lies the secret of life, and in the expression of that perception the secret of art.
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A Beginner's Sorrows
REAPING the fruit of rightly-spent lives, some of those now living started this new stage of their existence with a decided preponderance of the Higher over the Lower Self. The same law, working reversely, is the cause that others have started with as decided a preponderance of the Lower over the Higher Self. The former is a born “saint”; the latter, a born brute. Yet are both men; and the saint may embrutalize himself, the brute, sanctify. Only in either case it must be at the cost of terrible effort, downward or upward as the case may be. The one may crucify the flesh, and rise again in the resurrection of life; the other may do what Bunyan meant when he wrote of some who “fight their way to hell over the Cross of Christ.”
But in the average man – such as you and I, reader – the two Selves co-exist (so to speak) in a state of more or less unstable equilibrium. Neither can be given the governance except at the price of much bitterness – whether of shame and remorse, or of unsatisfied cravings which die very slowly. The struggle may not be so severe as in the first-named exceptional cases, but it is quite severe enough. It is a long time before the upward path (not to speak further of the other) grows smooth to the feet. At the outset, it seems generally as if difficulty only led to difficulty, and the aspirant feels entangled in a maze from which there seems no outlet.
How? In this way, for one: –
Moved by a ray of Light which pierces through the fog of the material and touches his innermost spirit, and which may be coloured with the hue of the creed-window through which it comes, or pure from the fount of the Absolute, one of us – one of the average class – dares to aspire. And he learns and feels that the first step is to master the Lower Self. He cannot withdraw from the world; he has to mix with his fellows in business and social relations, to do his daily work, to come into contact with low and mephitic influences. He finds the task arduous beyond expectation; he fails repeatedly; but the Light fascinates him and he rises again and struggles on. He begins with the coarsest aspect of the Lower, and after a prolonged conflict succeeds at last in reducing to control the fleshly appetites. He is master of his body as once he never dreamed of being. But the work is barely begun. Semi-physical tendencies, semi-sensuous proclivities, await him beyond the grossly material; and beyond them again are lying in ambush what theologians call the purely “spiritual” evils. But the Light shines, and he fights on. He wars now, daily, hourly, with such subtle foes as conceit, vanity, love of applause, censoriousness, envy,
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contempt, and a hundred others, each with a hundred ramifications and sub-ramifications, all mutually interlacing like jungle underwood. And as if this were not enough, he discovers a new source of sorrow.
He has struggled to live in a wise silence; it seems to him that he has simply become sullen. In abstaining from the faults and follies of those around him, he is alarmed to find himself in danger of growing morose. Though the centre has shifted from one region to another, he finds it is still in the Lower Self. Avoiding Scylla, behold Charybdis! How to cease to have anything in common with the gross amusements and frivolous occupations of his fellows, and yet to retain quick and vivid sympathies towards them, is a problem found increasingly difficult of solution.
At last it dawns – as flashes – on him. He had always taken for granted that he loved his kind; the “Enthusiasm of Humanity” had long been a favourite theme of his. And he is sorely disquieted to find – now that the tumult of the senses is somewhat hushed – that it is not the silver tone of Love which is heard in his heart. “Heart? have I a heart?” he is tempted to ask, despondingly. If he could only love his fellow-men! if he could only go out towards them with an ebbless tide of sympathy and affection! Then there would be no danger of his un-humanizing while seeking to develop himself. While grave and silent, abstemious and self-restrained, he would yet be tender and gentle, quick to respond, swift to help. But how can Love be compelled? how can he will himself to love?
Is this your case, reader? Be comforted. Listen, and think. Life is Love; the Higher Self is Life; therefore, the Higher Self is Love. Do not be discouraged; only persevere. As the Lower Self is ever more and more subordinated, the Higher Self will rise, though, perhaps, gradually, imperceptibly, as a Northern sunrise. But it will rise. And as the Higher Self comes more and more into the field, there will come gentleness and tenderness and unutterable, self-annihilating Love. It is only a question of time. Have faith, and have patience.
And in the meantime, to the best of your ability act, speak, and even (so far as is possible) think as you would act, speak, and think if you did feel as you long to feel. There will be no hypocrisy in this. The engineer who cut a deep, wide channel in the dry rock is no hypocrite, although the result of his labour is the skeleton of a river without its soul; for he is only making a course along which the waters will run, presently. So with you. Cut deep and wide the channel, though your heart seems as dry as the Sahara. For sometime you will reach a point where a few more strokes – and lo! either by tiny but ever-growing tricklings, or in one glad mighty rush, the waters come, and learning what it is to Live, you shall learn what it is to Love.
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From the East of Time
I sat musing upon the glory of the dawn till gradually the light cast lavish by the hand of the rising sun flooded the world with its fulness and banished every shadow that sought to linger on the lawn.
And then the evil of my inner self rose up to contradict the truth of the beauty given to the fields, and to cry out, “It is not day – it is not day – for all is dark!”
I must write. When it rises within me as it is rising now there is but one way to escape – constant, unremitting work. God knows whether I should write at all were it not for the misery within me. God knows. For me, I think I should dream my life away – even as the Lotus-eaters of the olden time – dreaming one’s own dreams and intoxicated with the beauty of their unending scenes.
But you who read were not born to dream – nor was I – though the loveliness of what is throbs through my every vein and calls upon my soul to weep with its own joy and pain.
I must write – write anything – so only that I write on.
There are some hours still which must be spent before I shall meet her on the lawn. For two days I have met her so – the first to greet her for the day!
I cannot chase it from me. It will return – the knowledge and the recollection of the truth.
I have yielded. All the beauty that was without has gone. I may not recall thee, Onora, for at thy name a thousand echoes reverberate within my brain, and bound and rebound, as it were, from crag to crag till in the distance they die away in a myriad of mingled sounds afar in some gloomy vale whose end I cannot see.
I have yielded. I allow my thoughts to dwell upon themselves, and evil shades to haunt me and remain with me now.
My youth is no longer mine!
Why have I written? Why do I write? Why do I not even now cast my poor works into the flames that this spirit which has come upon me shall not come?
I cannot think – and yet –
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How can the future look back upon the past? How can he, in a future age, have read of my life which is not yet complete? Is my whole path mapped out for me to trudge woodenly? How else can this thing be? Let me cast my works into the fire – everything – everything. My escretoire will be rid of the result of years of toil – yes – yes – a mad longing fills me, a fearful impulse which I know is defiance of my God. This man has my biography – five hundred years in future time – he reads of my life – of these works – five hundred years after they are written by me, and he communicates to me through the centuries that he has so read!
And because he has read he comes to me to steal all the beauty of my life – to take from me half my youth – to share my love – and to be with me for ever as my self and as a part (the greater part) of me who am become his thing!
And I, who look forwards, not back – I, who look into future time, and read of that accursed book – I, who see that by my own works I cast into the future what recoils to damn me even now. I, who write and am fated to write – I stand up now and I say that as that book is written and has been read five hundred years in future time, so it shall not be written and shall not be read, for I defy my Creator and the hand that holds within it these undefined laws of space, and I care not if I pass into the fires of Hell!
I defy the Spirit from the East of time.
A great iron hand seems to clasp my soul and give it strength. My resolve is well nigh accomplished. My escretoire is empty. Everything which I have written lies there – in that heap – where these words shall lie in a moment or two’s time.
The pen which I love I use for the last time. Could my hand wither now it would be well, yet it writes as though with a terrible fascination found in the last words which it shall put upon the page. I am as one frenzied, for a devil has taken possession of me, and I say that what is shall not be!
Everything – to my shortest poem – lies upon that heap. A light – yes, a light – God, I cannot see! – a light – a light –
I have seized it, and now cast away my pen.
I seem to have recovered from a long swoon. Where am I? It is bright day.
And what is that which I see still written as it were upon the wall?
“Thy published works. What of them?”
All has come back to me. The light must have fallen from my hand. There is a great pile of papers lying before me unburnt.
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I am dizzy as though faint with a struggle which I cannot remember to have fought.
Ah! I understand it now. Destiny cannot be opposed.
Onora is upon the lawn.
The day has passed away.
It has been my custom for years to seek to examine the intricacies of my own brain. “Man, know thyself!” has been to me as a motto possessing in three words the wisdom of man. And I did know myself and now know little, for a new spirit has entered into me which divides and yet does not divide, which is mine and yet not mine.
It is as though my love – my passions – my poetic longing – my every thought – nay the merest shadow of a thought – were intensified so that I can scarcely bear to think or to exist; whilst yet, strangest of all, the very intensity of all that is within me seems as a division – as not my own – but as the robbery of half my youth!
How can I describe my own brain, when it is saturated at once with its doubled intensity and with the pain which tells me that I have lost – not gained.
Scent might be poured upon the fragrant rose. Would the flower then, in the vast intoxication which might come upon it, realise that the beauty of what had been was not?
And I am even as the rose – and every impulse within me as the airs that exhale, and these are absorbed in the greater power – the scent which has given yet taken away.
Ah! the simile is feeble to describe my soul!
I have pondered much before I sat down to write the lines. I have cast my inner eye back upon what has been, and I have prayed upon my knees for forgiveness for that hideous madness which came upon me – leading me – me, the mortal thing – the child of a vast destiny – to defy my Creator and my God!
I would have burnt my works! I would have sought to destroy those things which, speaking through the time to come, shall die of themselves, in order that I might prove to my own poor self the lie of what has been and what is!
It was the thought of man – of man at once maddened with the evil of his own thought and the horror of its simple execution – when suddenly, whilst the light was in my hand, the full consciousness of what I was about to do may have flashed upon me as I fell backwards in a swoon.
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And now I understand. How could I defy the illimitable laws of Time – how stand before my God to disobey His will?
I had forgotten that which I had myself written hours before. On that moment I would have acted to destroy a present that the future might not be – and I forgot that the future is, has been, and will be.
To me who live now something of the future time must have been – then why not all? – for this Spirit has communicated to me from thence – and having been, how could I say – “It shall never be!”
I, who am a creature of an intellect which cannot grasp the truth of what I know and write, would have said “I destroy what will be” – and would have forgotten that what will be – is.
The East of Time. Who shall penetrate its vastness? Who shall comprehend that it exists? Alas! I am faint and weary, and cannot see through the night, for the knowledge of the Everlasting and of the truer sight is not yet mine.
Five hundred years in future time! – and the Spirit which has come from thence speaks no longer of that time to me, for it has come back – back – back – to share with me my life.
And it is as though it were as yet unborn – and still is, for the Spirit existeth always though it is not seen.
I am but a man living and breathing as you and all your fellows, yet I am cut apart from you. I strive to understand; but my thoughts are weak, though something of the truth I see.
And it seems to me that in that hour when this man who lives five hundred years in future time cast himself back as a thing unborn into my life – and when the mesmeric circle binding him with me was at length complete – that he, passing from the future to my time, descended from knowledge to oblivion, from light to dark.
So the Spirit which has come upon me is as a silent thing, because of itself it has not yet been born and cannot speak of the future time – until the mesmeric circle is relaxed.
And I, who am enchained by this strange descended spirit know this – that the mesmeric circle may never be relaxed because I have not that power – and because the spirit from the East of Time has lost it as it has lost all which has not yet been.
You know my name – you have read a truer description of me than I could give you now – a description which came from the East of Time. I have gazed long in my glass to read its truth. But there is much that you do not know – much that I have still to write.
To write! Yes, I shall write all – everything – for by this means I seem to escape from myself, or, shall I rather say, to grow myself once more and pass into my peaceful Author state. Ah! I can write but little now, for my art, poor as it was, seems to have narrowed itself down and I write not as I always wrote, for I am an altered man. My last work is but half complete – now I cannot finish it, for the atmosphere of my thoughts
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is altered so that by some strange contrast in what is still to write with what is done I should spoil the work I undertook.
Can you realise the unspoken pain of the man whose genius leaves him? Heaven only knows if I have aught of genius yet; if so, it is as though it were gone for ever, for I recognise it no more. Sadness has descended as an eagle wing ever stretched open above me, and my heart which knew joy in the beauties around me seems to see them not.
And I pray to the Great God that sometimes – be it only a moment, he may release my soul and give me the truer things that I have known.
Whilst I live I shall strive against despair.
I have been filled with vague wonderings as to what is, and what is not.
I see before me a life where hope has vanished, for my earthly joys are sapped by the constant recollection that unit as I am upon this earthly sphere I am restrained from wandering from the set path of my destiny; and it is as thought every action were now no longer my own but had passed into the hands of Fate.
Can you obtain a glimpse of the misery that lies prone before me, like a dead thing upon which I must trample, though I shudder in the act?
The time which is to be exists now, and I whose life has not been lived am dead and gone. I cannot understand; only my life has been finished, and is finished ages ago, and written down in these books far in the East of Time.
These books! There was but one – the second volume – strange chance! had been lost, and I do not yet know of the life which lies before me any more than did that spirit which has come to learn its course in present time, and which exists within me now. Only this I know, or this, at least, I seem to know – that if my whole existence has been written of in a later day, so that those who live five hundred years in future time have read, so it must be that I have no will – that I must follow the path of destiny – that I am powerless to turn from it – that my best thoughts and my truest deeds, equally with my worst belong not to me, and do not arise within me, but are sent by a higher power, and something of despair creeps upon me, for I am too weak, too human to trust my God!
A great wave of emotion surges up within me. God is too just – such cannot be. My path in life is my own to tread. I refuse to become a fatalist. I will not yield to the insidious beliefs that would force themselves upon me. I cannot understand Time – how, then, can I understand or know that my life is so laid out?
I refuse my soul the belief it seems to crave. I will be free – I shall lead my own life – it is mine – mine only.
Have I forgotten, then, the spirit from the East of Time?
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Why do I remember now?
It is strange I cannot now take my pen in hand or calmly sit down to reason out a single thought, as was my wont, without loosening the gates of my soul, whence demons issue and clamour with one another in futile strife!
Now that my passion has spent itself in part, I can see more clearly, and I think that I must endeavour to avoid the thoughts that point towards what will be, and that I must rather strive to fall back upon memory than to dwell upon the future time!
Let me tell you of my past.
Of my boyhood you may care to learn little, and I who look back upon my earlier years with a great thankfulness that they are past, shall not dwell upon them long. Even now the vague fears of my fellows – of everything – the unnatural desire to hide myself away, to die if it might be, forces itself back upon me. I was not as other boys, and my temperament consorted ill with the rudeness of school life. All was new, all was hard, and no hope of better things filled my boyish heart. I could see no future which was not bound up in the dreary routine of class on class, for my imagination had not awakened within me, and my own fears stilled the consciousness of a weakness which has later been my only hope – my only strength.
Ah! do not envy the poet’s life. Mine, at least, was not one for envy. Could you look back, as I can, upon the days gone by; could you mark, as I can, the development by shock on shock of the saddened manhood that at last found its way through the clouds, I think you would say with me, “Thank God, these days have gone!”
And even now, as the years creep over me, I look back with something of horror at the days that lie ever increasing behind me, and a sense of thankfulness only fills me when I remember that they are gone.
School became a thing of the past, and my eyes opened somewhat to the reality of the world around me under the course of a University career.
There I commenced to write. At first with a vague wonder as to what came from me, then with a timid fear to put myself upon the page, and after many days with the truer knowledge that the poet must show his heart.
I have never ceased to write since then. For what else do I live? Ah! I believed but yesterday that a future lay before me – and now –
Now I see with a different sight; what is man’s ambition – what do I gain, what have I gained in the little reputation which is already mine. Is it not but a poor thing to strive for if in the ages to come all shall have died away, as has been written from the East of Time – all – all my works dead – all that I have written, all that I shall write, all
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passed away into oblivion, and a single volume only of my biography shall be found in the world five hundred years in after time!
And yet I shall never cease to write.
It was at college that I made the acquaintance of Frank Marston. He became my closest friend. Together we studied, and together spent our vacations, and together we started to visit the continental towns. These, at least, were happy days.
I can recall, almost as though I still lived them o’er, the days of that, dear summer three years ago.
I can recall, if I do not weary you with memory, one of those dear evenings in Berlin. Frank had wandered away from me as I sat amongst the trees in that solitude which I love – near the happy crowd, and yet alone. You know the Zoologischer Garten of Berlin; do you know the spot I mean? The sound of the music came borne to me across the water, and the setting sun cast its glories of light and shade of gold and grey, upon the peaceful scene, and the music borne upon the balmy air lulled my senses into a deep rest, and sadness fell upon my soul. Something brings back to me the poor lines I wrote amidst the beauty of that scene – something brings back the sadness which must intertwine with its holiness and with its unspeakable longing such hours as these.
Scented airs would gently waft me, |
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Ah, to me peace is inseparably connected with the beautiful and the sad!
Three days later, in Dresden, a town dear to me because its quiet loveliness harmonizes with all that is good within me – the bad news came. My father was seriously ill. My trip, almost at the outset, came abruptly to an end.
So Frank was left alone to complete his summer tour, and I returned home – too late!
He died before my arrival home, leaving me an orphan in circumstances of poverty which came as a revelation to me; to work for my daily bread.
I do not know if I have anything of pride in my nature, for I accepted my uncle’s offer to provide for me, and I have lived since as his dependant, in a position at which my whole being revolts at times – for the sake of my art.
I have not seen Frank Marston for more than a year. He is wealthy, and he is one to whom the excitement of travel seems to have become a necessity, and he is only now returning from the far, far East.
And of my career since my father’s death? – it has been quiet and studious, and yet I cannot study for my memory is a useless thing. It sometimes seems to me that all my powers of thought are absorbed in the one channel which leads me to imagine a beauty which cannot exist upon earth and to create that fiction which is my chief delight.
And yet I write so uselessly that at times I despair. Are my works good or bad? I cannot tell. As yet my poor fame, which is to be, as the spirit from the East of Time has said, is as nothing, and the best of what has come to me and gone from me to the page lies still within my escritoire.
Thus has been my life – a life spent latterly amongst my own thoughts and in the solitude of the dear country, which I love – here at Varnley Hall – my uncle’s home.
It is written in those lines of my biography which come to me from the future time, before the mesmeric circle was complete:
“He had now entered upon his twenty-sixth year, and it was in this year that he fell in love.”
How strange it is that the truth should thus come back to me.
Four days ago I met Onora Mayne. Who is she? She is the one in all the world for me. I can understand that change which is spoken of as falling upon my life at this time, but it has a dual, not a single cause, though all lies with Onora Mayne.
I who have never loved, now love with a madness which might of itself divert the current of my every thought. This alone might cause the change; but there is the other truth – the greater truth – that in meeting Onora Mayne I awakened to youth, and that from
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this my biographer writes into the East of Time, and the man living there and reading of my youth and of Onora Mayne seeks to come back to steal from me that which he himself does not possess, and sends his spirit into my spirit to wreck my life, it may be, with the vague truth now prone before me, and to take from me the greater part of every joy – ay, even of my love. Is not this enough to turn my life, as the course of the strong river may be turned, to flood and devastate the fields?
Onora Mayne came into my quiet life! Beautiful creation! how can I aspire to such as thee? Yet sometimes the fairest maid stoops to gather the poorest flower that blooms beneath the hedge.
It is not strange to me that we never met in the days which have been – when I remember what my life has been and what yours.
Already there is an unseen sympathy between us, the sympathy of soul for soul, and yet to-day, when that horrible night had passed away, and when I greeted you on the lawn, I fancied there was some change in you as there was a change in me.
But the change in you was of another kind to mine, for I loved you with a devotion ten times intensified, and you seemed more cold than yesterday. But I remembered later that my mind may by recollection have exaggerated your friendliness, and that the increased depth of my love for you took away in its very expectation of increased sympathy from the warmth of your manner to me.
I know that you like me, and I know, too – alas! that you are too free, too trusting, to have dreamt that I have thought of love.
I think you rather look on me as a harmless thing, as one so buried in the beauty of his own thoughts – do you think them beautiful, Onora Mayne? – that he could not love.
Is your heart, Onora, cold to me? I love you as man never loved, and still I fear.
I fell away into a vain dream as to what might be. I am unable to concentrate my thoughts. I cannot understand how my mind wanders away, not as in the old time, and how I write intermittently as I never used to do.
And every thought leads me to dwell on the future time, to think of what will be, not of what has been, as though the Spirit which came from the East of Time would ever strive to lead me thither, and as though I of the present refused to turn to unknown things and struggled to dwell upon the past.
An awful thought occurs to me. What if I am doomed to have another existence in the East of Time – what if this man whose Spirit has come back to me is but myself, as it were re-born – born after passing from a life of sorrow, born again through perfect forgetfulness, and there
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doomed to recoil upon myself in the old time to make my life as an unending cycle, an earthly Hell!
What have I done, my God, to deserve such punishment as this!
I have passed through agony such as surely few men know.
It seemed to me that that which descended through Time, sought to return to the East, yet knew not how. And the struggling of the spirit tore me asunder, and I could not move, and yet I seemed to fight against the spirit of the future time, as though I felt that my own soul were so linked with it that these two must pass together if at all into the East of Time.
And now I am weak, and in my weakness peace has for a moment come upon me, and I know that the Present still is.
The Dublin Lodge T.S.
The Dublin Lodge has now arranged for the holding of meetings at its new rooms, No. 16, Charlemont Mall, every Thursday, at 8 p.m., and the members will be glad to welcome on these evenings any friends interested in the work of the Society.
With a view to the promotion of the regular study and discussion of Theosophical tenets, a Research Section has lately been started, the subjects at present under consideration being (1) Light on the Path, (2) Karma, (3) Elementaries and Elemental Spirits, and (4) the Relations of Man to Nature.
The Lodge is desirous of opening communications with all interested in the Theosophical Movement throughout Ireland, and for the better furtherance of this object a corresponding section has been organised with a nominal subscription, arrangements having been made to secure to each member a regular supply of Theosophical literature.
The library of the Lodge being at present scarcely adequate to meet the increasing demands for Theosophical literature in Ireland, the council would feel grateful for any donations in the shape of books, pamphlets, &c., from their friends in other countries, Light on the Path, and works of a similar nature being particularly needed.
"Esoteric Buddhism" and the "Secret Doctrine"
A.P. Sinnett · pp. 247-254
[Closing remark on the letter by A. P. Sinnett]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 254
The Theosophical Society's Publication Fund
F. Max Müller · pp. 255
Casting Off
C. Carter Blake · pp. 256-257
[Editor’s note on “Casting Off” by C. Carter Blake]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 257
258
Beyond the Ken
Miss Corner evidently possesses a considerable knowledge of certain occult phenomena, and of the teachings of Theosophy in reference to the higher nature and faculties of the individual.
“Beyond the Ken” is a mystical story wrapped up in somewhat mystical language, which we imagine it will not always be easy for the uninitiated reader to understand. It is not one of those sensational tales in which the author draws largely upon the credulity of the reader, and which, in virtue of that very quality which gives them their popularity, serve to hide and discredit the value of the phenomena with which they deal. It is a fascinating story with quite an original freshness about it.
The story of the Styrian peasant lad, as told by Miss Corner, is simple and interesting; and so far as the “occult” part of it is concerned, no attempt is made to force this into undue prominence, or to present anything more than a simple incident – one of these rare but well-known (to occult science) instances in which a temporary but complete change takes place in the character, intellect and memory of the individual, who for the time being becomes a totally different person, afterwards returning to the former consciousness, picking this up just at the point at which it was previously dropped, and losing all memory of the intervening time and events. This phenomenon is cleverly worked into the narrative, and made to subserve a high and ennobling purpose in the romantic history of the hero and heroine. The former rises from a peasant lad to become a great sculptor, while the latter is his true guiding star and inspiring genius, and is united to him from childhood by those mystical affinities which operate on the higher planes of being.
The author writes with a profound conviction of the reality and possibilities of that higher life which constitutes the real Ego, and indeed possesses that sympathy with nature and poetic instinct from which this conviction is inseparable, but she is not always successful in expressing her ideas in such a way as to force her convictions home to the minds of her sceptical readers, with regard to the former question, as it requires a considerable metaphysical training to do so. In the second case, however, she always presents a clear picture of that which she sees herself, and her manner of writing is always fresh if not altogether forcible.
“Overshadowed” is the title of a short story at the end of the book. As a narrative it possesses some interest, but is rather unequally written The mesmeric control exercised by the Count over the sensitive nature of the heroine serves as a slight thread upon which to construct the plot, but is not presented in any respects as a serious scientific problem, which is what it professes to be and might become were it treated with a trifle more elaborateness.
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Saint Margaret
THE author of this pleasing little novel has set himself the task of depicting the inward struggle of a man who is actuated by a real love for humanity, and a desire to follow in the footsteps of Christ, but who is suddenly brought face to face with a consciousness of the unreality, formality, narrowness and bigotry of that which passes for Christianity in the present day.
Julian Jerome, in accordance with the dying wish of his father, is endeavouring to “live Christ,” and commences his practical work as superintendent of a Mission room under the patronage of the Rev. Laurence Lundie, M.A. The contrast between the real needs of the poor and degraded to which Julian ministers, and the Christian gospel which the vicar propagates, “inside the church with cold formalism, and outside in kid gloves,” is well set forth in the opening chapters. It is inevitable that Julian should come into conflict with the vicar, for he is too conscientious to live without protesting against the shams with which he comes in contact, and he boldly tells the vicar that his version of the Scriptures, “the version of your congregation – that is, the version as translated into the language of your lives, is a false version.” As the result, he is requested by the vicar to resign his appointment; but he has already influenced very deeply the mind of the vicar’s daughter, Margaret, and she also – possessing the same desire to find a practical christianity which shall meet the real needs of the poor and ignorant – comes into conflict with the formal methods of orthodox Christianity as represented by her father, and leaves home to undertake philanthropic work on her own account.
Jerome’s experience in the field of modern radicalism and agnosticism is exceedingly well and graphically depicted, and the author brings forcibly home to his readers how completely every sphere of our nineteenth century life and thought is honeycombed with the canker of sham hypocrisy and self-seeking.
The subsequent vicissitudes through which Julian and Saint Margaret have to pass, in their endeavours to work out their ideal, affords the author a ground-work for an interesting story. It can hardly be said, however, that he has given a solution of the main question. The book is one of those which reflect a very widespread feeling that there is something essentially wrong with moder Christianity, and the author is very happy in his mode of expressing this; but those who expect to find the solution outside of their own consciousness will be disappointed. It is not given to all to sense the finer truth.
The author, however, expresses the broad spirit of unity which must actuate those who work for humanity, and which is the spirit of Christ apart from theological dogma and ecclesiastical trappings. He does more than this, he hints at that deeper unity which pervades the whole universe, and which is the basis of all Theosophical teachings.
“Nothing can individually know entire harmony, because everything is contributing towards one harmonious whole not yet complete; each shares the incompleteness and possibility of completion. Thought cannot realize all possibilities, just because all possibilities are not yet realized. We must think up to facts we know, and cover the rest with faith.”
We can recommend the book to the inquiring reader, as well as to those who wish for a pleasing, interesting and extremely well-written story.
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Theosophical Activities
A MEETING of members of the Theosophical Society was summoned by Col. Olcott, P.T.S., to consider proposals which he had forwarded to them for the formation of a British Section of the Theosophical Society. At this meeting, which was held at No. 9, Conduit Street, on Monday October 8th, 1888, it was: –
1. That a British Section of the Theosophical Society be formed.
2. That Mr. Archibald Keightley be appointed General Secretary pro tem.: –
3. That Col. Olcott, P.T.S., and Messrs. A. P. Sinnett, John Varley, T. B. Harbottle, and A. Keightley be appointed a Committee to draw up a code of Rules – such Rules to be submitted to an adjourned meeting, to be summoned by the Committee at their discretion.
The adjourned meeting was held at Conduit Street on October 19th, Col. Olcott in the chair.
Col. Olcott addressed the meeting after the draft of Rules had been read by the Secretary. He said that he had given his consent to the alteration of the Rule as regards the payment of an entrance fee on joining the Society, but only upon one condition – the substitution of a fixed annual subscription.
Then Col. Olcott referred to the idea that organization in advance of demand would cause difficulty. He said that he had considered the matter carefully, and that he had rejected the objection on the ground that organization creates a demand and secondly that he considered that the demand already existed. He alluded to the fact that he had previously found difficulties occur because he had been unprepared with organization, when a demand had been made. It was, he believed, certain that the demand was being steadily created by the spiritualistic movement, and by the revolt against superstition which had become prevalent. He therefore believed that the T.S. must be ready to meet a demand which would probably be made upon it.
He again referred to the matter of subscription, and warmly recommended that some sum should be settled before his departure for India.
The chairman ascertained that all present were Fellows of the Theosophical Society, and were duly entitled to vote. Also that representatives from the London, Dublin, Blavatsky, Cambridge, Liverpool, and Glasgow Branches were present. He then proceeded to put the Rules to the Meeting.
Rule 1 was carried unanimously, as was No. 2. But subsequently an amendment was proposed by Mr. Bertram Keightley to insert a Rule between Rules 10 and 11 with regard to the possibility of Branches of the T. S. being formed within the United Kingdom, but apart from the British Section. The amendment was withdrawn after some discussion, the meeting evidently being of opinion that the word “the” in Rule 2 should be changed to “all.” This was passed. To Rule 8 of the draft the Chairman proposed an amendment, and it was finally passed under the present form, i.e., with the addition to the draft
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code: “and of such unofficial members of the present General Council of the Theosophical Society as are resident in the United Kingdom. The Council is an integral portion of the General Council of the Theosophical Society.” Rule 4 was carried unanimously. To Rule 5, it was proposed to add “and addresses” after the word “names.” This was carried unanimously, together with the Rule. Rules 6 and 7 were also carried unanimously. Rule 8 was carried unanimously; but the point was afterwards raised as to the quorum of the Council. Subsequently the quorum of the Council was decided as follows: it was also decided that the words should be inserted as part of Rule 8. “The quorum of the Council shall consist of one representative from each of two Branches.”
To Rule 9, Mr. Hamilton raised an objection that nothing was stated in respect of the occurrence of a “tie.” In this he was supported by Messrs Gardner and Harbottle, and it was finally decided to add: “In case of a tie the motion shall stand adjourned. Rules 10, 11 and 12 were carried unanimously, after Mr. Bertram Keightley’s amendment was withdrawn on a clearer reconstruction of Rule 2.
To Rule 13 of the draft code Mr. Bertram Keightley proposed, as an amendment, to add:
“Where a room or rooms shall be provided and furnished as a reading-room for the use of members of the section, a library of works on Theosophy and Occultism shall be formed for their use; the expenses being defrayed out of the funds of the Section.”
This was seconded by Mr. Cobbold, and a somewhat lengthy discussion arose on the question. It was pointed out that the funds might not be forthcoming, and that there had been no subscription fixed. But the general concensus of opinion was in favour of the scheme, and the Rule was finally passed as amended.
To Rule 14 of the draft code, Mr. Bertram Keightley proposed an amendment as follows:
“That the expenses of the Section shall be defrayed by an annual subscription from each member thereof. In the case of members belonging to a Branch, the Secretary of that Branch shall be responsible to the Council for the collection of their subscriptions.”
A lengthy discussion followed after this had been seconded by Mr. Harbottle. The latter gentleman stated that, though he had formed one of the committee who prepared the draft code, he felt himself quite at liberty to support this amendment. A large number of those present spoke in favour of the amendment; but Mr. Sinnett strongly opposed it, on the ground that a capitation subscription was a wrong principle and that he believed it would be a disastrous insertion in the Rules. Mr. Keightley replied that though he regretted it, he felt himself obliged to persist with his amendment, and the President Founder supporting the proposal, it was put to the vote and carried, Mr. Sinnett opposing. On enquiry from the chairman, Mr. Sinnett stated that he wished his vote to be recorded.
Mr. Bertram Keightley then moved to insert as a rule, between rules 14 and 15 of the Draft Code, the following:
The annual subscription of each member of the section shall not be less than 5s. per annum, but members residing within 20 miles of London shall pay an additional subscription of 5s.
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The broad principle of this was accepted, but an addition was made: “this being subject to the action of the Council in special cases.”
This was finally carried.
Rule 15 of the Draft Code was slightly altered, the word “Theosophical” being substituted for “Parent.” This Rule became Rule 16. At the same time, Mr. Ellis raised the objection that the words “Lodge” and “Branch” had been used indiscriminately. It was finally settled that the word “Branch” should be substituted for “Lodge” in every case.
Rule 16 was carried nem. con., and became Rule 17.
Two recommendations of the Committee were adopted unanimously.
“That ad interim business shall be transacted by the General Secretary, pending the full organisation of the Section.”
And that
“The above Rules shall come into force on the first day of January, 1889.”
The President-Founder then addressed the meeting, and after congratulating the meeting on the conclusion of the business, bade the members present farewell before his return to India.
The following are the Rules as finally adopted: –
The British Section of the Theosophical Society
Archibald Keightley · pp. 262-263
The Esoteric Section of the Theosophical Society
H. S. Olcott; H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 264
No. 16 – December 1888
Is Denunciation a Duty?
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 265-273
Brahma
Ralph Waldo Emerson · pp. 273
274
The Idylls of the King
IN the following attempt such passages only have been selected as bear more directly on the main theme of the Idyll, the initiation of the Grail. An apology, however, is needed to those who will miss the beauty of the original in the piecing together of scattered lines; but, indeed, it is only intended as an underlined copy and to save the labour of referring to the poem itself. As nearly every word is quoted from the text, marks of quotation are omitted, and the selected lines strung together to avoid useless trouble in printing. The sequence of the different events being brought thus prominently forward, little explanation is needed, each reader’s intuition being sufficient to translate the trials before the attainment of esoteric knowledge into his own language. Many are those who went upon the “Quest,” longed to find and – lost it. The excellent articles on Parsifal in Nos. 2, 3 and 4 of the “Meister” may be read with advantage by those who are interested in the mysticism of the Grail legend.
And “O, my brother Percivale,” she said, |
By prayer and fasting had the wan sweet maid beheld the Holy Cup, and bade her brother Percivale to
Tell his brother knights to fast and pray, |
And so they prayed and fasted. But Galahad, who ever moved among them in white armour, when he heard the vision, filled all with amaze, so like his eyes became to the pale nun’s. And the maiden plaited broad and long of all her wealth of hair, a sword-belt with a strange device, a crimson Grail within a silver beam; and bound it on the bright boy knight and said:
“I, maiden, round thee, maiden, bind my belt. |
Now in Arthur’s Hall there stood “Siege perilous,” fashioned by Merlin ere he passed away; “for there,” he said, “no man could sit but he should lose himself.” But Galahad cried, “If I lose myself, I save myself,” and down he sat, and straight the vision of the Holy Cup
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passed by, and every knight beheld his fellow’s face as in a glory, but the very Grail they could not see. And many swore a vow that they would ride a twelvemonth and a day in quest of it; and chief of these was Galahad, and Lancelot, and his cousin, good Sir Bors, and Sir Gawain, and Percivale. King Arthur then was absent from the Hall; but when he came, they told him of their vows. And sorrowfully did Arthur send his knights upon the Quest, with warning that they followed wandering fires lost in the quagmire,
But one hath seen, and all the blind will see, |
And Sir Percivale, he who tells the tale, rode on.
And every evil word he had spoken once, |
Then is he shown by four dread tests how vain are human loves. A mighty hunger and a thirst assail him, and he finds deep lawns and then a brook with apple-trees, and apples by the brook fallen and on the lawns.
But even while he drank the brook, and ate |
And then a woman spinning;
But when he touched her, lo! she, too, |
Then flashed a yellow gleam of gold, and one that moved in golden armour, and he, too, fell into dust, and he was left alone.
And last a city wall’d, and nigh the gate a mighty crowd which cried, “Welcome, Percivale, thou mightiest and thou best of men!” And nearing he could see but one old man, who scarce had voice to answer, and yet gasp’d “Whence and what art thou?” and even as he spoke fell into dust and disappeared, and he was left alone.
And he passed on, on, found a chapel, and thereby a holy hermit in a hermitage, and to him told his phantoms. “Thou has not true Humility,” the old man said,
“For when the Lord of all things made Himself |
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So that the angels were amazed, and she |
And there Sir Percivale met Galahad who, by the spirit of the Holy Grail, had rode, shattering all evil customs everywhere, who bade Percivale come with him (for his time was near at hand and one would crown him king far in the spiritual city), and he should see the vision.
There rose a hill that none but man could climb, and at the base they found a noisome swamp, part black, part whiten’d with the bones of men,
Not to be crost, save that some ancient king |
And so he passed across the sea and Percivale beheld the Grail above his head, and saw
the least of little stars |
But how his feet recrossed the dreadful ridge no memory in him lived, but touched the chapel door at noon and so returned.
And after, when he told the tale to one enquiring, “Came ye on none but phantoms in your quest?” he said, “All men, to one so bound by such a vow, and women were as phantoms”; but he came on one, and her the only one, who had ever made his heart leap, then widow’d and she gave herself and all her wealth to him, and the quest faded in his heart,
but one night the vow |
But Sir Bors went sadly forth, for he had met his kinsman Lancelot, on whom had come again his madness and
Being so clouded with his grief and love, |
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Yet in the silence of a prison, where a Paynim crowd, hearing he had a difference with their priests, had bound and plunged him, he saw the vision, beyond all hopes of his who scarce had prayed or ask’d it for himself.
And when the twelvemonth and a day were past, “Was then the quest for thee?” asked Arthur of Gawain,
‘Nay, lord,’ said Gawain, ‘not for such as I. |
To the sea’t shore he came, when raged a mighty storm, and found a boat and said:
I will embark, and I will lose myself, |
Seven days he drave along the weary deep, and felt his bark shock earth beneath the magic bowers of Carbonek, and passed the lions at the portal, and cleared the empty hall, and clomb a thousand steps to reach a sweet voice singing in the topmost tower;
Then in his madness he essayed the door, |
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With such a fierceness, that he swoon’d away |
And Gawain, when he heard Lancelot’s madness, swore henceforward to be deafer than the blue-eyed cat to holy virgins in their ecstasies.
‘Deafer,’ said the blameless king, |
What can be more beautiful, more impressive, more ennobling than so grand an allegory of the struggles of our manhood towards the glorious light of wisdom? And what can be more true to life!
Veiled within veils, mysterious in mystery, ever receding from the gaze profane, not to be beheld by sin-stained mortals in her purity, stands Isis, our great mother.
The knowledge of our Being, ‘what and whence art thou?’ divine Gnosis, this it is which the cup symbols.
It was Galahad alone, he who ever moved in Purity’s white armour, and who lost himself – his lower self – to save himself, that won the Quest. Young in years was he, but ready, ready, for he was prepared by former times of struggle, and the nun’s belief set the same chord of faith vibrating in his soul, and in the strength of this, he rode shattering all evil customs everywhere, and passed the horrors of the “Dweller,” as Lancelot by the lions, with the words, ‘Doubt not, go forward; if thou doubt, the beasts will tear thee piecemeal,’ ringing in his ears. But for Percivale the bridges vanished as he crost; he was not ready yet, the way was not for him. But Galahad passed thro’ the Astral Ocean, the cup of Wisdom o’er his head; and Percivale, by inner vision and his master’s power, saw yet one further veil of knowledge, the city of the Grail, all in a glory like one pearl – no larger. He, doughtiest of knights, next Lancelot, and fitted somewhat for the Quest, being brother to the nun, good man and true, had first to learn the vanity of many things the world still prizes dear, the appetites and love of woman and of child, of wealth and
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fame, “the last infirmity of noble minds.” All these fell into dust before the awful question: “Whence and what art thou?”
As for Sir Bors, had he resigned himself and waited for the vision, nothing more – he then, perhaps had never seen the Grail; but for his deeds were better than his faith, and he opposed a creed then sunk to lifeless superstition with the living faith that he had found, he thus beheld the sacred symbol, and gained entrance to the outer court of Wisdom’s Temple.
Gawain portrays those butterflies who dally with the Sacred Science, and fail in ignorant contentment, save for the gale that blows their merry maidens all about in all discomfort; such, having failed, turn round and mock at holy things, being too blind to have desire to see.
Last Lancelot, the flower of bravery, is wrecked upon a secret sin, his love for Guinevere, the pearl of beauty, wife to the faultless king. Long he strove ’twixt loyalty and duty and his guilty love, till he would fain have ended all, and in the great sea washed away his sin. Still, for he loathes his fault and strives to kill it out, is the Holy Vessel shown him, yet veiled and guarded from his touch by awful shapes. And so each saw according to his sight. So let us all make clear the mirror of our souls, and tune our hearts unto the Harmony of Love, if we would see our Grail.
S. G.
(Sonnet in dialogue.)
Orestes. On anguish of this doom! Alas! Alas! |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
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Was he Mad?
... As he spoke, a heavy book that was lying on the table rose without any apparent cause, turned itself about, stood on end, leaped into the air, glided along backwards and forwards, and after further mysterious evolutions proceeded, as if lifted by an invisible hand, from the table to my lap, where it lay tranquilly. All this time the Professor sat almost motionless – merely exhibiting a slight twitching of the right hand and a convulsive, strained expression of countenance as he watched the movements of the volume. His calmness astounded me, for I never for a moment attributed the uncanny manifestions to him, and expected them to strike him with the same cold horror as I was experiencing. But, for my own part, the unutterable sensation of dread which seized me is beyond all words to express. I cannot, indeed, now that the absurd feeling has passed away, recall my sensations, but I know that my hair stood on end with fear, and I shook and trembled from head to foot. My head whirled, and I fancied it must be all a dream. Gradually, a dawning conviction came over me that the Professor was responsible for this eerie piece of business, and that this was the secret he was going to entrust me with.
“Good heavens!” I cried. “What on earth is this uncanny power? Is this a trick to frighten me, or have you been studying witchcraft?”
The Professor was calm and unmoved.
“You can believe or disbelieve,” he said. “You have seen with your own eyes. If you believe, we will go further; if you disbelieve, it would be no use to do so and there must be an end of it.”
As he spoke, a fearful sensation of horror was creeping over me. It is impossible, I feel sure, for the reader of this narrative to enter into the feelings which take possession of one when in a moment all one’s ideas of the “Isness of things” are uprooted. I fancied – it was the only solution, however terrible – that I must have gone from my mind and that all around me was imagination or phantasy. And yet surely not so – there sat the Professor, unmistakably real, and there lay the book motionless in my lap.
“In the name of all that is good and true,” I began, but I could say no more. My head swam, my eyes closed. I felt myself falling to the ground in a swoon. I remember no more until I came once more to consciousness, and found the Professor standing over me looking anxious and concerned. Gradually, as I “came to myself,” the recollection of what had happened unfolded itself.
“It is only as I feared,” said the Professor, after I had become restored.
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“The sudden disclosing to the mind of laws which subvert our previous notions of the operations of force, as manifested in the environment, is a terrible shock, and is the secret of the terror which inspires children and the vulgar at the apparition, whether real or imaginary, of bogeys and phantoms. The eyes of the intellect are dazzled, the brain is overpowered, the senses are intoxicated. You must rest your thinking faculties as far as possible for a week or two, and you will then find yourself able to return to our experiments, not only without discomfort or fright, but even with keen interest; and now I will leave you to follow out my advice in this respect. Good-night, old fellow; go straight to bed, and think no more about what has happened till I come and see you again.”
With these words, he shook hands and said farewell. I was still too overcome to reply, and could not even see him to the door. I merely muttered a confused farewell, and crept off to bed with a sick and despondent heart.
The next day my miserable frame of mind had by no means left me. To dismiss the events of the previous evening from my thoughts, as the Professor had advised, was an utter impossibility. On the contrary, these recollections dismissed all other ideas, and I found myself quite unable to give attention to the ordinary affairs of life. Everything seemed unreal; my surroundings appeared to be a mere phantasmagoria, a projection of fantasies on my brain as unsubstantial as the images projected by a magic lantern on a screen to amuse children. A horrid suspicion haunted me that I was going from my mind. I felt no confidence, no reliance in any one of my senses. I think that no one who has not been through a similar state can have any idea how implicit, and how constant, is the trust which we all of us place in the infallibility of natural effects which experience has tested and never found to fail. When I walked, I ceased to retain any faith in my muscles or organs, or in the earth as a support. If I laid anything on the table, I felt constrained to watch it for some seconds to make sure it would not bound off to the ceiling or glide away to the ground. As for the Professor, I felt towards him one passion only – that of inveterate hatred. Or was it fear? At any rate, it was an indescribable antipathy. I would not go near him at any price; I even took the precaution to keep the latch of my front door fastened so that it could not be opened from the outside, for he was in the habit of walking in unannounced. Even with this precaution, I was far from feeling safe, for who could tell whether he could not, with his hateful witchcraft of fourth dimensions and spiritual hands, stand on the doorstep and calmly undo the door on the inside.
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So things went on for a week, when at length I found relief. It was exactly as the Professor had said. My brain had been overpowered and my senses dazed. Gradually my mind regained its normal strength, and within a fortnight I was able to think with pleasure and even to theorise upon the singular phenomenon which had caused me so much horror and wretchedness. I became deeply interested in it, and so far from disliking the Professor, I began to long for another visit and further experiments.
At my own request he called. I told him all that had happened – my dejection – my uncanny feelings – the revival of the sway of reason in me. He seemed much pleased, and was especially delighted when I went further and gave him the crude theories which I had formed.
“I imagine,” I said, “that we have a magnetic power which we only lack the faculty to exercise. You appear to have discovered and developed that faculty. Is not that so?”
“Hardly, I think,” he replied. “I will first show you an experiment, and will then as far as possible explain to you the modus operandi, though you must bear in mind that I do not claim to fully understand the matter myself, as I am new to it. However, I will tell you all I can. Fetch down that case with the stuffed bird in up there on the wall.”
It was a pet canary that had died a year before. I had had it stuffed, for it was a favourite of mine, and I kept it over the mantelshelf, perched on a twig just as it used to perch and sing in its cage.
“I am going to take this bird out,” said the Professor.
“All right,” I said, not very pleased. “Do so if you wish, though I have been at some pains to make the case thoroughly air tight, so as to keep out insects.”
The Professor smiled, and as he did so to my intense astonishment I saw the bird in the case, which he was holding in his hand, vibrate. And then the front of the bird disappeared as far as the legs, leaving the remainder standing as though it had been cut straight down with a keen knife.
“Watch it closely,” said the Professor.
I did so. I looked at it as nearly as I could front ways, and could see that it was not cut through, for the front appeared yellow as though covered with feathers and not showing the cork with which it was stuffed.
“Watch it still,” said the Professor. As he spoke, the disappearance progressed; in a second all the body had gone, and gradually the vanishing spread to the very tip of the tail. The bird was gone.
The next thing I saw was that it was in the Professor’s hand. The case remained sealed, intact. My astonishment, as may be supposed, knew no bounds. In another minute the Professor had replaced the bird on its perch, its reappearance being the exact converse of its disappearance. First of all came the tail, and at the same moment the
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tail vanished from the bird in the Professor’s hand, and the same process extended gradually along the body. When only the head remained outside the case, a sudden thought inspired me. In a moment I grasped the head and endeavoured to snatch it away, in order to make perfectly certain that no trick was being practised.
It seemed to be riveted in the air. I pulled at it in vain. The Professor tried to restrain me, but I was too quick for him. A smart tug, and the head-piece of my poor canary was in my hand and the resistance ceased. At the same moment the body portion inside the case fell from its perch. The two were severed.
I was intensely annoyed when I saw what had happened, for the damage was beyond repair.
“Your own fault,” said the Professor calmly.
I was bound to admit it was, and looked very foolish as I tried to hide my concern by assuring him it was of no consequence.
“Well, now let me proceed to explain,” he said. “Suppose you had a plane surface bounded on all four sides by barriers. To a person who did not know of a third dimension, who knew of length and breadth, but could not imagine thickness because it did not enter into his experience, to such a person, I say (of course a merely hypothetical and impossible individual), it would seem that it would not be in any way possible to remove that plane surface without taking away the barriers, and yet you know well enough it could be at once done by lifting the plane surface or by lowering it. To any one gifted with a sense of the fourth dimension, thickness itself is but as it were superficial. There is an aperture still open to that closed case. It is what I call the fourth dimension, or the spiritual aperture. The only reason why you could not put your hand into that aperture is because you cannot see it, and your senses do not direct you. Were the requisite sense unveiled, as it is with me, you would be able easily to do what I have done. Therefore it was that your clumsy effort wrenched the head off the bird.”
I understood very little of his explanation, though now the meaning is slightly clearer, and I seem to have a dim conception of the matter.
“But,” I said, “why do you not show this extraordinary power to everyone? Why make such a secret of it?”
“Your memory is very defective,” he replied. “What was your own answer last time we met, when I asked you what you thought an ordinary business man would think about a fourth dimension?”
“Oh yes, I know,” said I; “but that’s quite a different matter. People would ridicule the theory, but the facts they could not deny.”
“You are very, very wrong, if you really think that,” said the Professor. “Recollect the parable of Dives. Moses and the Prophets give the theory, the resurrection is the fact. If they will not hear the one they will not believe the other.”
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“I cannot see how scientific men can deny facts that are brought before them,” said I.
“No more can I,” said the Professor, “and yet they do. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, to set your mind at rest on the point. I am going up to London to-morrow, and shall probably stay a few weeks. I will get introductions to two or three of the most eminent physicians and scientific men (which I can easily manage through my friend, John Rook, the publisher), and you shall just hear the result for yourself.”
“Very good,” I said. “And now let us have some further experiments.”
“No,” said he, firmly, “we have had enough for you to digest until my return. Too much food for the body gives gastric fever; too much for the brain gives brain fever. On my return, I hope to show you some still more astounding experiments, also to make you acquainted with the rather unpleasant operation which I performed on myself in order to lay open the spiritual faculty, and perhaps, if you wish it, to do the same for you. And, as a final idea for you to consider, let me tell you that only human force – that is, mental and spiritual activity – operates in the spiritual dimension, and that that aperture is only open or accessible to man. Dust cannot get into your bird-case, but I can force dust in. This is because gravitation is of no account in the spiritual dimension, where spiritual, that is human, force alone operates.”
Leaving me this idea to work out, he said farewell until the time he should come back from Town and perform further experiments for my edification.
A week after the Professor left for London, I went for a short holiday, choosing the Scotch lakes for my tour. If there is one thing I dislike when away on a holiday, it is to be worried with a number of letters forwarded on to me on business and every-day matters, which take all the pleasure from a trip away from home. I therefore took the imprudent course of instructing my housekeeper to forward me nothing that came by post, but to place all letters on my study table that I might attend to them when I returned. It was a delightful holiday to me. I forgot all cares amid the mountain scenery of the highlands, and never gave a thought to the Professor or to the fourth dimension as I revelled in solitude by the lakes and streams of old Scotland.
On my return I took up the little pile of letters that lay on the table. After dismissing to the waste-paper basket several circulars relating to gold mine and other schemes for drawing money from sanguine investors, I took up an envelope on which I at once recognised the handwriting of
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my friend, the Professor. I tore open the seal hastily, and not without a feeling of regret that this one communication had not been sent on to me, especially as it was marked “immediate and important,” on the outside. But what was my dismay when I read its contents:
“Come at once to Engleford Asylum, where your unfortunate friend is to be at once confined. I was fool enough to try the experiments, as you suggested, before two scientific men. Result, certificate of lunacy. Lose no time, or I shall verify the certificate and ’twill be too late.”
Within three hours I was at Engleford, and flying to the asylum. It is a massive building of white brick, within a minute’s walk from the railway station. At the gate is a bell-handle. I tugged it with remarkable energy, and a great bell clanged as though it would wake the dead. The porter came. I asked to see the superintendent on urgent business.
I was shown into a small office. The superintendent entered, and suddenly it flashed upon me that after all I hardly knew what I had come for. From the post-mark, I judged the Professor had been in the asylum about ten days.
“I have come,” I said, rather bluntly, as the superintendent motioned me to a chair, “to see you with regard to a rather curious case,” and giving him the Professor’s name, I asked whether it could be true that he had been sent to the asylum.
“Yes, poor fellow,” said the superintendent. “Sad case, very sad case. He seemed almost like a sane man when he entered, but his symptoms developed with remarkable rapidity, and in three days had taken a very pitiable form of monomania, under which he is, I fear, likely to remain all his days. He has a fancy that he is a canary, and that someone has beheaded him.”
I sank back in my chair. It was then too late. The shock had been too much, and had unhinged his mind. I felt I could ask no more. I could not wish to see him in his pitiable plight. I merely expressed my thanks to the superintendent for the information, told him how dear a friend of mine the Professor had been and how shocked I was.
It was too late. The Professor was mad.
[By opening so freely…]
By opening so freely their lunatic asylums to their supposed madmen, men only seek to assure each other that they are not themselves mad.
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Two Christmas Visions
I THOUGHT I was sitting with a new-born babe in my lap. If I was not the child’s mother, it had no other. I was conscious of a peculiar sense of responsibility concerning him – of a link between us of some mysterious nature.
The babe lay calmly sleeping upon my knee, and I sat watchful for his awakening. He was wondrously developed; the naked limbs were not soft and puny, the healthy brown skin covered sinew and muscle such as seemed to promise extraordinary strength; and his face was as the face of a Buddha. Yet he lay helpless, warm, breathing, and as I watched his eyes opened and immediately he began to cry – cry, it was a most piteous wail, which I strove in vain to hush, walking up and down slowly and troubled, for the wailing stopped not, and he was exceedingly heavy. Worn out at length, I laid him down in despair, and turning from him found myself suddenly alone in the open air. A great sandy plain stretched as far as I could see on every side. Before me upon a great smooth white stone sat the colossal figure of an angel; he held a staff in one hand and his eyes looked steadfastly beyond where my gaze could reach. Approaching, I touched him gently. He turned his grand calm face towards me, and the effect was as a sudden peace pervading my soul. I spoke to him about the babe, asking how I could soothe its bitter wailing.
“It is the cry of humanity,” the angel said. “With this child you must use not force but reason; its brain is as instinct with future power as its limbs, but the full strength of this is withheld until a veil is withdrawn. It is yours to draw this aside, yours to develope each and every detail of this soul. On you depends its tendency towards good or evil; each thought of yours will influence – see that you reason wisely and guard your heart from error.”
His gaze returned to the distant horizon. “What do you watch?” I asked of him.
“The earth and its inhabitants.”
“But what do you see afar?”
“The souls of men,” he answered, and turned from me.
Again the scene changed, and I stood within the chamber where I had lain the child. He was asleep, but he awoke even as I approached the couch, and once more the piteous wail smote my ears and made my heart ache. I clasped him in my arms, endeavouring to soothe him. I
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thought not to either clothe or feed him for to me he was less body than soul. As I hushed him, it seemed to me that we were reflected by a large mirror which attracted his gaze, and stretching out his hand he touched his image. The cold solid surface frightened him, and he clung to me with screams, dreadful to hear, clung frantically, madly; his little hands tearing my neck and throat. He had the strength of a wild animal and grew greater and stronger; and as I struggled with him in terror, he bit me with savageness. Suddenly I recollected the angel’s warning, and carrying him with difficulty before the mirror again. “See,” I said, “it is but your own image reflected there; it moves only as you move, and is powerless to hurt either of us.”
He touched the mirror, felt it over with his hands and ceased his cries. His expression at once became calm, and the eyes that met mine had in them a look of recognition. He returned my caresses, kissing the wounds upon my throat and neck, upon which they were healed. He became less heavy but his limbs grew and developed, and as I gazed his face assumed a look of clearness and intelligence, his eyes were strangely beautiful. The veil was withdrawn.
After this I saw no more, for there was neither surrounding nor form in my vision. It became mind solely, and the eyes of the child are all my remembrance holds.
The Angel spake. “The veil has vanished. Whatsoever you say now will be understood. Yet there is no thought beyond that which you instil. It is yours to guide and teach until this soul becomes cognisant of every thought within your brain. Then it will continue to develope alone. You will no longer be able to influence for good or evil, save as what you have already given may influence. It will be yours then only to watch the results of what is past.” And the Angel left me.
The soul beside me grew hourly. I spoke to him of science, religion, nature and of the problems and mysteries of life. As in the face of death one’s whole life is said to pass with incredible swiftness across the brain, so in my dream it seemed as if each thought of mine that I had ever had passed from me to this child, who now ceased to be a child. As I had learned myself, so had this other to learn. I wished to influence rightly, often conscious that my thoughts were neither wise nor good, yet was I unable to withhold them from him. They left me as swiftly as they came, and entered into the mind beside me. Then there came a time when we talked together, thought equal with thought. The fearful sense of responsibility which had never left me gave place to sharp pain as I realized that my past was over. He had followed my every thought, so that I knew his mind even as I knew my own. Henceforth he would be swayed by any that came near. Yet, should harm come to him, the blame I felt was mine.
Once again the Angel stood beside me. His voice was kind and gentle; it had been almost stern in its calm serenity before.
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“You have done your part,” he said. “You have sown the seed and must rest patiently for the fruit.” He took my hand in his and drew me away.
“Ah!” I cried, “must I leave him now? He is part of my own soul – it is a link that cannot be severed.”
The Angel replied as he still drew me towards him: “You have solved one of the mysteries of the Universe, yet, though you are one, you must move forward in the distinct paths for a time; and as your influence is good or evil, that time will be short or long.”
F. C.
Two Christmas Visions
A feeling of swift motion.
Am conscious of traversing a narrow defile on the summit of a range of high hills, the path circuitous and difficult.
The stars sparkle in a clear sky, and the crescent of the moon’s last quarter is near the zenith.
It is just before day-dawn.
Two large birds (they seem white), with outstretched necks, long bills, and long legs, with a flight like herons, pass just above me, with a peculiar whizz and singular cry.
A conductor is by my side, but I cannot look up, because of the exceeding brightness of the presence.
A sharp turn in the path brings into sudden view a natural amphitheatre, to which the path just traversed is the only means of access.
The whisper comes “Mark well, and remember.”
The area is a verdant plain completely enclosed by the mountain-tops. Short shrubs grow amongst the surrounding rocks, and now and then a bird darts from one bush to another.
In the middle of the plain is a large building of simple but imposing architecture. It is square with a round turret at each corner, and a still higher dome covers the centre.
I approach the building on the north side, in the middle of which is one door.
A dim light burns in the vestibule. The lamp is of ancient Eastern form, suspended from the centre of the roof by a long chain.
A man stands guard at the entrance, dressed in a loose gown of a blue-grey material. On his head a peculiar hat, something like a college cap, with a square flat top. A belt of some metal, like a blue watch-spring[41], is around his waist, from which hang in front two tassels.
In his right hand he holds a black rod surmounted by a golden crown, and the other end finished off with a golden ball.
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In his left hand he swings a censer, from which escape the most overpowering fumes. I am conscious that no other guard than those fumes is necessary to bar my progress.
Alone I could not advance a step further.
My conductor enables me to pass. I am hurried along a winding gallery.
On the right hand a solid wall. At regular intervals are pilasters corresponding to high massive pillars on the left. Each pillar has a very simple moulding near the base, and thence ascends without ornament. In the space beyond the pillars sit cross-legged, Eastern fashion, a certain number of men, one man occupying the space between each pillar and the next.
The first man wears a black gown and black turban, with a black star upon it. Following him sit a certain number similarly attired, but without a star. And so on through nine groups, each group being distinguished by a different dress and turban, the last number being clothed in yellow, and the first man having a golden star in his yellow turban.
Between the pillars and in front of each priest, the light towards him, hangs a lamp, in shape something like a shallow sauce-boat[42]. The lights opposite the black group are miserable and dim. The flames grow larger and the lights brighter, as the colour of the dresses becomes brighter, until the lights opposite the yellows are very large and bright.
At first it seemed as though the gallery returned to the entrance after making a complete circle, but presently it was evident that it took a spiral course, and by the time it had reached the door of the central chamber it had made seven volves.
The entrance to this Holy of Holies is also on the North side.
It is a large circular room under the dome of the Temple.
A flood of bright light pours down from the centre of the dome. A light too dazzling to look at.
In the centre of this sacred chamber is a square altar of blue-grey marble, a few veins of white are in the stone, but it is a rare specimen of the purest colour.
A snow white cloth covers the altar, and on each side an equally white wool mat to kneel or stand upon. The necessary items for their communion celebration are set in order.
All along the gallery leading to this chamber the men were sitting down and had sandals, but here around the altar stand, bare-footed, the same number as in the previous groups, venerable looking men, in snow white gowns and turbans; their long beards and hair also white. A golden star with golden rays upon each turban. In their hands golden
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dishes, upon which is broken bread.[43] Similar dishes, but of baser metal, were in the hands of all the men in the gallery.
I am led to the East side of the altar.
On the wall in front of me is a large golden 7 (seven). Also on the right; likewise on the left. Looking behind upon the east wall is again another 7.[44] In all four sevens.
The priests look down upon their sacramental bread as if in contemplation or prayer. Now they turn all with their faces to the wall. This moment my conductor touches some particular point in front of the altar and discloses a secret opening from which taking a large scroll, very yellow with age, and rolled upon two staves or cylinders, whispers:
“These contain the knowledge you covet!
“Oh! let me look!”
“Not now.”
The next moment the secret place is closed. It is impossible to distinguish the spot, the stone seems as solid in that part as any other.
“Return to the door – stand a moment” – I hear a whisper. “They have lost the secret, and think all the knowledge of their Temple is in the book upon the altar.” It is a dark red book, superbly bound and plated with gold. A crucifixion is represented on its richly embossed cover. A large golden clasp holds the book closed.
The priests now turn towards the altar, which they encircle. Their appearance and mien are enough to inspire respect, and the solemnity of the whole scene fills my soul with reverence.
“They are met for their Communion and await the first ray of the rising sun, which is just about to strike the hill top. We must hasten away!”
The men in the long gallery are sitting in the same attitude of contemplation as when passed before.
The door is reached.
I awake! Has it only been a dream?
Bright presence let me dream again!
X.
Note
This “dream” would perhaps be more accurately described as a “vision” conveying truth under a symbolical form. The general interpretation is indicated with sufficient clearness in the account of the dream itself; but a few remarks on some points of detail may be of service.
The dreamer is in search of that hidden knowledge which lies at the inmost heart of all religions. This can be only gained through initiation.
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The guardian of the gate is clad in a grey-blue garb, the apparent colour of the visible “heavens”; the square flat top of his headgear symbolizing the four elements, or, rather, the number “four,” which is so important a factor in symbolism.
He bars the progress of the seeker with the paralyzing fumes of exoteric ritualism and ceremonial, under which the fire of truth does burn indeed, but invisibly.
Furthermore, the “four Sevens” show this vision connected with occult (which is not to be confused with its modern imitation) masonry – e.g., with the rites of the “Grand Elect” the knight of “the White and the Black Eagle” (30th deg.) For, in this grade there are four apartments, and it is in the fourth that the initiation is accomplished. They further symbolize the four seasons; so also the year culminates in the fourth.
The Seven mean an endless series of things. Thus the seven rungs of the ladder in a certain ancient Masonic rite remind one of the seven pyræa, or altars, whereon the ancient Persians burnt incense in honour of the seven planets. The passage of the Soul to the highest empyrean was symbolized by seven spheres in the Mithraic mysteries – just as in Revelation (an account, in fact, of one form of the Solar rite of Initiation, borrowed from the Egyptians) – the soul ascends through seven spheres typified by the Seven Churches, to its sea of crystal. To symbolize this tenet the primitive Gnostic Christians erected, in the “Hall of Initiation,” a ladder with seven ascending doors; the first door was of lead, the second of tin, the third of bronze, the fourth of iron, the fifth of copper, the sixth of silver, and the seventh of gold. These are the seven stages of preliminary initiation, after passing which the neophyte becomes a full adept, and enters upon a new cycle of still more awful initiations.
The nine groups of men or students in the seven coils of the outer gallery are, of course, typical of the nine degrees of increasing knowledge, as also of initiation, the tenth and highest being the central hall under the lighted dome.
But the number ten, though it is that of the Sephiroth and the perfect number on the physical plane, is, itself, but a blind. For no Kabalist or Occultist can appreciate its full significance unless he analyses and takes it to pieces, studying all its factors and component numbers separately and in combination, e.g. 2×5=10, 3 + 4=7, 7 + 3=10, etc., etc. Ten is the number of Jehovah, the typical personal God. Therefore the dreamer rightly hears it said that even the priests of the inner shrine have “lost the secret.”
Finally, it may be well to remark that it would be wrong to take the red book with golden clasp which lies on the altar, and in which the priests erroneously fancy all the knowledge of the temple is contained, to represent inclusively the Christian gospels because of the crucifixion embossed upon it.
The “crucifixion” is a symbolical rite long antecedent to Christianity, and as it veils the secret of the final initiation is rightly seen upon the closed book of the innermost mysteries.
Some most suggestive hints at the meaning and true nature of this ceremony will be found in the “Secret Doctrine,” to which the reader must be referred for further details.
The Talking Image of Urur
Franz Hartmann · pp. 292-300
[Satire is a sort of glass…]
Swift · pp. 300
[If evil be said of thee…]
Epictetus · pp. 300
The Dirge for the Dead in Life
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 301-303
Accursed!
Vera Jelihovsky · pp. 304-316
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[Editors’ note on “Accursed!” by Vera Jelihovsky]
[Editors’ Note. – This story is based upon an absolutely true fact, and the biography of a once living person. It was repeatedly narrated by the late Princess W * * * an eye-witness, to the family of the writer. Only the names and locality have been changed.]
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The Seven Geometrical Vowels
A circle simply represents a limit. There is no point within its circumference.
Rotate the sphere; then looking at it from above, along the line of its axis, and it exhibits a point in the centre.
This is the point around which the whole sphere revolves, and the quicker the revolutions the more defined the point.
Looking at this same sphere from the plane of its equator; its axis, which before was a dot, shows itself as a line.
The straight line is, therefore, the same as the point, only upon a given plane of observation.
If the dot be the point of consciousness of the globe, then the vertical line shows the direction of that same consciousness.
The extent of a line can only be defined from a plane at right angles to the point. That plane is, therefore, represented by the horizontal line.
For these two lines to have an actual manifested existence the sphere must rotate in two opposite directions at the same time, upon poles at right angles to each other.
In such a case the line of consciousness, or the line of manifestation, according to which axis remains stationary, will appear to contract and expand.
Supposing the line of consciousness to extend as a force beyond the circle, and set up a rotation from itself, and being without any attraction, or retarding influence along the line of its existence, its vibration would gradually assume a circular form.
Therefore the soul or consciousness in order to create or surround itself by a perfect circle, must have no attractions along its line of existence.
An attraction or weight upon the plane of its manifestation would cause it to assume the form of two Triangles. The quicker the revolutions and the more powerful the plane of manifestation would become, until the line of consciousness were almost absorbed in the plane of its manifestation.
Therefore the Triangle must imply a base of attraction, or plane of existence, upon which the manifestation is exhibited,
And must be the opposite of the circle which implies no plane of existence or attraction.
Original diagrams and their arrangement, p. 317.
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The Triangle defines the two extremes of consciousness upon the plane of manifestation.
As the plane of manifestation is at right angles to the point, the attraction of that plane must be midway between the extremes of consciousness, therefore the existence of △ implies the existence of ▽ also.
We have therefore the incomprehensible manifesting consciousness upon the plane of existence producing nature or in concrete form.
These forms correspond to the Elements in nature. And to the Vowels in our Language, which are the Soul of the words, as the elements are the soul of Nature. Thus: –
Akas – the vowel O. Air – the vowel I.
This line divides the circle into two parts; the upper hemisphere representing Light – thus Space, the plane of Divine consciousness corresponding to the vowel W.
Darkness – Void = U. Fire to the vowel A. Water to the vowel Y. Earth to the vowel 
or E.
As these several forms are evolved from the activity of the central consciousness; it is manifest that from Akas are evolved Air, Fire and Water, which, in combined and concrete form, produce Earth; that Heat and Moisture are but reversed conditions of the same cause.
The vowels are the soul of language, without them a word cannot be spoken. The consonants simply indicate the manner in which the vowel is to be expelled from the mouth, which by correspondence, is equivalent to saying that the consonants indicate the form in which the elements are
Original diagrams and their arrangement, p. 318.
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set in motion and combined to produce a natural manifestation. The correspondence might be carried to an extent not wise to write down.
If these forms correspond to our vowels they ought to contain all the letters of the alphabet to which they belong, just as the Elements, of which all manifestations in nature are composed, are expressed by the same forms.
And so we find to be the case, thus: –
This monogram contains all the forms
also the vowels a, e, i, o, u, w, y.
This is the true Masonic Gavel, the symbol of power, combining in the signification of its lines and form, all the forces of Creation, within nature.
The handle is formed of the tail of the vowel Y, which is a continuation of Divine intelligence, extending, from from above. through fire and water, and earth and even beyond manifested nature. He who can wield this gavel by the handle of conscious intelligence has a right to sit in the Chair of King Solomon.
Man is a combination of all the elements of creation. Therefore his form ought to be an outline of the elements of Form.
Akas [45], the centre of consciousness being on the place of Individuality, the point can only be seen from the highest position of observation; so Individuality is the point of consciousness from the highest or mental aspect. This consciousness extends down the backbone, and evolves by its development the circle of the body, having its material plane, or horizontal line, across the stomach.
The lower half including the viscera or “Void” (U). The upper half the light or vital power Ω takes in above the diaphragm.
Original diagrams and their arrangement, p. 319.
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E or earth, the stomach, &c., to the navel, and U or void, the bowels below the navel, and including the hinder parts.
It will be observed that the womb and other organs are in the Void. The Void is the Light reversed.
The handle of the Mallet, or Extended Consciousness, shows the direction which the Intelligence, evolved by the revolution of Akas, may take, and going downward through Void may be lost to the intelligent Consciousness of the Circle at the top of the figure (the head) by which it is created.
We have the legs evolved from “Void,” and yet we place the vowel W to “Space” or light?
The opposite to “Space” is certainly the legs by which we are, as it were, bound to the plane upon which we live, so long as the “Void” exists to which we are attached.
But suppose we double up the figure from the central line which divides it in two, the line of natural manifestation; the result would be
The body has disappeared. There is not any of it left but the vital functions above the diaphragm – Fire and Air. Wings have replaced the legs, enabling the Intelligent Consciousness to go where it pleases, W “Space” alone being the plane by which it is limited, Individuality being the centre of the circle of Existence.
It is to be noted that Venus ♀ is the planet giving great refinement to the mind (“Light” W), Love of Art and Science, Music and Poetry, but at the same time delight in Venus pleasures and waste of Vril.
Prominent in the seal of the planet Venus is the sign 
or the vowel 
which is vital force or consciousness in fluid form (
, water).
We have implied that consciousness expressed by symbol upon a plane, may extend not only from above to below, but also along the horizontal line of manifestation.
The Masonic gavel has, therefore, four positions, which represented complete would be this sign –
Original diagrams and their arrangement, p. 320.
The Elixir of the Devil
E. T. A. Hoffmann · pp. 321-327
Dialogues between the Two Editors
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 328-333
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Hosea's Prophecy about Rotten Rails
SOMETIME ago in an article, the “Tetragrammaton” (Theosophist), we remarked that by the Notarikon method of Kabalistic reading one could make Biblical sentences read almost anything. Here is an instance. A Kabalist, of the Abracadabric name of Katzenellenbogen, sent to the St. Petersburg Svyet a Kabalistic calculation made subservient by him for the occasion. It is verse 14 in chapter XIII. of Hosea, read by the Notarikon, and thus shown to foretell the catastrophe which happened to the Imperial train on October 17th (29th) and the miraculous escape of the Czar of Russia and his family. The Kabalistic combination struck the profane herds with amazement, and the ancient “prophecy” ran the round of all the Russian papers. We quote from the author’s article.
“If you add together the figures of every letter of the said Hebrew verse to the sum of the figures yielded by the words “Emperor Alexander, Empress Maria, their son, Heir to the Throne, Nicolas, etc., etc., the sum total will make 5649, i.e., the present year from the world’s creation – according to Hebrew chronology, of course – [46] or, in other words, St. (?) Hosea is proved to have prophesied the salvation of Russia in the present year 1888. For those acquainted with the original text, I (Katzenellenbogen) transliterate the ancient Hebrew characters into Russian (and we, into English. – Ed.) letters, with their Kabalistic numerals added: – Gameleh=95, Alexander=365, Vehamalka=106, Maria=252, Ubnom=98, Toresch=516, Etzer=360, Nicolas=211, Vek-hol=56, Scheol=337, Efdom=125, Mimovijess=486, Æg-Olem=75, Ægi=16, Dvorekha=236, Movess=446, Ægi=16, Kotovho=131, Scheol=337, Nokham=98, Tisokher=670, Meynoy=180;[47] in all 5694, when translated it means: –
“The Emperor Alexander, the Empress Maria and their Son Nicolas, heir to the throne, and all the august family, I will ransom from the jaws of hell (“death” in the Christian Bible)[48], in the year 1888 or 5649, and I will redeem them from death; “O, death, where is thy sting? Oh Hell, where is thy victory?”
The reader is reminded that the above sentence reads only in the Russian language and would hardly yield the same in any other. On the other hand, if tried by an English Kabalist, it might perhaps be discovered that Hosea prophesied for Whitechapel in 1888 “Jack Ripper,” as an atonement for the sins of Scotland Yard; and if resorted to by a French Kabalist, it is not at all unlikely that the said verse should be found threatening Zola with the stings of Scheol (hell) for plagiarizing in such flagrant manner Hosea’s epistolary style (vide Ch. i., ii., iii., et seq.), and thus illegally appropriating the Biblical monopoly of free and unparliamentary speech. Great are the possibilities of Kabala!
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Dreams and Dream Stories
DREAMS and ghost-stories have always, for some unexplained reason, been considered appropriate to the holy Christmas season. At that “witching time,” the most sober amongst us are wont to sit around the fire, in an enchanted circle, and to beguile the evening hours outvying one another with tales of wonder and dread until “each particular hair doth stand on end,” and we dare scarcely look behind us into the distant gloom of the apartment, still less mount unaccompanied to the attic chamber.
We may then hail as specially opportune this volume of Dreams and Dream Stories, by the late gifted and lamented seeress and writer, Mrs. Anna Kingsford. And just as truth is stranger than fiction, and real life more pathetic than that imagined by the novelist or playwright, so are these real dreams (for such are those in Part I. of the book, as we learn from Mrs. Kingsford’s own preface) more strange and weird, and more striking to the imagination than any with which sensational writers try to “freeze the young blood and harrow up the soul.” More than this, these dreams are coherent, significant, poetical in their often beauteous imagery, challenging study and reflection as to their genesis and interpretation. For they are not to be attributed to states artificially induced, as in the case of Coleridge’s Kubla Khan; the writer tells us that she had “never taken opium, hashish, or other dream-producing agent.” Nevertheless, she had observed that climate, altitude and atmospheric conditions were not without their influence; that in Paris and Switzerland the dreams were frequent, and on the low-lying banks of the Severn they ceased altogether. Also the greater number occurred towards dawn, sometimes after sunrise, during a second sleep, at a time when, according to the ancient dream-interpreters, the soul is free from the clouds or fumes of undigested food or drink, and when its nobler part is united to a higher nature, and fitted to receive the “wisdom of the Gods.” And so it is that some of these dreams convey, through an allegory, some special lesson, the interpretation of which is obvious, as in The City of Blood and The Banquet of the Gods. Others contain a well-sustained tragedy, such as The Doomed Train and The Square in the Hand.
The Dream Stories which constitute the second part of the book are merely based, we are told, upon dreams which serve as their framework, and it is here that the remarkable literary power of the authoress is chiefly manifested. Two of these were published some years ago in a London magazine, but the greater number are now presented for the first time.
To my own thinking their style is somewhat akin to that of the shorter tales of Nathaniel Hawthorne. They have his peculiar weirdness and force of expression, together with his marvellous insight into the soul of things. They thrill us by their realism, while they leave us in doubt as to the exact line
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between fact and fiction, and a certain delicacy of touch, indicative rather than descriptive of character, recalls at times the hand of that inimitable master. But the sentiments are strikingly Mrs. Kingsford’s own. A Village of Seers relates a marvellous adventure which befel a father who went to seek for his boy, lost some months previously among the Swiss mountains. He had heard that in a certain village lived a family of seers, gifted on one night in the year only with second sight, by means of which they were permitted to see whatever they most desired. The gift was originally bestowed on a blind ancestor of the family, who had, at great risk and peril, guided a priest, struggling with the storm and carrying the viaticum, to the death-bed of a reputed sorcerer. In the words of the tale.
“to the blind man, deprived in early childhood of physical sight, this miraculous power was an inestimable consolation, and Christmas Eve became to him a festival of illumination, whose annual reminiscences and anticipations brightened the whole round of the year. And when, at length, he died the faculty remained a family heritage, of which all his descendants partook in some degree, his two grandsons, as his nearest kin, possessing the gift in its completest development. And, most strange of all, the two hounds which lay couched before us by the hearth appeared to enjoy a share of the sorcerer’s benison.”
The part played by the two dogs, Fritz and Bruna, may be the embroidery – the Story – on the garment of fact woven by the Dream; at all events it is thoroughly characteristic of Mrs. Kingsford’s well-known love of animals.
In the dawn of Christmas morning the younger guide comes to rouse the father and his companion, that they may all start on their expedition.
“We have seen him!” he cried, throwing up his hands triumphantly above his head. “Both of us have seen your son, monsieur! Not half-an-hour ago we saw him in a vision, alive and well, in a mountain cave, separated from the valley by a broad torrent. An angel of the good Lord has ministered to him; it is a miracle! Courage; he will be restored to you. Dress quickly and come down to breakfast. Everything is ready for the expedition, and there is no time to lose!”
How, after some hours of mountain climbing over snow and ice, the guides find themselves at fault, and becoming entranced, declare that they can see no more, that the vision has passed from them; how the faithful dogs suddenly discover the clue, and lead the party along a narrow track till the father recognises the spot where the accident had taken place; how the peasants bade him shout for his child, though he had told them the boy was both deaf and dumb, and how the one word “Father” came up from a great depth, tremulous, uncertain, yet intensely earnest; all this, with the description of the final issue of the expedition I leave to those who may see this notice to read and enjoy for themselves. I can at least promise that they shall not be disappointed in their search after the marvellous, the beautiful, and the – vraisemblable.
To the initiated, the interest lies outside and beyond the stories.
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Was St. Paul An Initiate?
A LIGHT is thrown on the question by the Alexandrian manuscript of the New Testament in the British Museum. The well-known passage I. Timothy iii., 16, has exercised the attention of students for a few hundred years. The importance of the extrinsic interpretation of the text has led many to permit their sight of the words written to be obscured by their predilections. It is necessary, however, for the student to look at the subject with the “drylight” of Goethe, and to see how far Theosophy will help us in the investigation. Those who say “it is not true, and it does not matter,” may leave the question to those who care to work it out.
A. Θεὸς, i.e. ΘC Deus, is advocated by the vast majority of the Fathers, who accepted what was said, though it may not have been written. θεὸς was directly implied, and the whole passage, to the eyes of an Initiate, means to ascribe Divinity. The context throws light on the subject. This reading is directly supported by Chrysostom, Theodorus, Euthalius, Macedonius (who was charged with introducing the reading), and others.
The Vulgate has always stood on θεὸς. The authorised version adopted it. It is the traditional reading, and the oldest and commonest version. Another reading may have been the original, but if so, evidence for it has been effectually destroyed. Now, at least, θεὸς must be read, however the manuscript has been blurred.
B. Many versions give ὅς, written OC. This has been justified by the Alexandrian manuscript, and it was the theory of Dean Alford, whose pretentious, though not always accurate, Greek Testament has helped one to understand the words –
“So commentators each dark passage shun, |
that the black line at present visible in the θ is a modern retouching of an older, but not original fainter one, due apparently to the darkening of the stroke of an ε, seen through from the other side. The Ephrem Codex, edited by Tischendorf, is in favour of this reading, and for a number of years, until the Revised Bible –
Ein neues Stück, das letzte Stück von sieben – |
shall have become stale, the probability is strong in favour of its
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popularity, as its employment will be in favour with those who, with “sweetness, light, and culture,” expound the translations of the Bible.
ὃ (quod which) is given in the Codex of Beza. This reading finds no support from the Alexandrian manuscript, inasmuch as the sigma before “manifested,” is perfectly conspicuous therein.
The revised version accepts ὅς, and considers that the version “God” in place of “He who” rests on no sufficient evidence.
“probably no human eye will ever be able to determine whether the transverse line was originally there, that is, whether the scribe wrote omicron or theta. It can never be sufficiently regretted that some comparatively modern pen has been rashly employed upon the manuscript, and that modern fingers have been applied to it here with equal discredit to the owner, and the almost entire obliteration of the letters. We hope that henceforth there will be no more endeavours to demonstrare digito the true rendering of the passage, and indeed that the Museum authorities will studiously resist all who wish to have the clause at their fingers’-ends.”
As the Alexandrian MSS. stand, the word is verily θεὸς.
Unfortunately the Codex Vaticanus does not contain the epistles to Timothy. This is to be regretted, as the argument of Canon Cook and others, especially of an able writer in the Dublin Review (Vol. II. page 194) brings forward a strong case to prove that these MSS. were among the fifty copies which Eusebius of Cæsarea procured for the Emperor Constantine the Great. There exist reasons which infer that the Codex Vaticanus (on which too much has probably been said) is of posterior date to the Alexandrian Codex. It is true that Alford, resting on the authority of Tischendorf, places it in the fourth century, whilst he relegates the Alexandrian manuscript to the fifth. But perhaps it was necessary for Dean Alford to say something occasionally which someone else had not said before him.
“His acts are his confession. He openly sides with those whose blasphemies a true Christian would have abhorred, and he sanctioned and shared their deeds of violence and injustice perpetrated on the Catholics.”
“a man of equivocal reputation, more erudite than profound, more a rhetorician than a theologian, more courtier than bishop, more Arian than orthodox.”
What can we say of the literary sincerity of the man who was a party to suborning false witness against St. Eustathius at Antioch, and against St. Athanasius at Tyre? These spurious codices were written at the very time when Arianism was in the ascendant, and thought to keep there. I will not attempt to wade through the miserable history of Eusebius, as you have bestowed, perhaps, sufficiently, poudre insecticide on him in the “Secret Doctrine.” I must,
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however, remind your readers that, as if Josephus was not bad enough, Eusebius has made him worse. The owl which Josephus says that Herod Agrippa saw before his death, Eusebius, by dexterous textual manipulation, turns into an angel. Even his defenders have been forced to admit a sinceritatis via deflexit noster. Men like St. Chrysostom, however, show that Eusebius’ renderings were not always regarded with respect.
When, however, a Theosophist looks over the MS., a new light is thrown on the subject. Whether the writer used the word θc or Oc does not matter, and if he is distinctly shown to have used a symbol, the fixed point in the centre of unity is equivalent to the idea of God. For several reasons, I content myself at this moment with asking the Editors of Lucifer to inform an ignorant outsider like myself. What is the occult meaning of the ⊙; and in what sense did St. Paul and his copyists, a few centuries later, use the symbol as an equivalent to the Ineffable God?[49] “Great is the mystery of Godliness.”
[Editorial reply to A Book-Worm on the occult meaning of the circle and point]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 339
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Lodges of Magic
Nothing that has yet appeared in your magazine has been so much in concord with my own humble views as your Editorial in the October Number on “Lodges of Magic.”
“I am not a proclaimed Theosophist. I do not belong to the Society. For some reasons I am sorry; for many reasons I am glad. And one of the most cogent of the latter is the almost certain degeneracy of any Society or Sect formed by mortal hands. I mean no disrespect to the founders of the T. S. They were animated by the purest motives; inspired by the noblest resolves.
But, being human, they cannot control the admission of members. They cannot read the heart, nor know the mind. And, consequently, the T. S. is not representative of Theosophy, but only of itself – a gathering of many earnest seekers after truth, many powerful intellects, many saints, and many sinners and lovers of curiosity.
If I have learned aright the lesson you have endeavoured to teach, it is this. That development must be harmonious, and must be unconscious.
The danger which attends the desire to know is that the knowledge to be gained too often becomes the goal of our endeavours, instead of being the
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means whereby to become perfect. And by “perfect” I mean Union with the Absolute.
A young man, whose intellect is of the keenest, and with great power of assimilating and applying knowledge, is devoured by a desired to attain a lofty ideal. He feels there may be something beyond the facts of material science, beyond the anthropomorphic religions of the day.
Drifting into that mysterious current which is now flowing through the Century, he becomes attracted by Theosophy. For a while he studies it with avidity, strives to live “the life,” to permeate himself with its teaching.
His intellect is satisfied for the time.
But, alas! he commits the fatal fault of forgetting that he has a soul. He does not, indeed, forget that he is immortal, but he neglects to feed his soul on spiritual things.
His science becomes wider, he grasps the idea of universality – and generally becomes a rank pessimist.
But, through the above-mentioned fault, Mystic Union with the Higher Self becomes more and more phantasmal. He recognises its necessity, but postpones the ordeal.
“First let me prove the lower realms of Nature,” he cries, and plunges into the phenomena of spiritualism, table rapping, and the evocation of spooks. He declares that Knowledge is Power, and carries his assertion to no further issue. He is remonstrated with. He replies that it is necessary to test all experience, and construes that axiom into a law that Karma is to be moulded and shaped by the conscious Ego. Carried to a logical conclusion, his rendering of the axiom would lead him into the lowest depths of vice to the hurt of his higher nature. He would seek in this transient incarnation to gratify every lust, passion and ideal of his personality. Whereas, surely the true meaning of the Law is that the Ego must of necessity taste of every experience in its progression up the Scale; must pass through every grade, ascend every step of the ladder.
It does not mean that when we know the good we must follow evil, nor that our higher must sometimes be actively degraded to the level of our lower self.
And so, step by step, it seems to me our neophyte wanders towards the broad path that leadeth to destruction. Confident that he is able to use the little knowledge he has gained, assured of his own powers, and disdainful of the terrors that lie in lurk for him, he goes on his way. His weapon is Self-Confidence and his armour Ignorance.
There is no turning back when once the path is trod, and the only hope is in his being vanquished in the first trial. Should he conquer his earliest foe, he will only meet a direr fate.
Now, is this Theosophy? If so, I will have none of it. I own I should like to see phenomena, to “call spirits from the vasty deep” with success.[50] But I do not flatter myself that this longing is of a pure nature. If I did not sometimes wish to take a short cut to knowledge, I should not be a man as we know him. But I believe this desire after manifestation to be of the earth, earthy.
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With faith we can do all things, yet we should not desire to do all things, but simply to have the faith.
I recognise the essentiality of establishing the scientific basis of Theosophy, of studying it from all sides. I do not wish to be merely a metaphysical mystic. I am sadly afraid, however, that most of us followers of Theosophy are but just out of our swaddling clothes. We must have our toys and picture books.
My ideal is to worship the One God in spirit and in truth. Is that the aim of the T. S.? . . . . .[51]
I have expressed myself to you, not with any wish to see my feeble endeavour in print, nor from any presumptuous thought that I have written anything new or authoritative. Much less have I written in any carping or judging spirit. I have no right or desire to criticise people better than myself, but I feel it on me to ask for an assurance that the T. S. as a whole is doing the work it is meant to do – not merely expanding the Intellect of the World, but also drawing the Soul of Humanity towards its Higher Self.
A. E.
P.S. – Is not the “Esoteric Section” of the T. S. likely to run counter to the views of your Editorial on Lodges of Magic? Who is to ensure that the Esoteric Members are not only willing to, but will “abide by its rules”?
6th November, 1888.
A. E.
[Editorial reply to A. E. on the Esoteric Section]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 341
Children Allowed to Train Themselves for Murder
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 341-342
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The Devil, Who is He?
Sir,
As I consider the criticism upon my letter in your issue of October altogether unjustified, I trust you will allow me space for a few lines in reply thereto.
There is one thing absolutely necessary to be observed in discussion in order for it to be of any profit, either to the parties themselves or to any one else who may either hear or read of it. And the one thing necessary in discussion is that the parties to the discussion should first understand and accept the premises upon which the argument is intended to be built, or the conclusion is intended to be drawn.
For if, in a written discussion, the critic assumes the writer to have taken certain dogmas or premises as the basis of his argument which he never dreamt of taking, and upon this erroneous assumption the critic then proceeds to ridicule the argument of the writer as though the writer’s argument had been based on the critic’s erroneous conception of his premises, such discussion and criticism is profitable to no one, and amuses no one but the superficial reader who is unable to see the delusion.
And that there may, at least, be no excuse in future for misapprehending my views, I may say that I know of, and believe in, no such person as the Devil, in the commonly reputed Orthodox sense.
But surely those who speak evil of God or their neighbours would be justly entitled to the name.
And, with respect to Jesus, I know nothing of Jesus, excepting that as a Man (whether historical or allegorical) he is the most Christ-like I can conceive, and therefore to me he is the Christ, and likewise therefore “the Son of God according to the spirit of holiness,” whom to know and love is to know and love God, and whom, therefore, to revile and reject, is to reject and hate God. And as I understood that Theosophists (in December No. of Lucifer) accepted this view of Jesus being the Christ, and his practical religion; therefore I am surprised that things should be thrown in my face as accepted by me which I have nowhere in any wise professed to accept. And I should think it as foolish to be offended with what is good in the Scriptures because of there being something hard to accept, as it would be to be offended with the nut and milk of the cocoa-nut only because the shell and the husk could not be eaten also. And if Theosophists are obliged to admit that philosophical postulates are absolutely necessary to be accepted as a basis of argument, I only ask the same; but I cannot see the need of taking offence at my having spoken of the Son of Man having been crucified as a devil. Surely, if he was condemned to be a deceiver, a blasphemer and a devil, and to be therefore slain, it cannot be incorrect to say he was crucified as a blasphemer, or a devil, just as we speak of the martyrs having been burnt as heretics. I have been a friend to Lucifer, both in word and deed, but with such hostile criticism as there is in the October number, one would suppose I had fallen into the midst of enemies.
Petersham, S. W.
[Editor’s reply to “The Devil, Who is He?” by T. G. Headley]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 344-345
Literary Jottings
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 346-349
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Theosophical and Mystic Publications
Among the regular theosophical magazines, the first place naturally belongs to the one bearing the name which serves as the standard around which are slowly but surely gathering all those of the present and rising generations, who feel that man is more than a thinking animal, and has a destiny greater and more noble than to eat and drink, to breed and die. The Theosophist was the first among the four magazines now existing, although not now under the direction of its original editor, yet her place is ably filled by her colleague Col. H. S. Olcott. Since his assumption of the direct responsibility, the magazine has steadily increased in interest and is gradually regaining the reputation which it enjoyed down to 1884, when ill-health deprived it of the services of its original editor.
The September number, besides the continuations of several articles already noticed in a past number of Lucifer, notably The Angel Peacock and Travestied Teachings, contains much varied and interesting matter. An admirable translation is given of the first sermon preached by Gautama after his attainment of Buddhahood, or enlightenment, which should receive much careful study and meditation.
A short but very telling article on Personality and Principle repeats a warning often given but too readily and easily overlooked and forgotten against the dependence on or worship of any one particular person. The warning is salutary and cannot too often be repeated; but the opposite error is equally misleading. For when a man fancies himself infallible, and refuses to yield his own opinion and judgment to that of those wiser than himself, he needs to be much on his guard lest, instead of worshipping “Personality” in others, he should become a slave to his own.
An article by Dewan Bahadoor Ragoonath Rao, however, is calculated to cause a good deal of astonishment among old readers of the Theosophist. The Dewan is a Dwaita, a believer in a personal God, who like the Jewish Jehovah appears amid thunder under the form of a man-lion. Every Theosophist is entitled to his own belief, and no member has the right to criticize it, but the article in the papes of the magazine must cause surprise. The editorial note wisely hints that it is inserted as being of interest to Western readers in showing that the same influences have operated in India as produced the exoteric Christian systems.
Olla Podrida and Facts Stranger than Fiction are both of great interest, and contain quite as much food for serious thought as other more apparently serious articles.
The October Theosophist is remarkable for several exceptionally good articles. We begin with Professor Dvivedi’s able article on the Advaita Philosophy of Sankara. It will be of great value to all who are interested in metaphysical and philosophical studies, while the article on Nature’s Finer Forces is of great practical value. Besides these more than one of the lighter articles deserves careful attention, notably The Experiences of a Student of Occultism. These speak for themselves, but two other papers call for special mention. Of these The Influence of the Moon on Vegetation is not only a most suggestive study, but it contains data and hints of much value to the practical mystic, as is also that of the Jaina Ramayana.
The November number opens with the Proem and Stanzas of Vol. I. of the Secret Doctrine, a work which we trust is by this time in the hands of all regular readers of Lucifer who aim at obtaining true knowledge of themselves and of the world around them. Rama Prasad continues his valuable series on Nature’s Finer Forces, to which reference has already been made, and there is an
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excellent paper on the Dhammapada Jataha. The account of the Jaina amayana is continued, as also The Experiences of a Student of Occultism.
An article on Pranava, also calls for special mention, while the article on the Gipsies is a very interesting contribution to our knowledge of this curious and little understood people.
The second in point of seniority among the Theosophical Magazines is The Path, of New York. In glancing back over the two and a half years of its issue, one cannot fail to be struck by the great value of its contents, both for students and for beginners. It certainly contains more hints and instructions for practical development and self-evolution than one would have thought possible; but these hints, though sufficiently emphasised, are given with such an entire absence of self-assertion and with such absolute frankness that they may have passed unperceived by many. One hears a great deal in the T. S. about the need of “practical” instruction, and not a few complaints that enough is not given; but one has only to read with care the back numbers of the Path to see how little foundation there is for this complaint. But this brings into prominence another point, the carelessness and apathy of those who thus complain. The fact is that of such, the vast majority are too indifferent even to read the magazines published for their special use, or at least seem to imagine that they have done their duty when they take in one only out of the four which now exist.
They forget that each of the four has its own speciality, and that each completes and supplements the others.
This is well illustrated in the three numbers of the Path before us.
The September number opens with a continuation of Mr. Brehon’s series of articles on the Bhagavatgita, which are an invaluable contribution to our understanding of that most instructive of all the Sanskrit books. Mr. Subba Row in his Lectures dealt with the philosophical aspect of the poem; Mr. Brehon considers and explains its bearing upon practical life and conduct.
Following the Bhagavatgita comes fittingly the conclusion of the account of the Teachings of a German Mystic. The accounts given of the various phases through which the medium passes who is being trained to self-conquest, and taught to recover her own inner equilibrium are most instructive, so much so that we sincerely hope to read in the next or at any rate an early number, a further article on this series from the pen of the Editor, Mr. Judge, in addition to the all too brief comment given in the October number. The papers are well worth it, and such an article would add enormously to their value to students.
The Conversations on Occultism in this and the October number are most suggestive, and call for careful study and the use of the principle of meditation, so well explained by Julius in the Tea- Table Talk of the September number.
Dr. Buck’s article Who are Theosophists? also deserves special mention, as also does the paper on the Theosophical aspect of current literature.
In the October number, in addition to a further instalment of the Bhagavatgita series, which has already been mentioned Mr. Fullerton’s excellent article on Karma and Providence claims special notice, as does Mr. Waldersee’s Plea for the Children, which opens up a topic to which sufficient attention has hitherto not been paid.
The Conversation on Occultism and Tea Table Talk are both very instructive, and the Editor is to be congratulated on the sustained interest which they excite.
Mr. Fullerton’s article on Analogies in the November number is suggestive, and Harij’s article on the Practical Side of Theosophy is both well timed and has the ring of true devotion to altruistic work, the need of which in the society is now so great. Answers to Questioners are of much value to Theosophists, while the paper on Heredity which follows touches on a question which will be interesting to all.
Tea Table Talk is as interesting as usual, the subject this month being symbolic dreams, some very curious instances of which are cited and interpreted.
This is the third of the Theosophical magazines, but we have only the September number before us. The publication of the October and November numbers has been delayed or prevented by a variety of circumstances, among others the fact that the whole burden and work of its publication falls on the shoulders of its Editor M. Gaboriau. Hence, however great his devotion, it is a physical impossiblity for him to cope with all that is demanded of him. Thus even a small hitch produces great delay and loss of time, because there are only one or two pair of hands to do everything; but we note that the November
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number though not yet to hand will be a double number of 128 pages.
In the September number we note especially the article on Buddhism in the extreme East and the first instalment of a most valuable article by Amaravella on The Three Emanations.
The remainder of this number, a most interesting one for French Theosophists, consists of various able translations from Theosophical publications hitherto inaccessible to our colleagues across the channel. These transactions form no small part of the value of Le Lotus to all students unacquainted with English.
The October-November Number of the Lotus just received. We are sorry to find in it an apotheosis of drunkenness, and hashish. The French were the first to establish regular Sociétés Spirites, on the model of Chinese “ancestor worship.” Will they also try to emulate the Celestials by putting “an enemy in their mouth to steal away their brains”? If “a drunkard is not profitable for any kind of good service,” as Plato said, the hashish and opium-eater will soon find that this fiendish plant “biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.” Is it under the influence of this reason-stealing gum that the uncalled-for and untheosophical attack upon, and criticism of, one of whom even many an enemy speaks with respect was made in the “Petit Bulletin Théosophique”? The latter has now become a misnomer; Bulletin Sarcastique would be more to the point.
A new monthly, described as “Revue Philosophique independante des Hautes Etudes. Hypnotisme, Theosophie, Franc-Maconnerie, Sciences Occultes.” Directeur, Papus. Office, 14, Rue de Strasbourg. This magazine, edited by the Secretary (M. Encausse) of the Theosophical Society of Paris, “Hermes,” (President A. Arnould), promises well. Its staff of theosophical writers and list of lay contributors, whose names are all more less known to the Parisian world, is long and well-chosen. In our next Review we shall have more to say of it. Its Second Number is just out. (Price 8s.)
We congratulate our brother theosophist, the editor of The Meister, on the completion of the first year of that journal. No. IV. (the issue is quarterly) is well up to the standard of its predecessors, and contains the conclusion of a careful analysis of the deeper meaning of “Parsifal,” in which, though unsigned, we detect the hand of the Editor, Mr. W. Ashton Ellis. In some respects the lines of Mr. Ellis’ contribution to the Transactions of the London Lodge of the T. S. have been followed, but the author has evidently pondered the subject more deeply in his mind with the lapse of time, and has matured his treatment of the mystic philosophy of this greatest of modern dramas.
This number also contains the conclusion of an extremely readable translation of Richard Wagner’s early treatise, “Art and Revolution,” a work most daring in its conception of the relation of art to social life, and one which shows how great was the genius of the musician-poet who could prove himself as much at home, and as original, in literature as in art. We may select from the translation the following powerful passage, remarkable for its epigrammatic force: –
Only the strong know Love; Love alone can grasp the ideal of Beauty; only Beauty can give birth to Art. The love of weaklings can only express itself as the incitement to lust; the love of the weak for the strong is abasement and fear; the love of the strong for the weak is compassion and forbearance; but the love of the strong for the strong is Love, for it is the free surrender to one who cannot conquer us. Under every fold of heaven’s canopy, in every race, shall men, by absolute freedom, grow up in equal strength, by strength to truest love, and by true love to beauty; but Art is Beauty in action.
An interesting account of the Bayrenth Festspiel, and two studies of the overture to “The Flying Dutchman,” make up the complement of this issue.
The annual subscription, payable to Mr. J. Cyriax, 33, Douglas Road, London, N., is 4s. post-free, and the journal is well worth this price and more, for as our contemporary, The Musical World, says, “the paper and type alone should secure it a home on the shelves of every book-lover.”
To Correspondents
Mrs. Susie E. H. (2nd deg.), 941, Penn. Ave. – Thanks, sincerely. Will answer at the first moment of leisure. An article from your pen would be most welcome.
J. S. – P. N. to hand. Lucifer renders thanks.
“Dissatisfied Clergyman.” – Your article is too violent for our columns. We have nothing to do with politics. Cannot be published.
No. 17 – January 1889
The Year is Dead, Long Live the Year!
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 353-359
[Reply to the Saturday Review on “Accursed” by Vera Jelihovsky]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 359
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Tall was she as the aspen, tall and slender, |
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Serene, while stars flame high in sudden madness, |
We twain were children in that small sea-village, |
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She loved th’ unnoticed splendour, wondrous, golden, |
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Not that, indeed, her childish mind knew clearly |
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Then fell her first tears, bitter, unchecked, burning |
| Evelyn Pyne |
The Talking Image of Urur
Franz Hartmann · pp. 365-371
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The Mahatmas Through the Ages
Although belief in the existence of “Masters of Wisdom” is a matter of personal conviction, reasoning, and experience, it is easy enough to collect historical proofs that such a belief has existed in all ages and nearly in all countries. Not only is the tradition living to this day in India, but the oldest legends in the world, those of the Chinese, and the works of the Taoist Mystics, nearly all revolve around this particular belief.
It is in the “Kwen-Lun” mountains (Karakorum), in Eastern Thibet, that the Chinese locate the source of their great mystic and alchemical learning. The “Kwen-Lun” was, like the Indian Meru, the central point whence sprang the “Four great rivers,” exoterically as well as esoterically. It was the sojourn of the “Tsien” or Immortals, who cultivated upon its slopes the Sesamum and Coriander, the grains which conferred longevity on those who fed upon them. There also flowed the inexhaustible “Fount of Youth,” while the most precious stones strewed the walks in the luxurious gardens of the “Happy Land.” The “Tsien,” like the Lha of Tibet, were not, as generally supposed, merely ethereal Beings or spirits, although some of them were certainly immaterial. There were two classes of terrestial “Tsien,” the “Jin-Tsien,” or disembodied human genii (Nirmanakayas), and the “Ti-Tsien” or embodied Immortals (Mahatmas). The Taoists revere amongst their Saints seven patriarchs and two female adepts, who deserved, after having spent their lives in teaching Humanity, to join the ranks of the Tsien. The great “Lao-Tseu” also, the Founder of Taoism, after having written his “Tao-TE-King,” retired to the “Kwen-Lun” mountains, and was never heard of more. One of his followers, “Lieh-Tseu,” author of a very deep metaphysical system and of the “Tchoung-Hui-King,” went to question the keeper of the pass through which “Lao-Tseu” had disappeared. With much reticence and hesitations, “Yin-He” told him marvellous things about the Tsien who dwelt beyond.
“A Tsien is a man who had a former existence in the world of spirits, is born into the world either on account of some indiscretion or for some benevolent purpose, usually in some lowly situation. He early begins to show a predilection for things mysterious, to receive visitors from the unseen world, to practise Alchemy and the healing art, to prepare and use certain drugs and charms of which no one knows the use or the virtue but himself, and the more advanced Genii from whom he gets from time to time instruction and assistance. After this he gives up human food and all ordinary human occupation”
. . He even gives up breathing, and thus acquires extraordinary powers, such as passing freely through the air and fire, plunging into the earth or ocean, and commanding the most powerful demons. After a life of many hundred years, he ascends to heaven on the back of a dragon. The allegory is transparent: he ascends to bliss owing to the acquirement of Wisdom, symbolized by the dragon; Yin-He adding that those acquisitions were only possible to those whose Soul had become perfectly pure.
At the head of the Tsien reigned “Muh-Kung,” the first creative principle evolved from Chaos, and his wife “Si-Wang-Mu,” the first created principle, whose orders were transmitted all over the Earth by azure-winged birds. Azure was the colour of Astral Light, “Hiouan-Pin,” the blue mother.
In the “Chinese Readers’ Manual,” by W. F. Mayers, many interesting legends are found, showing that the powers which Theosophy attributes to Adepts, such as separation of the Mayavi-Rupa, Psychic Telegraphy, and voluntary reincarnation in chosen bodies, as well as Mediumship, Clairvoyance, Mesmerism and Geomancy (See Doolittle, Eitel, etc.), were well known in China thousands of years ago. There was a province peopled with Magicians-born, the “Maa-Shan” or Giants. Another legend, perhaps a remembrance of Atlantis, peopled with Genii the “San-Sen-Shan” or Fortunate Islands of the Eastern Sea.
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The Genesis of Evil in Human Life
EVIL is a mysterious subject, and of universal interest; it is continually presenting itself for discussion, and men exercise their minds very greatly upon it. It affects man deeply in his thoughts and speculations, because it is so large a factor in his life, and the cause of so much sorrow and suffering.
It is also an element which, though permeating his present existence as a canker, and paralysing and marring his happiness and the realisation of his ideals, man recognises must be eliminated from his life to the greatest possible extent, and especially in certain of its forms, in preparation for existence in a spiritual sphere. This recognition is one of the chief factors in the domain of personal religion, and the special aspect in which it is viewed determines the true or false conception of the means of salvation from evil.
The false conception of the means of salvation from evil rests upon the assumption that a vicarious atonement is essential; hence the religion of many is based, primarily, upon faith in the crucifixion of another being – an objective Christ – and only secondarily, and very indifferently, upon actual personal effort and suffering.
The true conception of salvation is based upon the literal acceptance of the exhortation of St. Paul: “Work out your own salvation in fear and trembling.” [52]
Instead of resting complacently upon the sufferings of another, nailed upon a material cross by the hands of violent, unspiritually-minded men, its gaze is turned inwards, the arena of crucifixion is seen to be there, and the pain-giving nails and piercing spear are to pass through the sensitive forms of cherished personal desires, appetites, and subtler indulgences, not of the flesh only, but also of the mind and heart, extending and fixing them as to a cross until they expire.
But whence comes this canker, this cause of discord, confusion and paralysis, which we term evil? How has it arisen in the sphere of human existence?
In viewing the unlimited potentialities in man, in their number and extent, and in observing the boundless resources by which he is surrounded in his various domains of external activity, of thought, of emotion, and of personal cultivation, we can readily perceive that, were the discord of evil absent, his life would be bright, happy and full of intelligent purpose.
So it is continually asked what it is that has produced a world of activity and of feeling so inharmonious in its movements, so disjointed in its mutual inner relations, and so accompanied by sadness and fruitlessness? And the wise go further and ask, as the most pertinent and
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momentous of life-questions, how can the discords be resolved, the canker of disunion eliminated, and the vitalizing elements of true wisdom and purpose introduced?
At the outset of any enquiry respecting evil it is essential to recognise that it is not itself a thing; but is the form which a certain thing, i.e., man’s behaviour, individually and collectively, has taken. Apart from that behaviour it does not exist; let the form of that behaviour be changed, so that it becomes an expression of the Supreme Law of Life, reflecting the beauty and harmonious operation of that Law, and Evil will no longer exist. Whence has this form arisen, and what has attached it to the area of human existence?
And further, why is the inner life of each individual man the arena of a continual struggle? How is it that there is within him an incessant conflict as to which form, the good or the evil, shall characterise the weaving fabric of his permanent individuality? Why is there not smoothness of movement, concord and peace in the world of thought, feeling and action, of which man is the centre and the creator?
On considering the nature and ways of man’s life, we find that he shares with the lower animals those principles of existence and motives of action which minister to self-preservation – provision of the necessaries of existence, protection from danger, and continuation of the species. In the brutes these principles and motives act without disorder. The animals obey their instincts, or inherent impulses, for the purposes of preservation, protection and continuation, but they obey their instincts within a well-defined limit, laid down by the exigencies and impulses of the moment.
No consciousness of the future plays any part in the action of animals, leading them to lay up store for the future or modifying in any marked manner other uses of their instincts; while their intercourse with each other is simple and obedient to certain natural impulses.
Man possesses these same impulses and instincts; but, in addition, he has been endowed with another group of qualities of greater range and force: memory, realistic perception of objects and of acts, prevision, and an infinite power of adaptation.
These make him master of countless resources, and give him conscious command over the past for the purposes of the present and the future.
But the animal nature in him retains its strength and is still an essential part of his being, connecting him with the objective world and prompting him to acts necessary to his existence.
So strong is this original nature that it tends to assert supremacy over the faculties of greater range and power, pressing them into its service and subordinating them to the ministration of its demands and needs. And the whole principle of the animal nature is self; this is the beginning, middle and end of animal existence. In the arena of animal life, whatever conflicts with Self, or opposes obstacles to its desires, is
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treated as antagonistic: if the opponent be weak or the obstacle slight, it is crushed; if the opposite, it is fled from or avoided.
In all such conditions, however, there is but the one feeling of antagonism, which, if opposition be continued, passes at once into the ultimate stage of either fear or anger. The realm of the animal world, where Self is the natural ruler, is thus one of very simple arrangement and of few governing principles. In it right and wrong do not exist, but in their place, as sole arbiters of action, we find Necessity where self-preservation and propagation of the species are concerned, and where individual relations are involved we find Expediency.
In the obtaining of food, or in the assertion of possession or of supremacy, no law but that of the stronger or more cunning is recognised. Only the impulse to obtain that which is desired is obeyed, except when an instinct of weakness or of inferiority causes fear and either paralyses or instigates to flight.
When, therefore, the animal nature found itself in alliance with the higher attributes of intelligence, memory, foresight and resource, with which man is endowed, the strength of its emotions and the acuteness of its sensuous experiences, would become accentuated; and these, intensified by reflection from the more widely extended consciousness, would lead it to assert supremacy over the forces of higher range, in order that its several individual instincts might be the more effectually ministered to and gratified.
Memory and intelligence would enhance the pleasure found in gratifying desire, by seeking and providing those elements and conditions in which the pleasure was consciously found to exist, and by repetition of indulgence merely for the sake of individual enjoyment and advantage. Thus, the faculty of prevision and more acutely conscious participation in definite acts, could of themselves, in union with the original animal nature, only accentuate and enlarge the principle and power of Self and aid in developing that course of life which tended to exalt and strengthen it.
Had the evolution of man ever presented a stage of this nature, he would have been nothing more than an animal of exaggerated selfish desires gratified without restraint.
It is true that Modern Education, in its systems, methods and appliances, treats man as if he were a being actually in such a stage of development, practically ignoring, in its bearing upon him, his possession of any further endowments beyond these; but unhappily, Modern Education, being chiefly controlled by amateur educationists and self-appointed directors, is quite unrelated to its subjects – and treats it unworthily and ignorantly.
But with the endowments of which we have spoken and which alone would have made him an animal of more definite consciousness merely, a higher principle was also bestowed which carried with it a Law of
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Existence the very antithesis of the animal principle or Principle of Self. This higher principle, like Light in the physical world, appears as a simple essence in its complete form, but may, like Light, be dispersed into many beautiful and energizing rays by refraction through suitable media. In its simple form, as a unit of force, this principle is Spiritual Wisdom.[53] It illumines life fully and truly, and beneath its brilliant rays the true character of the individual and of the world in which he moves – its objects, paths, movements and destiny, arrange themselves before the inner vision in their real nature and relationship.
This Spiritual Principle, embracing as one of its rays the transforming force of Universal Love, the charity of St. Paul, is, as already noted, the direct opposite of the Principle of Self.
Yet the two principles are found to exist side by side in the constitution of man; the one essentially of the flesh and the world and adapted only for a sensuous physical existence, the other infinite both in capacity and in duration, and allying him with the ever-unfolding world of beauty, wisdom and power.
But they cannot thus exist within the same territory and remain passive in attitude towards each other; nor can they compromise their antagonistic claims and assert rule over departments of being entirely detached from each other. The rule they both strive to assert is over that which is the very man himself; each of them claims the Ego, the enduring essence within the visible and transient personality; that which, according to its own absolute choice and decision, will suffer or enjoy, decay or grow, drift at the mercy of every idle wind or steadily ascend the Mount of God.
The one or the other of these forces struggling within the breast of man must become supreme in ultimate rule. By one he is drawn towards this mode of life, by the other to a mode of life diametrically opposite.[54]
The higher principle with which he is endowed strives to reveal to his understanding that another destiny is intended for him than that of living the mere animal life of Self; and at times glimpses come to him of a world totally different in nature from that with which his external senses connect him. By degrees he learns that the Life of Self is destructive of all that is true and enduring, that it is false and delusive, and that it prevents the resolution of the discords of life into a full and complete harmony.
He recognises, also, that to yield to this disintegrating force, to that which produces chaos and decay instead of vitality, must be contrary to the law of his being, and will ever hinder the fulfilment of his destiny, the union of his will and his intelligence with the Fount of Wisdom, Beauty and Power.
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The antagonism and energy of the contending forces become accentuated from the discovery of these truths, and confusion and unrest are generated within the arena of the struggle. The conscious object of this conflict cannot escape from the discomfort, perplexity and sadness it engenders, and he realizes, sooner or later, that his decision must needs be made, and his Will definitely and permanently allied with the One Principle, or surrendered with unstable weakness to the other.
And here we may note that not only do the merely intellectual endowments furnish the nature below them with fuller means of gratification, but they even add special areas of personal life in which self-glorification may run riot. One of these is the area of self-seeking emulation, which in these days is crowded with vulgar activity, and which has been criminally[55] extended, by the gratuitous appropriation of prizes and examinations, into the period of life nature demands for the normal training of every unit of the human race.
In another of these areas arise conditions which instigate to the display of imagined personal superiority and the enjoyment of meretricious and disintegrating social distinctions, manifested not only in the craving for titles and other individualising terms, but even in the active search for them, and in the pleasure derived from their use, exhibited in all the middle and upper grades of social, political and professional life. However plausible, however universal, this action of the lower mental endowments of man may be, it is a surrender to the Principle of Self, and one of the forms in which it is worshipped.
On this plane also arises the common display of personal arrogance and self consequence, which, through tyrannical and arbitrary acts, creates new forms of conflict in the arena of human thought and feeling, sets in motion ever-widening circles of mischief, calls into play the forces of “spiritual wickedness in high places,” and leaves the actor himself at still greater variance with the supreme Law of Life.[56] This is the
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emphasised, more spiritual form of self-worship – the most deadly enemy of the soul of man, and the greatest obstacle to its attainment of true blessedness.
An honest and thorough investigation of the truths and facts now set forth, both as regards the individual centres of life and of force with which man is endowed, and the relation of his Ego towards them and its use of them, leaves us in no doubt as to the origin of Evil, its true nature, and the logical character of its consequences. There is that within man, or overshadowing him, which presses towards rendering him master of himself and of life, by making him a true servant of the Deity; for only when he is the servant of the Most High will man cease to be the servant of the blind, self-centreing forces which operate within him. “Ye cannot serve God and Mammon.”
And man is conscious of this overshadowing by the Supreme Principle of the Universe – Divine Knowledge and Divine Motive – “the Light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.” He would receive it,[57] he even dallies with it, but alas! the lower forces are more present with him; he yields to them and assents to life on their plane; he yields to the motives which they create, though, while yielding, he knows that he is destroying the rule of God and is helping to flood the world with disease, darkness and death.
Thus, voluntarily choosing, or allowing himself to be led into, that which opposes his union with the Supreme Principle of Life – the Absolute in Wisdom, Knowledge and Power, he determines for himself and his race the resulting future; sowing persistently false seeds of life out of his own tainted heart,[58] is it strange that he should reap their natural fruit in sadness and dismay? [59]
“Sow an act, and you reap a habit,
Sow a habit, and you reap a character,
Sow a character and you reap a destiny.”
I.
The Elixir of the Devil
E. T. A. Hoffmann · pp. 379-387
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Graphology
EVERY physical action of the human body is the outcome of the hidden, mysterious working of the Divine Light shining within us, the embodied soul which animates this little personality of ours; alas! too often exalted by us, and fondly cherished and imagined to be the “summum bonum” of all that Is, Was and Is to be. If we could only realise how small and insignificant we are when compared to the seething mass of humanity by which we are surrounded, we should think a little less of ourselves, and probably also of our capabilities, than too many of us are apt to do at present.
The correspondences of Nature are perfect in every detail, and its book is an open page to those who choose to elevate their understandings and cultivate their higher intuitions, to place themselves in sympathy and accord with its apparently confused and undecipherable workings. If people would only try and cultivate their highest possibilities, they would be surprised at the results that would ensue – life would become easier, and the load of trouble, suffering, trial and pain be alleviated and lessened. It is wonderful how much can be done if we only make an effort, and energetically put the shoulder to the wheel. The machinery of our daily lives would run easier and become more endurable.
People display their characters by gestures, actions and speech, but how much of it? A dissimulative hypocrite may skilfully conceal the inner workings of his subtle nature, and effectually hide his real intentions from the ordinary observer as easily as possible, because his deceptiveness and cunning have probably become a second Nature to him – his stock-in-trade, in fact, which enables him to cast a glamour, a false appearance or maya over his victims, and by his apparent frankness ingratiate himself into their confidence and thus attain his unworthy ends whenever he chooses. Such a case as this could never occur to one who had learnt to read and study Nature by diving beneath its surface. Those who have devoted their energies and aims to learning to read a person’s character by means of his handwriting have gone very far below the surface; they have discovered the way to reading nuances and shades of character, wholly unexpected by even, possibly, the person himself – things entirely unknown to, and wholly undreamt of by him: for who is there who really and thoroughly understands his own character? Who can say, I know my weak spot in my physical or moral armour, and also my strong points. You may fancy you do – but wait until you are put to the test. Gold, in order to be purified, has to pass through the fire; and so it is with the human soul – it must pass through the fiery furnace of worldly desires and passions before it can be said
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to be purified. Until this has taken place it does not know its strength nor its capabilities – its character must be formed and moulded, and this is the way it is done, by trial, temptation and intense mental suffering.
Whilst undergoing this process the character is moulded, shaped and fashioned; and as Nature is true to herself, down to the smallest detail, she naturally displays, or causes the Embodied Personality to display, its real characteristics in its Handwriting, even as it correspondentially exhibits itself outwardly in action, manner and speech: with this distinction only, that he who sends a written message to a friend or enemy discovers himself entirely; he has entered the enemy’s camp, and is fast bound a prisoner. Outwardly he may pose before the world as a pious Christian and charitable man; one whose heart bleeds for the suffering, the down-trodden and the oppressed, and yet the keynote to the personality is possibly – what? Why, his intense ambition and conceit; his wish to hear himself well spoken of and exalted to the skies by his sycophants and parasitic loafers. His supreme selfishness is only the deeper intensified, and all his outward show, pomp and vanity are merely a cloak to hide his baser passions and licentious desires – merely so much dust to throw in the eyes of the world – a character, I may say, immortalised by Dickens in that worthy man “Mr. Pecksniff.”
To those who are incredulous about the attributes of Graphology, I have to say that, judging from an exoteric point of view, facts are against them; as at the present moment I know of three, if not more, newspapers which give readings of characters gratis, and plenty of amateurs in the art, who advertise their ability and willingness to do so for a small remuneration; and, by-the-bye, I may say in passing that the power is not given to everyone to do this. As “nothing succeeds like success,” and “Imitation is the sincerest flattery,” so no sooner was this Art made public, a short time ago, in one of the weekly papers, than it speedily found a host of imitators, all more or less worthy and truthful, according to their inner lights, who all made use of the divine gift. For I regard it as a gift, bestowed upon certain ones, even as certain others have gifts and lights in other directions. We cannot all of us be butchers and bakers, and it is not given to every one to become a leading light, whether in the political or literary, or any other world.
Certain well-defined rules and signs are given as being significative of certain traits of character; but it seems to me that, study it as you may, if you do not feel that inner conviction spring up within you when judging a character – as to what the persons really mean, what they really are living this life for – you will fail to grasp the key-note upon which all the other vibrations hang, and consequently fail in the main characteristics. You may study, compare, and read any amount of books and writings, and be just as wise, or very little nearer your object, as when you first started, if you do not have the divine possiblity of sensing another by the touch-stone of your own soul, by your own inner consciousness. I
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know I may be running counter to a fellow student’s ideas in making this statement – to one who occupies a very high position in the Graphological and Chiromantic world; but I make it with all due forethought and deliberation; and say most emphatically, unless you are illuminated by the Divine Light, and your motives are worthy ones, you will fail in reading, at all events thoroughly, this page that Nature opens to those who seek to unravel her mysteries.
Once that you are started in the right path and having a tendency this way, all becomes clear to you, and each personality becomes as open as daylight, with all its varying emotions, hopes, joys and disappointments. The character changes with the physical growth, with the trials in life it undergoes, and it affords a very interesting study to watch the boyish scrawl, when at school, develop later into the writing of the young man. Then the effects of his first contact with the world – he so full of ardour, enthusiasm, and sometimes generosity and hopefulness, all of which become toned down by time and disappear, to give place possibly, in the full-grown man, to ambition, passion, a love of the world with its sensuous desires and luxurious living. Economy descends at times to meanness and parsimony; and then comes old age. Let us trust it will be full of gentle tolerance for the opinions of others, and a disposition to be amiable and to retain intellectual fire and vigour to the last.
It is a singular statement to make, but its strangeness disappears on a little later reflection, when we say that writing has no sex as judged from a higher standpoint. The soul now descends into a masculine envelope, and then into a feminine. And how often do we not find in a man that exquisite tenderness, gentleness, and sweet sympathy, essentially the birthright of the woman; and again, do we not view the spectacle of a woman endowed with the masculine activity of the sterner sex, with its accompanying love of all out-door sports and activities – one whose whole soul seems to be bent on horses and field sports, and who would indignantly deny the assertion, were one to make it, that she was in reality a man in a woman’s body. It is, after all, only the spectacle of Nature seeking to effect the equilibrium of her Forces. Doubtless the Soul has had too great a predeliction in former incarnations for the masculine suits of clothes, as Carlyle puts it, and it now feels the return curve of its orbit in seeking to adjust itself in the female embodiment; and vice versa, with a woman who, probably having developed sufficiently the concrete side of her nature, has now to experience the return curve which brings the abstract mode of thinking to the front, and finds its harmony of expression in a male body. It is even thus that Nature works and seeks the adjustment of its forces on this material plane of existence.
You will find that as it is with nations so it is with the individual units who help to form the nation. Look at the French, for instance – What do we find, as a general rule? Frivolity, carelessness, grace,
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refinement, vanity, and bombastic love of show, accompanied with the desire to do as little as possible, and to do that little as slowly and with as small a minimum of exertion as they are capable of. The Italians are somewhat similar – the Spanish also; the former nation is further marked by a deeper love of ease, laziness, and a more cultivated taste for the arts of music and singing. The Germans again are noted for being a steady-going, practical, hard, and disputative nation, all of which is shown in the average German writing, its difference to that of the French being an absence of the excessive flourish and superfluous lines to the capital letters visible in the average Frenchman’s writing, whereas the German delights more in a somewhat cramped, hard, upright, and twisted hand – indicative of his love of argument and discourse.
Before drawing my article to a close, I may illustrate the utility of the art by an incident that came within my knowledge the other day. A short time ago, an advertisement appeared in a daily paper for a lady help. There were over two hundred applicants, many of whom doubtless esteemed themselves worthy and capable of undertaking the duties in their own estimation, and I may say, for a certainty, a very fair proportion were received from actual servants who had undertaken domestic service, but were ambitious to obtain a rise in life. However, the services of one were enlisted after sifting out of many one that might be suitable; and we are happy to say that up to the present the choice has been a most felicitous one. Little did those who replied to that advertisement dream of the process their writings would be subjected to, as the graphologist had only to sort them out, like so many cards, to tell which were suitable and which had to be rejected.
Reader, study graphology. Purify your thoughts from selfishness, and learn to estimate the world, and its standard of right and wrong, at its own worth; or rather estimate it by the effect of its action on your own inner divine consciousness. Strive to develop all that is noble and high within you, and your soul will grow and ever be a shining light, full of purity and charity; its radiance will spread around you and your circle, and prove a real beacon light to all who seek you in trouble and distress. May you ever have the power to alleviate their sufferings, and may they not seek your aid in vain.
F. L. G.
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From the East of Time
(Continued from the November Number.)
IT is strange that I cannot sleep.
I have lain for hours upon my bed in a species of stupor which has been my only rest. A new day is born, and I cannot sleep – Recollection forces itself upon me, and I can only forget with my pen in hand.
Forget! I do not wish to forget – what do I say? If memory’s power were taken from me what should I become? In recollection lies my safeguard, for I shudder to dwell upon the future, lest in an evil moment, when weakness overcomes me, the Spirit within me conquer, so that we together pass into the East of Time.
I have conquered once. He was unable to return because I fought against him then and I shall never yield. To yield – has he then discovered already that the youth which he sought to share was but a poor thing for me, and has become devastated by his entry into my soul?
To yield, Onora! To leave thee and to fly into future time. Accursed spirit! You are here now; here with me; and you cannot escape, for you cannot remember the East of Time.
And still I fear by reason of the struggle which wore my heart away, lest his spirit attack mine some day when I am powerless to resist.
I rave – it cannot be. I live in the present, not in the future, which has not yet been and which yet is; and this spirit which has penetrated the past shall never, whilst I live, return to the East, lest I go with it as a part of it, even as it has come back to be a part of me.
You who are in the East of Time are mesmerised now – not I – and I pray, as you prayed, “that the awakening may not be too soon” – nay, more, I pray with all my strength that it may never come.
I laid down upon my bed to rest once more – to court the sleep which will not come.
Can it be that I shall never sleep again?
There is still a weary time before me. I must tell you of Onora Mayne. Though I have known her so short a time it seems to me as though we had been dearest friends for many years.
She is the daughter of my uncle’s dearest friend, and she is here upon a visit of some length.
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To me every day seems as one nearer to the end – that end when she may be taken from me once more.
The house, the fields, the summer air, everything has been brightened by her coming. Did they never think that she and I might fall in love?
I, a penniless dependant upon my uncle’s bounty – for the rest a feeble writer and a weaker poet – she the daughter of a wealthy merchant of Brazil, a man whose pride is the truest pride in that he is self-made – did they never think we two might fall in love?
It was unlikely perhaps that she, my queen, should turn her eyes on me. Unlikely that I, lonely as I am, and a poor thing, should dream of loving her.
In four short months her father is expected to return – she spends these months in this house – that of my uncle, his dearest friend.
In four months Onora will have left us and I may never look upon her face again!
I do not know why love should bring hopelessness ever in its train!
Shall I see her again to-day as yesterday upon the lawn, or has something in my manner frightened her so that she will avoid that meeting in the early morning?
The country is new to my love – the dear English country that is the dearer to me because I have grown acquainted with its every mood – and she spends the day, from her first waking well-nigh to the setting of the sun, out of doors.
Why is it that I am afraid that something that I have done – what can it be? – will keep her from the morning stroll in which I have been her companion for three days. Bah! it is nonsense. I shall see her as I dream I see her now – as she met me yesterday – moving towards me with a quiet smile, whilst the daisies seem to raise their heads to worship her as she treads them softly underfoot.
And I can feel the friendly pressure of the palm that frankly meets my own – the hand of a true girl – the hand of Onora Mayne.
How I love the name – how I love to hear it reverberate within me now, and yet I feared to hear it so but a day ago!
Let me forget that the echoes are not my own – are not my own!
The darkness came upon me, but I fought against it and it is gone.
Can you bring before you this scene? Stand near me by the window.
You are looking southwards from an ivy-covered mansion of Elizabethan age. Dear trees – dear because hallowed by the past – half hide the avenue from view. On the right the smooth lawn is bounded by a wall of green, and the carefully trained branches form bowers that lead into the garden beyond.
Then, straight in front, the undulating English park, with an old elm here and there casting its broad shadows on the ground, slopes downward to bathe in the stillness of the distant lake. And beyond, the land
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rises again gently amidst trees and green meadows to meet the clear blue of the sky.
Ah! I cannot paint my uncle’s home, for the things which are nearest to our hearts are the most difficult to describe.
One thing is wanting to complete the beauty of all that is before me – my love, Onora Mayne!
At last she is upon the lawn. My fears were groundless. To-day shall be as yesterday.
See how she moves instinct with harmony and grace! Ah, my queen! the morning sun seems to light with a fairy touch upon your bare head and your pure young face, and I grow jealous of every ray that falls in kiss upon your golden hair.
I have spent a most unhappy day.
How is it that now, though the roses bloom their fairest, and cast their sweetness in superabundance upon the honeyed air, I see no beauty, but only gloom?
Must love bring naught save endless jealousy and pain? Jealousy? What do I say? There is none to her – none save I.
I met her in the early morning to-day as yesterday. She gave me her hand, and yet its pressure seemed to me less strong. Has she guessed – can she have guessed – that the man she looks upon as a friend may love? And if she guesses this, how does the thought find answer in her heart, for or against, yes or no?
And then I received this cursed letter that tears my heart. Why is he to arrive so soon? What is in me that I think thus of the return of my dearest friend? Has my love in its selfish passion swamped my manhood and rendered me a cur? A month ago my pulse would have quickened with joy at the thought of his return, at the thought of meeting him after so long a time, and now – now I am all evil, and shades of ill crush around me and blight what may have known truth before.
Frank returns! Why do I not rejoice; what evil thought has weighed upon me through the weary day? It is easy to blame the accursed thing from future time; it is easy to cast on thee all that is wicked and all that blurs my soul, and still how do I know that the wrong is thine – not mine?
Which part of my inmost heart conceived that hideous longing – that Frank may not return – anything that I may never meet with him again. To whom belongs that shrinking fear that speaks of ill to come; to whom do I myself belong, ye spirit from the East of Time? Who is it would cry aloud in agony “Let him die so he come not here”? Who is it, thou or I?
Onora must have noticed my strange and hideous thoughts!
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Onora seems to read my soul; I cannot bear to stand in presence of her purity. What has come upon me? Help me! help me, God!
Three days have passed since last my pen touched the paper that may bear my own sad history beyond the grave. Three days, and I have sought to write other things, and to regain mastery of myself, and I am still possessed.
That which has come from the East cannot pass from me, for we two are become as one. Little can you dream of the mortal agony which is mine.
Man! man! What are you, reader of these lines? What am I who am even as you? How can you penetrate the depths of the Hell that burns within me? How can you understand the curse which has fallen upon my head? For what? Why am I accursed? Why is it not you in place of me?
I stray from my path of sorrows into the unknown, and it is useless to question there!
I have sought to write of other things, to complete my book, in vain – in vain. I can think only of two things – of Onora, and of the strange life which has entered into mine, to become mine, and to obscure the light of day.
More than this; I have sought to sleep. Nightly have I courted that divine power; nightly have I laid upon my couch waiting, with a patience which vainly wore itself away, for that which cannot come.
I shall never sleep again!
Not to sleep! Can you conceive the fulness of what these words convey? – not to sleep! – never to pass away from the empty vaunting of the hideous day, never to taste oblivion, never to know of rest! Were it not for her, sooner would I die than bear it, sooner have my life crushed from me by a leap forth from the casement out into the air, than live without sleep. I have faced for days past all the terror that wells within me when I recognise that it must be ever so.
How could it be that I should sleep? I, whose brain is ever linked with that other brain. I, whose soul is not my own. I, whose existence is in part from future time, how could I sleep whilst the spirit is with me from the East?
Sleep has passed from me for evermore.
And through the hideousness of all that is, and of all that dwells in me, and around me, in a never-ending misery, I see one star – Onora Mayne – and out of my love for her I shall not wish to die.
My uncle has fallen ill. To-day Onora and I have been in solitude, and to-day I almost told her of my love. We wandered through the woods till we came to a shaded seat that circles rudely an ivy-grown oak. Onora wished to paint, and I wished nothing save to lie upon the
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soft moss and gaze upon her face; and in a little: “Why do you look at me so?” she asked with a troubled air. It was then I nearly spoke – something kept me still.
“I was thinking,” I replied, “that I shall weave that hair of yours through the life of one of my heroes.”
Onora laughed – a bright, happy laugh, a laugh like her dear self – young and fair.
“Do you never grow tired of your fiction friends?”
“Seldom, Onora!”
There was a short pause whilst she mixed some colour with her brush.
“But it must make you very sad at times if you live with them and share their sorrow, for your writings are all touched with sorrow.”
I did not answer her, for it is true, and yet I seem to worship sorrow though I know it is not good.
Rather I turned into a lighter strain, and then in a little read to her those boyish lines:
“Lilies cluster round |
Something of my own deep passion may have shaken my voice, for when I ended and looked up, a startled expression as of the fawn that trembles before a danger which it cannot see, was upon her face.
Onora! how I loved you then!! even whilst I sought to still the fear that rose within me.
“It is late,” she said. “I think we must go,” and we strolled back together to the Hall as we had come, yet not as we had come, for some restraint seemed to have fallen between us, and I knew that Onora read my heart.
How little can I write! My pen is numbed as it seems for ever, and my language stilled and strange, yet this thing that I write now – always – always of myself, I shall continue intermittently as I have done, that when I pass away she, Onora, may know the vale of tears through which my soul doth pass.
Then I expect to die? God knows! How can I live if I cannot sleep?
That letter – Frank’s return – what does it portend? In a week he may be with me here. Onora, I must speak to you before he comes. I fear his handsome face. There is more than fear within me, there is an accursed thing ever torturing my soul with its cry of “Hate him! Hate him!”
Yes, I fear – ay, hate, too. I do not know what evil surges within me. Misery has dwelt with me since that hour when you, Onora, looked down upon me as I read my verses to you in the wood. Why should you not
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love me? Mine is a double soul; has that part from the East of Time brought with it no knowledge, nothing that can aid itself and me to obtain thy love? To think of life without you – it could never be! Alone! My heart bursts into tears, and sadness fills me with its poesy.
She has left me, |
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I am wearied with my heart’s imagining of its own excess.
A complete revulsion of feeling has taken place within me. It was as though my own self were, for a little, summoned by my sorrow to resume its place unchallenged by the spirit from the East of Time. And now all is gone, and darkness has fallen upon me with a prompting of evil which I cannot understand.
Onora, you do not love me – but you shall love me, I swear it! You shall yield your heart to my love. My love? nay; not to that alone, but to the love that belongs to the man who lives five hundred years in future age, you shall yield to him and to me who am his vassal, to me who love you with a dual soul and with a passion terrible in its intensity and awful in its strength.
I call upon you, you spirit alighted from the future, aid me now, in a desire made hellish by your means – aid me now and draw towards me Onora Mayne, with that subtle power which you cast upon me from the distant East. I call upon you – fulfil that longing which is yours as much as, nay more, than mine – take that which you desire – through evil if it must be so. Only bring to me this offering – the heart of Onora Mayne.
Do I call in vain? Who knows? You – Spirit from the East – have lighted upon me, expiate that sin in part by the fulfilment of your own love. If it be possible, give me of your strength, of your strange power, this much – that I may fascinate, as the snake would fascinate, Onora Mayne.
And if she love another, I pray that he may die, and that I alone, by thy power, may gain entry to her maiden soul.
[Chinese Aphorisms]
The sage does not say what he does; but he does nothing that cannot be said.
Pagodas are measured by their shadows and great men by their enviers.
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Irish Fairies, Ghosts, Witches, etc.
IT has occurred to me that it would be interesting if some spiritualist or occultist would try to explain the various curious and intricate spiritualistic beliefs of peasants. When reading Irish folk-lore, or listening to Irish peasants telling their tales of magic and fairyism and witchcraft, more and more is one convinced that some clue there must be. Even if it is all dreaming, why have they dreamed this particular dream? Clearly the occultist should have his say as well as the folk-loreist. The history of a belief is not enough, one would gladly hear about its cause.
Here and there an occult clue is visible plainly. Some of the beliefs about ghosts are theosophical; the Irish ghost or thivish, for instance, is merely an earth-bound shell, fading and whimpering in the places it loved. And many writers, from Paracelsus to d’Assier, have shed a somewhat smoky light on witches and their works, and Irish witches do not differ much from their tribe elsewhere, except in being rather more harmless. Perhaps never being burnt or persecuted has lessened the bitterness of their war against mankind, for in Ireland they have had on the whole, a very peaceable and quiet time, disappearing altogether from public life since the “loyal minority” pilloried and imprisoned three and knocked out the eye of one with a cabbage stump, in 1711, in the town of Carrickfergus. For many a long year now have they contented themselves with going out in the grey of the morning, in the shape of hares, and sucking dry their neighbour’s cows, or muttering spells while they skimmed with the severed hand of a corpse the surface of a well gathering thereon a neighbour’s butter.
It is when we come to the fairies and “fairy doctors,” we feel most the want of some clue – some light, no matter how smoky. These “fairy doctors,” are they mediums or clairvoyants? Why do they fear the hazel tree, or hold an ash tree in their hands when they pray? Why do they say that if you knock once at their doors they will not open, for you may be a spirit, but if you knock three times they will open. What are these figures, now little, now great, now kindly, now fierce, now ugly, now beautiful, who are said to surround them – these fairies, whom they never confuse with spirits, but describe as fighting with the spirits though generally having the worst of it, for their enemies are more God-fearing? Can any spiritualist or occultist tell us of these things? Hoping they can, I set down here this classification of Irish fairyism and demonology. The mediæval divisions of sylphs, gnomes, undines and salamanders will not be found to help us. This is a different dynasty.
Unlike the witch, who deals with ghosts and spirits, the fairy doctor is never malignant; at worst, he is mischievous like his masters and
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servants the fairies. Croker, in the “Confessions of Tom Bourke,” said by Keightley, of the “Fairy Mythology,” to be the most valuable chapter in all his writings, describes the sayings and doings of such a man. Each family has its particular adherent among the “good people,” as the fairies are called, and sometimes when a man died the factions of his father and mother would fight as to the grave-yard he was to be buried in, the relations delaying the funeral until Tom Bourke told them one party or other had won. If they buried in the wrong grave-yard all kinds of ill luck would follow, for fairies know how to kill cattle with their fairy darts, and do all kinds of mischief.
The fairy doctor is great with herbs and spells. He can make the fairies give up people they have carried off, and is in every way the opposite of the witch.
Lady Wilde, in her “Ancient Legends,” thus describes one who lived in the Island of Innis-Sark:
“He can heal diseases by a word, even at a distance, and his glance sees into the very heart and reads the secret thoughts of men. He never touched beer, spirits or meat in all his life, but has lived entirely on bread, fruit, and vegetables. A man who knew him thus describes him: Winter and summer his dress is the same, merely a flannel shirt and coat. He will pay his share at a feast, but neither eats nor drinks of the food and drink set before him. He speaks no English, and never could be made to learn the English tongue, though he says it might be used with great effect to curse one’s enemy. He holds a burial-ground sacred, and would not carry away so much as a leaf of ivy from a grave; and he maintains that the people are right in keeping to their ancient usages – such as never to dig a grave on a Monday, and to carry the coffin three times round the grave, following the course of the sun, for then the dead rest in peace. Like the people, also, he holds suicides accursed; for they believe that all the dead who have been recently buried turn over on their faces if a suicide is laid amongst them.
“Though well off, he never, even in his youth, thought of taking a wife, nor was he ever known to love a woman. He stands quite apart from life, and by this means holds his power over the mysteries. No money will tempt him to impart this knowledge to another, for if he did he would be struck dead, so he believes. He would not touch a hazel stick, but carries an ash wand, which he holds in his hand when he prays, laid across his knees, and the whole of his life is given to works of grace and charity.
“Though an old man, he has never had a day’s sickness; no one has ever seen him in a rage, nor heard an angry word from his lips but once, and then, being under great irritation, he recited the Lord’s Prayer backwards as an imprecation on his enemy. Before his death he will reveal the mystery of his power, but not till the hand of death is on him for certain,”
and then we may be sure he will reveal it only to his successor.
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These are the Sheoques (Ir. Sidheog, “a little fairy,”), and are usually of small size when first seen, though seeming of common human height when you are once glamoured. It sometimes appears as if they could take any shape according to their whim. Commonly, they go about in troops, and are kind to the kindly and mischievous to the evil and ill-tempered, being like beautiful children, having every charm but that of conscience – consistency.
Their divisions are sheoque, a land fairy, and merrow Ir. moruada, or “sea maid” (the masculine is unknown), a water fairy. The merrow is said not to be uncommon. I asked a peasant woman once whether the fishermen of her village ever saw one. “Indeed, they don’t like to see them at all,” she answered, “for they always bring bad weather.” Sometimes the merrows come out of the sea in the shape of little, hornless cows. When in their own shape, they have fish tails and wear a red cap usually covered with feathers, called a cohullen druith. The men among them have green teeth, green hair, pigs’ eyes and red noses, but their women are beautiful, and sometimes prefer handsome fishermen to their green-haired lovers. Near Bantry, in the last century, lived a woman covered with scales like a fish, who was descended from such a marriage.
All over Ireland are little fields circled by ditches, and supposed to be ancient fortifications and sheep folds. These are the raths or forts. Here, marrying and giving in marriage, live the land fairies. Many a mortal have they enticed down into their dim world. Many more have listened to their fairy music, till all human cares and joys drifted from their hearts, and they became great fairy doctors, or great musicians, or poets like Carolan, who gathered his tunes while sleeping on a fairy rath; or else they died in a year and a day, to live ever after among the fairies.
These sociable fairies are in the main good, but one most malicious habit have they – a habit worthy of a witch. They steal children, and leave a withered fairy a thousand, or may be two thousand years old, for the matter of that, instead. Two or three years ago a man wrote to one of the Irish papers, telling of a case in his own village, and how the parish priest made the fairies deliver up again the stolen child.
At times full grown men and women have been carried off. Near the village of Ballisodare, Sligo, I have been told, lives an old woman who was taken in her youth. When she came home, at the end of seven years, she had no toes, for she had danced them off.
Especially do they steal men, women and children on May eve, Midsummer eve, and November eve, for these are their festivities.
On May eve, every seventh year, they fight for the harvest, for the best ears of corn belong to them. An old man told me he saw them
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fighting once. They tore the thatch off a house in the battle. Had you or I been there we had merely felt a great wind blowing; the peasantry know better than to mistake the fairies for the wind. When a little whirlwind passes, lifting the straws, they take off their hats and say: “God bless them,” for the fairies are going by.
On Midsummer eve, Bonfire Night, as we call it, the sheoques are very gay, and on this night more than any other do they steal beautiful mortals to be their brides.
On November eve, according to the old Gaelic reckoning the first night of winter, the fairies are very gloomy, and in their green raths dance with the ghosts, while abroad in the world witches make their spells, and a solitary and wicked fairy, called the Pooka, has power, and girls set tables with food in the name of the devil, that the fetch of their future lovers may come through the window and eat.
The sociable fairies are very quarrelsome.
Lady Wilde tells about one battle in which, no stones being at hand, they stole butter and flung it at each other. A quantity stuck in the branches of an alder-tree. A man in the neighbourhood mended the handle of the dash of his churn with a branch of this tree. As soon as he began churning, the butter, until now hanging invisible in the alder branches, flowed into his churn. The same happened every churning-day, until he told the matter to a fairy doctor, which telling broke the spell, for all these things have to be kept secret.
Kennedy describes a battle heard by a peasant of his acquaintance. The sheoques were in the air over a river. He heard shots and light bodies falling into the water, and a faint sound of shouting, but could see nothing. Old Patrick Kennedy, who records this, was a secondhand bookseller in Dublin, and claimed in one of his works to know spells for making the fairies visible, but would not tell them for fear they might set dangerous forces in action – forces that might destroy the user of the spell. These battles are often described by Irish fairy seers. Sometimes the sociable sheoques, dressed in green coats, fight with the solitary red-coated fairies.
The best known of these is the Lepracaun (Ir. Leith bhrogan, i.e., the “one shoe maker”) He is seen sitting under a hedge mending a shoe, and one who catches him and keeps his eyes on him can make him deliver up his crocks of gold, for he is a rich miser; but if he takes his eyes off him, the creature vanishes like smoke. He is said to be the child of a spirit and a debased fairy, and, according to MacNally, wears a red coat with seven rows of buttons, seven buttons in each row, and a cocked hat, on the point of which he sometimes spins like a top.
Some writers have supposed the Cluricaun to be another name of the same fairy, given him when he has laid aside his shoe-making at night
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and goes on the spree. The Cluricaun’s one occupation is robbing wine-cellars.
The Gonconer or Gancanagh (Ir. Gean-canagh i.e., “Love talker”) is a little creature of the Lepracaun type unlike him, however, in being an idler. He always appears with a pipe in his mouth in lonely valleys, where he makes love to shepherdesses and milkmaids.
The Far Darrig (Ir. Fear-Dearg i.e., red man) plays practical jokes continually. A favourite trick is to make some poor mortal tramp over hedges and ditches, carrying a corpse on his back, or to make him turn it on a spit. Of all these solitary, and mainly evil, fairies there is no more lubberly wretch than this same Far Darrig. Like the next phantom, he presides over evil dreams.
The Pooka seems to be of the family of the nightmare. He has most likely never appeared in human form, the one or two recorded instances being probably mistakes, he being mixed up with the Far Darrig. His shape is that of a horse, a bull, goat, eagle, ass and perhaps of a black dog, though this last may be a separate spirit. The Pooka’s delight is to get a rider, whom he rushes with through ditches and rivers and over mountains, and shakes off in the grey of the morning. Especially does he love to plague a drunkard – a drunkard’s sleep is his kingdom.
The Dullahan is another gruesome phantom. He has no head, or carries it under his arm. Often he is seen driving a black coach, called the coach-a-bower (Ir Coise-bodhar), drawn by headless horses. It will rumble to your door, and if you open to it, a basin of blood is thrown in your face. To the houses where it pauses it is an omen of death. Such a coach, not very long ago, went through Sligo in the grey of the morning (the spirit hour). A seaman saw it, with many shudderings. In some villages its rumbling is heard many times in the year.
The Leanhaun Shee (fairy mistress) seeks the love of men. If they refuse, she is their slave; if they consent, they are hers, and can only escape by finding one to take their place. Her lovers waste away, for she lives on their life. Most of the Gaelic poets, down to quite recent times, have had a Leanhaun Shee, for she gives inspiration to her slaves. She is the Gaelic muse, this malignant fairy. Her lovers, the Gaelic poets, died young. She grew restless, and carried them away to other worlds, for death does not destroy her power.
Besides these, we have other solitary fairies, such as the House Spirit and Water Sheerie, a kind of Will-o’-the-Wisp, and various animal spirits, such as the Anghiska, the water-horse, and the Pastha (Piast-vestea) the lake-dragon, a guardian of hidden treasure, and two fairies, the Far-gorta and the Banshee, who are technically solitary fairies, though quite unlike their fellows in disposition.
The Far-gorta (man of hunger) is an emaciated fairy that goes through the land in famine time, begging, and bringing good luck to the giver of alms.
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The Banshee (Bean-sidhe) seems to be one of the sociable fairies grown solitary through the sorrow or the triumph of the moment; her name merely means woman-fairy, answering to the less common word Farshee [Fear-sidhe], man fairy. She wails, as most people know, over the death of some member of an old Irish family. Sometimes she is an enemy of the house, and wails with triumph; sometimes a friend, and wails with sorrow. When more than one Banshee comes to cry, the man or woman who is dying must have been very holy or very brave. Occasionally she is undoubtedly believed to be one of the sociable fairies. Cleena, once an ancient Irish goddess, is now a Munster sheoque.
O’Donovan, one of the very greatest of the Irish antiquarians, wrote in 1849 to a friend, who quoted his words in the Dublin University Magazine:
“When my grandfather died in Leinster, in 1798, Cleena came all the way from Tonn Cleena, at Glandore, to lament him; but she has not been heard ever since lamenting any of our race, though I believe she still weeps in the mountains of Drumaleaque in her own country, where so many of the race of Eoghan More are dying of starvation.”
The Banshee who cries with triumph is often believed to be no fairy, but the ghost of one wronged by an ancestor of the dying. Besides these are various fairies who fall into none of the regular groups, such as “Dark Joan of the Boyne.” This fairy visits houses in the form of a hen with a lot of chickens, or a pig with a litter of banyans. Several now living say they have fought with this fairy pig. This taking the appearance of several animals at one time is curious, and brings to mind how completely a matter of whim or symbolism the form of an enchanted being must be thought. Indeed, the shape of Irish fairies seems to change with their moods – symbolizing or following the feelings of the moment.
When we look for the source of this spirit rabble, we get many different answers. The peasants say they are fallen angels who were too good to be lost, too bad to be saved, and have to work out their time in barren places of the earth. An old Irish authority – the Book of Armagh – calls them gods of the earth, and quite beyond any kind of doubt many of them were long ago gods in Ireland.
Once upon a time the Celtic nations worshipped gods of the light, called in Ireland Tuath-de-Danan and corresponding to Jupiter and his fellows, and gods of the great darkness corresponding to the Saturnian Titans. Among the sociable fairies are many of the light gods; perhaps, some day, we may learn to look for the dark gods among the solitary fairies. The Pooka we can trace, a mysterious deity of decay, to earliest times. Certainly, he is no bright Tuath-de-Danan. Around him hangs the dark vapour of Domnian Titanism.
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A Vision Produced by Music
I WAS lately at a concert in the Hof-Kirche, at Lucerne, to hear a celebrated artist sing an Ave Maria and St. Elizabeth’s prayer, the latter by Listz. But even more than with this beautiful music I was occupied with the symbolism of portions of the church. In the dim evening light I could just see, in a side chapel, a beautiful Assunta slowly ascending heavenward, with a rapt ecstatic expression of divine love, her eyes filled with the light of Heaven radiating from her heart, the only true heaven.
I saw that in a few moments more she would be beyond my ken, and that I was one of the sorrowful children of earth who are fated to moan during her absence, and to long, with unutterable longings, for her return.
Is not Maria the glorified human female soul, ascending in the “upward path” heavenwards, but ascending in order again to descend and to fill with completed beauty and loveliness each lonely and divided heart of man?
I saw this “Meri-Amun”[60] – Miriam – or, as the Grecianized Jews called her, “Maria,” in the dim “religious light” of the sanctuary, slowly ascending beyond my sight, but suddenly she became transfigured before my earthly eyes and “clad with the sun” as foretold; but the radiance and the glory were too bright for my weak eyes of earth. I only saw her smile one sweet farewell to my longing and eager eyes, and then she made a sign to me, her right hand pressed to her heart, and I heard a voice as from Heaven say, “Be comforted, lone heart, I ascend now, but only in order to descend again; wait with patience. I will surely come and descend gloriously, as Queen, into your heart. Love on, but be patient and calm.”
Then the Voice ceased, and I fell into a trance, as often before, when the soft notes of a woman’s heart-voice enter into my soul’s heart.
And in the trance I saw the other symbol, Man crucified on earth, and the pale and suffering face and figure was life-like on the Cross, nailed on the beautiful metal lattice railing separating the holy of holies from the outer portion of the church. Within the sanctuary was silence, no living being was there, while outside was the crowd of sorrowers, and I among them, as was meet and necessary; for Mary, had she not departed, and was I not alone?
And another Voice came to me from Heaven and said, “Dost thou not understand the symbolism of all this earthly woe?” and my heart replied, “But dimly. Who can explain the Mystery?”
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And the Voice said, with tones deep and soft like the Atlantic wave as it rolls landwards on the long sands – “That beautiful partition on which idealized man is ever – and ever must be – crucified, until Mary comes back again, is the barrier between the two worlds, the low miserable world of earth and the true ideal transcendental world of the spirit and the soul. This wall of separation is made beautiful in order to make the earthly souls suffer from the ugliness of the evil in earth life, and to excite through this Suffering the sense of ideal beauty, which is in its true meaning exactly what men call religion. Behold, I tell you a mystery; this Partition that separates the two worlds can never be removed until Mary descends again into the living human heart, annulling its division, and bringing to each the divine counterpart of which Maria is the eternal symbol.”
“When she comes again – and I say the time is not long – the crucifixion of Man shall be ended, the opposites, the antinomies, shall cease, melted into the divine unity of love, and the world shall be as once it was before. Pray, then, ye mortal crucified ones, wandering sadly through life gazing at the partition which separates ye from bliss, that is, from completed and satisfied love; pray ye ever that Marie may return, and soon, so that the Cross may vanish!” The Voice ceased and I heard the divine prayer of Elizabeth sweetly echoing in my ears and heart, through the inspired music of Listz – Listz who is now with his Saint, in the same love-choir of glorified idealized ones.
And in one of the pauses of the melody, when the love pæan was dying away in the far distance, as if, like Marie, ascending slowly heavenwards, I looked entranced, and behold, the Partition was gone the divine Crucified one was there, but transfigured, and shining with the “soma augoeides,” and this body was to me transparent, and I saw One like to Marie, but it was not Marie, lying close wound around the glorified Heart.
And the Voice came again, and said, “Behold the next evolution of Man, and praise God, the eternal loving One, that the time is not long. Marie comes soon again to each and all, and there shall be no more sorrow or sighing in the whole City of God. Pray then that She may come soon, for the earth is weary of her absence.”
Then I awoke from the trance, and gazing before me, I saw the Partition again, and the pale and wan crucified type of our race was there once more in his anguish – Prometheus like – with the Vulture of the world, Sorrow, gnawing at his heart.
And “Gloria in excelsis” was pealing in my ears, but I sadly went away, saying, “When, O when shall be the end, that the true glory from on high may come to us, Maria in the heart of each?” – Om.
A. J. C.
Lucerne.
Dialogue on the Mysteries of the After Life
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 407-416
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The sombre depth of southern wood. |
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How came he here, sweet rover from |
| Mary R. Shippey. |
A Tradition of an old Scotch Family
A Theosophist, a gentleman living in Edinburgh, writes to tell us about this most extraordinary occurrence: –
“A wealthy landed proprietor in Scotland had to leave home for a few days on business. The road from his house was visible for over a mile from the windows. His wife watched him going along till a small clump of trees hid him from sight; the road was plainly visible on either side, but she never saw him emerge. She thought little of this till several days passed and he neither came back nor sent any message. Then the whole country was searched and all possible inquiries made, but without result. A year later she died. The family vault was opened for her burial and there was found a fresh coffin, the plate bearing the husband’s name, and the date of death the very day on which he had left. The coffin was opened and the body clearly identified, with no mark of violence on it. But by what means he died, or how his body came to be in a closely walled-up vault, under a family chapel, which would take a number of workmen considerable time to open, has never been ascertained.”
Unfortunately, the family are averse to making their name public. Nor are we told whether the coffin could be traced to any store or workshop, in Scotland or England.
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Another Automatic Writing
A Gentleman, as great a materialist as ever lived, writes as follows to a lady theosophist: –
“On the night of Monday last (New Year’s Eve) as I lay in my bed, in a somnolent state, between sleeping and waking, the lines which follow seemed chanted as from a distance. It could scarcely be said to be in an audible voice but like the ringing recollection of some old familiar song surging up anew on the echoes of memory. It was between two and three in the morning, but I woke up and committed the words to paper – literally – as they again came to me. I know not whether they be my own lines or not, but I know that they cost me no effort or study whatsoever, and so far as I am conscious, have never been heard or read by me at any previous time.
“I think that your Ladyship might possibly like to have a copy of these verses, so different in the mode of their production from my usual compositions. If these verses be indeed mine, they must have been produced by an act of unconscious cerebration or automatic reflex action of the Brain. That is the only explanation I can give. I here subjoin them, and remain, etc. etc.”
Behold! a Light is beaming |
The following bit of poetry was given under the same conditions: –
There’s a Spirit in Man that’s unmeasured in might, |
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Occult Axioms and their Symbols
OCCULT knowledge is said to consist of a finite number of axioms, infinite in their applications. In reality there is only one truth, which is to be expressed by one “word,” and to be understood in that unique state where the knower, the knowledge and the known are all one. But the lighted area widening as the rays travel further from the central sun, the number of such axioms, as well as of the corollaries in which their bearings must be pointed out, depends entirely on the degree of advancement of the student himself. Words, numerous and elaborate, may fail sometimes to awaken the intended feeling, while a glance will in other cases be sufficient: each occult axiom may be dissected into volumes or condensed into one symbol, by the living power of which clouds of sunken thoughts will be roused in the minds of initiates.
Of such symbols the cross is one. Metaphysically, it means that the existence of opposites is the condition of existence: that is, of existence such as we can conceive or understand, of finite or mayavic existence. For everything finite is a delusion compared with the infinite reality, where the two poles of the egg-shaped universe merge into the omnipresent centre of the limitless and consequently formless sphere.
As the sense of depth in ocular or stereoscopic vision is due to the angle between the retinas or the lenses, so the universal mirage is due to the strabism of the seer. Theological as well as materialistic doctrines are superficial, because each of them insists on looking at truth with but one eye. God, or the good, without the devil, or evil, is a one-sided abstraction, just as matter or body without force or spirit. To those who will use both eyes, the devil will appear no longer as a son of God, but as his wife, and these two abstractions will be found united by so strong a partnership, that the removal of the one would cause the instant disappearance of its complementary Maya. One-sided were also the puzzled and puzzling enquiries of all our modern philosophers into the problem of the antinomies of pure reason, which Hamilton has formulated in what he calls the law of the conditioned. “All that is conceivable in thought lies between two extremes, which, as contradictory to each other, cannot both be true, but of which, as mutual contradictories, one must.” We need but slightly alter the wording of this problem to obtain its solution, and at the same time to express one of the deepest occult axioms: “All that is conceivable, that is to say, finite and illusory, lies between two extremes apparently contradictory but absolutely identical.”
The deepest of such antinomies, and the source of all others, lies between ego and non-ego, between that in us which is conscious of everything else and every thing of which we are conscious. On the material plane the area of demarcation
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is the surface itself of our body: we say that we are hurt, when any part of our flesh garment is injured; and too many are those amongst us whose chief or only care is this sensitive though coarse self. On the mental plane, the wall is built between our own souls and the thoughts, feelings and desires of others; here, already, the castle is not so jealously closed as to exclude sympathy with similar tastes or interests: hence association raises man from amongst the beasts. But as we proceed higher, into the spiritual world, we perceive that all the things we call ours, soul as well as body, are only the instruments of our real self, which, as a ray of the universal Atma, is in no way distinct or separated from other rays. Deep within the strata of our constitution lies that hidden spring of all our volitions, thoughts and feelings. And it is only when we have drunk its pure waters of life that we can know Ananda, and taste that real happiness, the desire of which has been the spur of our weary and thirsty soul through the misery of its pilgrimage; because then, as far as being extends, there is no longer anything distinct from our own being.
It will be easily perceived that such a state of be-ness is absolutely different from anything we can conceive under the term existence. Indeed, one and all of the qualifications by which beings are constituted are inadequate to it.
Perfection of being seems at first sight to imply perfection of form. Various and beautiful are the shapes under which artists, poets and seers have pictured the celestial inhabitants, the ideal, airy fancies in which their pure aspirations hoped to dwell or remembered having dwelt; devas with their beautiful monstrosities and appalling powers; houris, with the fathomless love in their eyes and the flowing vesture of their dark locks; angels, chaste and white, with the dove-like softness of their four great wings. And they are not mere fancies, these dreamy glimpses of other worlds and other planes of existence; but a moment’s thought will show that, a form being constituted by its very limits, perfect being cannot have any form at all.
For perfect being is nothing, if not limitless; towards an ever-growing extension tends the ever-progressing evolution. Enclosed within our prison of flesh, we have grown senses all around ourselves, and millions of years were busily spent by nature that we might have sight to enjoy the light and hearing to listen to the word. Our intellect has extended those senses; we have helped our eyes by the range of the telescope, our walk by the impetuosity of steam, our voice by the flash of electricity. If the ancients attached wings to the feet or shoulders of their heroes, even more than they, are we justified in conceiving that the power of a god may be measured by the reach of his arm. But the same reflection will convince us that infinitude is too great to have any size.
Similarly, time is too eternal to last. Our present, which is already gone, is nothing but a shadow sandwiched between the past, which is no more, and the future, which is not yet. So strong is our desire for the continuance of life, that we always forget the past and its dim regrets in favour of an ever brighter and more hopeful future. Hence immortality seems to be essential to perfect happiness, and we should have reason to envy the ambrosia of the Olympians, if Manus’ dire logic had not warned us that even the gods must die.
Some will say, justly enough, that the life of ephemeridæ, spent in dance and turmoil, is longer than the cold and infinitesimal growth of the Lebanon cedar,
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and that a few moments of deep love or even bitter emotion are worth threescore years of golden idleness. Shall we rest sure, at least, that vividness of consciousness is the real standard of the perfection of being? Alas, this supreme satisfaction will also elude our embrace. For a being conscious of all could not be conscious of any one thing, and omniscience is, to our limited minds, synonymous with nescience. We can find our self only by losing ourselves, for “how could we know the knower?” and how could the only reality appear as anything?
Such reasoning, although as old as human thought, may seem new to our paradoxical age; and this is scarcely to be wondered at, in a universe which is itself nothing but a vast paradox. Yet all sacred books and mystic lore teach us that liberation can be acquired only by sacrifice; that in order to get knowledge we must forget personality; that Nirvana is a state of absorption, of extinction in absolute light; and that nothing appears to the Jivan-Mukta as different from himself: all names, all forms, all distinctions have vanished, even the fundamental one between ego and non-ego. And this unity, this permanent centre of existence, is also the focus of all evolution. “In the beginning, all this was Self, one only!”
The reflexion of this subjective duality endows objectivity with its poles. Owing to the distinction between the knower and the known, all knowledge presents a double aspect. Space appears as great and small, time as long and short, movement as quick and slow. Yet the limits of both tendencies are unthinkable. Vainly does our imagination fly from earth to sun, from the solar system to the stars, from the milky way to the nebulæ: when it has struck its forehead against the dark mysteries of the beyond, it has advanced no further than when resting in its humility. And if, frightened by the abyss, we recoil into minuteness, if we explore the universes which our bodies are to their cells, the planets which our blood-corpuscles are to the organisms living in them, we find ourselves lost again, where there hardly seems to be room for movement, and we have to exclaim with a Chinese sage: “Nothing is greater than the small!”
To the conception of space are closely allied those of time and motion, for none of the three can be conceived independently from the others. But in vain would we swell our minds’ capacity from the ages of the gods to the ages of Brahmâ, for all the tears of humanity are nothing more than a drop in the ocean of eternity. On the other hand, dream-experience shows us that hours may be condensed into the duration of a breath: thousands of entities may have lived and accomplished their life-task after a momentary explosion is over; and the twinkling of an eye, if it could not be sub-divided, would be no part of time. The existence of the present, as a mathematical line dividing the past from the future, is nothing but a delusion; and yet eternity is run through by that nothingness; because in reality the present and the eternal are one and the same. By the same delusion do we speak of causes and effects: a first cause and a last effect are mere abstractions, because both merge into the absolute; and phenomena are but irridescences on the soap-bubble of Maya, which hangs from the unknown, and expands by the unknown breath.
We should have very different ideas about motion if we were enclosed in an
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oyster-shell, or again if we moved along a flash of lightning. All degrees of movement, from electricity to light, from a ray to a thought, are comprised between absolute rest, which is to be found nowhere in nature, and absolute rapidity, which is evidently nothing else but omnipresence, that is to say, rest again. So motion, like time and space, returns upon itself, and every speed, every duration, every expansion, lies between two extremes, apparently contradictory, but absolutely identical.
To this absolute identity, which is at the same time the primary and the ultimate unit from which both scales start and to which they tend, we have given the name of Omnipresence, which applies equally to an instant and to eternity, to a point and to infinity, to stillness and to unperceivable rapidity. But Omnipresence, and this is what we have been driving at, is also the essential quality of what we should conceive as perfect consciousness, and that is why religions have attributed it to God. Consciousness is co-extensive with space, with motion, with time; nothing extends, nothing moves, nothing lasts, but consciousness is able to take cognizance of it, is adequate to its extension; speed and duration expand with it, move with it, last with it. Truly has it been said that no world would exist if there was no consciousness whatever to know its existence. We shall go further and say that through consciousness everything exists, moves and lasts; for it endows space, time and motion, with measure and quality, with name and form. There is no such thing as size or duration per se; bodies are great or small only by comparison with each other, and consciousness alone decides between them, bringing forward, at its own tribunal, the standard adopted by itself. Whether such standard remains invariable from no-beginning to no-end, or whether the Heavenly consciousness awakes in different moods at each manvantaric dawn, is a question of no practical interest to us. Once consciousness is limited by an angle of vision, the horizon of eternity must appear to it as intersected by the sides of this angle, as a basis or upadhi more or less distant, as a straight line between the two points of positivity and negativity; once consciousness is established at one of the extremities of the cross, space, motion and time stand in their places at the three other extremities. But in the absolute, all the four, returning, so to say, upon themselves, merge into the point of intersection, which in symbology becomes the centre of the circle, the emblem of their incomprehensible unity. The rose has closed its petals and sleeps. Nothing is left but the One Element, which is at the same time consciousness and duration, life and movement, space (form) and substance. All the seven rest in the womb of the unknowable, mixed and yet distinct, like the undeveloped yet complete flower in the lotus-bud.
Thus, in the macrocosm as well as in the microcosm, everything appears dual, while in reality All Things Are One. The point in the circle, the germ in the-egg, Thaï-yin in Tao, Aditi in Tat, Mulaprakriti in Parabrahm, Sephira in Ain-Soph, thismysteri ous Thebaw, the arch where the prototype of the universe is preserved during the deluges of darkness, is the only thing which exists, has existed, and will exist, whether the world subsists or not, whether there are gods or none, whether Brahmâ is asleep or awake. About the non-being which is identical with be-ness, about the no-number which yields number, about the zero
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equal to the circle, the nothing identical with all, we need not say anything, as its sacredness transcends all human speculation. But even this metaphysically if not easily comprehensible Omnipresence, which is the only visible side of the hidden sun, must be carefully guarded against the sacrilegious attempts of anthropomorphism; and although we have just seen China and the Veda agree on this point with Vedantism and the Kabala, we cannot, however earnest our desire, include in their synthesis systems which have only raised to minor levels the minds of their followers. We cannot recognize anything approaching this concept of omnipresent unity in what the moderns generally understand by the term God. We cannot conceive how any being, let alone a personal one, could be the absolute being, and at the same time omnipotent and omnipresent, infinite and first cause, supremely good and perfectly conscious; for Balzac, Stuart Mill and Mansel have shown that such attributes hopelessly clash with one another. A cause is related to its effect, a conscious subject to the object he is conscious of, and good is only such relatively to its opposite, evil. If, therefore, we consider such a God as first cause, supreme goodness and perfect consciousness, then he is not the supreme principle, but only one of the extreme principles of creation, and the attributes of absoluteness and infinity must be reserved for the unity in which the essence of substance rests undifferentiated.[62] Occultism understands by God the Spirits of the Universe, and considers the universe as his bodies; but it knows that spirit and matter are only complementary appearances of the one Element.
Our religions are intoxicants to souls thirsty for pure ideal waters. As soon as you question them, they turn their backs, where is written the word Mystery. They affect shame to conceal their unattractiveness; to avoid giving explanations which they have not got, they say that it is profane to ask for them. They are responsible for the superficiality of modern minds, because for ages they have sold toys instead of distributing thoughts. Now-a-days, one must excuse oneself after talking for five minutes on the problems of life; it bothers ladies, and gentlemen too. In vain does the philosopher seek for a man in public thoroughfares: people avoid his lantern.
The recognition of this principle of duality implies a number of consequences. Every accentuation of the distinction between opposites acts as a help to the forces producing universal illusion. The most potent of such forces is that egotism through which subsists the fundamental antagonism between ourselves and everybody or everything else. Individualism, upon which modern society is built, is one of the most nefarious aspects of this powerful agent, and its ever-growing momentum is calculated to plunge humanity deeper and deeper into the mire. Here is a sure criterion of conduct for those who wish to react against this evil, as well as a sound basis for a new morality.
We do not mean that such forces are evil in themselves; they are necessary factors in the world’s history. But, as evolution advances to superior planes, these factors must yield to new ones of a different character. It is true enough
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that competition is one of the springs of material progress, but it is more true still that materiality only represents the lowest arc of the evolutionary circle: and even the recognition of universal opposition would suffice to suggest that individualism being the law of material evolution, altruism must be the law of spiritual growth. This, the sages know to be a fact; but it can be seen by the least far-sighted observer in the tendency to association which characterises the ascending orders of beings, and which, after all, has alone rendered human progress possible. Competition itself is but an association of a peculiar kind; even on the material plane, the evil carries its own remedy. The savage struggle between isolated individuals has necessitated their association in tribes; the conflicts between tribes have induced some of them to ally and form nations, and international wars will eventually result in the union of all humanity. Opposites are also correlatives, and virtue is only a progress upon certain vices. An organised family is a decided improvement upon unruled animal passions; but there may come a day when our patriotism and heroism will be looked upon as vices. The exclusivism of sex will transform itself into unsexual love, the blossom will ripen into the fruit.
There is no conservatism in Nature: all must move or die. And this movement runs in a circle: we have to quicken and follow it, rather than oppose it and run backwards. Will anybody ask children or plants to stop growing? Will you say to a rough that he must cease drinking if he wants to reach Nirvana? He will laugh at you, and drink more. Show him that there are other springs of enthusiasm, initiate him into artistic enjoyment, supply opportunities to his admiration, tempt his power of reasoning by himself; make him feel first, then make him think: you will have awakened a soul, and this soul will spontaneously begin to struggle against the animal. But in presence of vice, disease, and misery, do not drop your hands in despair and ask what is to be done. Follow Nature, who spends vices in order to gain virtues, who boils matter to distil forces: believe Fourier, who said that passions ought not to be stifled, but canalized and utilized. Humanity is ignorant, and with ignorance we have to deal. Philosophers who build to themselves a world of their own are only egotists, who cannot plead the excuse of illusion, while they work to strengthen it.
Truth can never be attained by anyone running along a particular line of thought, to the exclusion of all other lines, or hurrying along his own path, heedless of the distressed calls of fellow-men who travel other ways under difficulty. An ordinary respectable tradesman, versed in the art of drawing gold from other people’s pockets into his own family-safe, will laugh at you if you argue that those who supply the money which he gives to his wife and children belong to his family also. A doctor knows all the names and habits of bacteria, and can even fight against diseases specially produced by them: but he will never think of destroying the moral bacteria of his patients, being often himself infested with them; and if you say that something ought to be done to remedy prostitution, he will call you a Utopian. A theologian can quote any verses from the Bible, with their commentaries: but if you enquire about the fate of people who never saw the book, or cannot believe it, he will send them altogether to eternal perdition; and if you protest, he will damn you too.
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For centuries Christians have been accustomed to look upon humanity as divided into two classes: the good, that is to say the believers, destined to become saints on a sudden; to attain, by the one short step of death, a perfection after which they had only striven at leisure; to enjoy an everlasting happiness after a brief life devoid of unhappy circumstances and irresistible temptations; and the wicked, who did not know better, marked for an eternal and useless suffering without any hope of amendment. As if the wickedness of the most wicked, even of one who should have quenched his anger in the blood of a fellow-man, could equal that of a father who is not to be appeased by an eternal revenge, so great is his horror of sin! Oh! give us back the Greek gods and goddesses, who were only a little more virtuous at times, but never much more vicious, than ordinary mortals.
For ages, the device of humanity has been “Væ Victis;” and men were born free or slaves, lords or vassals, noble or vulgar, civilized or barbarians, believers or infidels, rich or poor, virtuous or vicious. In vain did Karma put slavish souls into bodies filled with blue blood, and elicit geniuses, nay, even redeemers, from the ranks of the toilers; in vain did Nature chastise all her children with impartial suffering, equal folly, similar diseases and chaotic corruption. Men took the hint only partially: they have begun to understand that they can improve and must help Nature; but while physical science is studying every fibre of our frames in order to secure health for all, while the newly-born social science is striving to establish equal rights and impartial laws, religion, which ought to console us for animal necessities by preaching spiritual liberation, has been, and is yet, the prostituted slave of might versus right; ready to quote Scripture in favour of slavery, to sing anthems after international slaughter, to sell its pews, in church or heaven, to the highest bidder; always prepared to proclaim the fatality of human curses, to attribute them to original sin, and to preach resignation to those who have nothing to resign: but ever impotent to direct men out of the mire and to prepare the reign of God upon earth.
Man has not yet understood that he has no business to meddle with destiny and to poison it for himself by making it worse for others. He is always ready to submit to Kismet and aggravate fatality, because he ignores the laws of Karma and doubts justice. Indeed, the only devil is ignorance, which makes man despair of his own nature. Evil-doers are exceptions, but wrong-doers are legion. We have a thousand good reasons to avoid condemning others beyond remission: for it is easy to see the acts of men, but very difficult to know their motives: we can see plainly the undesirable results of the work of missionaries for instance, yet their vocation was an impulse of devotion to humanity, corrupted by exclusive devotion to one God. We can see easily the rising tide of vice and crime amongst us, but few trace it to its real cause, the attraction of misery, that satellite of civilization. From distorted souls in emaciated bodies we can expect very little morality. Virtue is a luxury, and those possessed of so great a wealth ought to show it by a great charity.
The habit of drawing hard and fast lines of distinction has permeated all our life, even to our art and literature. Our plays and romances are indebted to it for the types of the perfect traitor, who never thinks but to plan poisonous designs, who never speaks but to blaspheme, who never moves but to strike;
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and of the perfect hero, always handsome and well-combed, always strong and courageous, always virtuous and successful. Our maidens dream about such princes, and when they awake by the side of an honest, plain fellow, full of the common mixture of good intentions and poor compromises, it is only to fancy that their just hopes have been deceived, and to waste a life in distrust and misery. The poor things do not perceive that the same combination exists in themselves and may be the cause of reciprocal disenchantment. Yet they might easily console themselves for imperfections which are perhaps one of their main charms. I cannot help thinking that we should not get on half so well with angels from Heaven as we can do with our earthly companions. We might feel inclined to follow the example of the man who hanged himself because he had a perfect wife. Truly has it been said that women are neither fools nor angels, but that whoever takes them for angels is a fool.
It has been argued that the devotion to humanity recommended by Theosophy is incompatible with family feelings. Are those creeds then better calculated to strengthen bonds of love, which induce men to look upon death as a possibly eternal separation, after which an infinite bliss will fill their own hearts, shut for ever by some degrading and repulsive process to the agonies and torments of some of their kin? With this prospect of intensified and transcendental egotism, Theosophy, in truth, has nothing to compare. Let it be contented with teaching men actual brotherhood and mutual love. Let those build their stone houses upon interested partnership and momentary lust, who think the human heart too small to contain more than one love, more than one god. Meanwhile, let us cherish our present family, without forgetting that numberless have been our children, and numberless will be our parents; that, born from one and the same light, we must strive all together towards final union; that the sacred books enjoin us to perform fully our duties to humanity, to our race, to our families, in one word to our Selves; and also tell us: “Verily, a wife is not dear, that you may love the wife; but that you may love Atma, therefore a wife is dear.” If there is a people in the world who considered the family as a sacred and divine institution, it is the Chinese, who have written thousands of books upon filial duty, and who believe they hold part of their souls from their ancestors, upon whose altars they offer daily sacrifices. Yet this is what Confucius says in the Classic of Filial Piety: “The filial piety of the wise is a tribute of reverence to all fathers under Heaven, his reverence a tribute to all brothers, his submission a tribute to all rulers,” and he recommends reverence towards Heaven and Earth, the father and mother of all creatures. “During the golden age,” says the Book of Rites, “men did not pay reverence only to their own fathers, neither did they treat as sons only their own children. Thus egotism was crushed in the egg.”
Under direction of this same philosopher was composed a little treatise, the name of which can be translated “Doctrine of the Mean,” or “Invariability in the Middle,” or again “Perfect Equilibrium”. Curiously enough, the doctrine contained in it can be understood in three corresponding senses. Simple inspection of the cross will show us that there are three positions between the right and left extremities. First there is a passive equilibrium at the lowest point, representing the state of mind of the man who is unable to decide or
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even distinguish between the two seers of grain; who is always desirous to spare both parties, never able to satisfy anyone; always ready to follow the strongest, never able to know his own tendency; always anxious to ascertain other people’s opinion, never able to form his own; not quite evil, scarcely good; prompt between affirmation and negation, stingy between riches and poverty, tepid between cold and heat: this is the man to whom Christ said: “I will spew thee out of my mouth!”
Next there is the equilibrium at the centre of the cross, or that worldly wisdom expressed in the adage; “Virtus in medio.” Of this the book of Confucius treats more specially. He tries to show that wisdom consists in following the middle way, in keeping a perpetual adjustment between the opposite tendencies of life. “Few follow this way, because the learned go beyond, while the fools do not reach it.” Yet it is not to be sought for very far, for it is “here and now,” in the nature of man himself. Flying after the unknowable is useless; you may ride even the human passions, provided you rein them into their normal course. For the saint is not so much the virtuous as the just; and the aim of nature seems to be rather the establishment of harmony than the prevalence of goodness.
Order is undoubtedly the way to a good social constitution and to earthly prosperity. But above the extreme, at the upper point of the cross, outside of Maya, in the absolute, stands perfect equilibrium. This can be attained only by those who have equalized the scales of Karma, who have reached again the neutral point from which they had been started into the swing of incarnation. Knowing that our past evolution has been mostly spent in animal passion and human egotism, in ignorance and sin, we cannot doubt that the balance of this enormous debt is to be struck only by a compulsory and hastened payment of altruistic actions and deeds of virtue. Karma cannot be put out of the way; it must be satisfied. Once this equilibrium has been obtained, and to him only who has reached it, virtue and vice become equally indifferent; good and evil, light and darkness, merge into each other and vanish, as, before the reality of dawn, dreams of love disappear together with nightmares. Then the saint can view the pairs of extremes from the standpoint of the great mystic Lao-tzeu.
“He regards people as children, and all creatures as the dogs of straw which are to be burnt when the sacrifice is over. Men who are virtuous and sincere, he treats as virtuous and sincere; men who are not virtuous nor sincere, he treats also as virtuous and sincere; and this is the acme of virtue and sincerity.”
Errata
The Editors desire to correct the following errata in the last number of Lucifer, December 15, 1888.
Page 267, line 8, delete “true.”
Page 272, line 32, for “and their voices” read “but their voices.”
Page 301, line 16, for “psychographic writers, as we are told &c.” read “psychographic writers. As we are told &c.”
Page 302, line 36, for Aarzoo, read Aatroo.
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What Theosophy and Its Society Should Be
THE letter from which the following pages are translated – and which was never meant for publication – was recently addressed to one of the Editors by Madame Camille Lemaître, the friend of our late and regretted brother Louis Dramard, and a most worthy member of the T. S. in France. The tone and spirit of the writer’s remarks are so eminently noble, theosophical and altruistic, and the suggestions made so desirable, that permission has been obtained from the lady for their translation and publication. It is hoped that the seed thus sown will bear fruit in the minds of our readers. – [Ed.]
As regards the theosophical movement in France, about which you ask my opinion, Dramard and myself shared precisely the same ideas. In our view, the T. S. is too fine and delicate a plant to live and thrive in the surroundings among which it was first planted. Flourishing in all its glory and bearing fruit in its strength upon the highest table-lands of the earth, its birth-place, it neither can nor ever could take root in the strong soil of plains fattened and watered with the sweat of the poor, or on those sterile tufa rocks called respectively the bourgeoisie or middle-class, and an aristocracy more or less learned or ignorant, lazy or active; just as it could only fade and wither in the hot-house drawing-rooms and boudoirs, where women of the world, gay, foolish, capricious, see in it only an exotic novelty of a special kind.
This plant of life needs pure air, blazing sunshine and fresh dews. It is only in the heart of a man purified by suffering, by the daily battle for life; it is in the heart of him who has begun to pay his debt to Karma by the unheard-of sufferings which our civilization of steel and iron, with its sham airs of equality and philanthropy, imposes on the disinherited of life; it is in the heart of him who, in spite of the difficulties of all kinds amidst which he struggles, thinks more of others than of himself, forgetting self in the thought of those who suffer more than he does – it is in such hearts, I say, that the divine plant can find the elements needed for its first development.
That plant can indeed never take root among us, nor doubtless elsewhere, unless it finds congenial soil where men desire to know and to learn from pure love of the truth and not of the honour, the glory, the riches which its truths can bring them. And however astonishing it may seem to many at first sight, that soil exists in the people and in the French people – I answer for it! I do not speak thus in a narrow national spirit; by temperament I have no country, no family, and I strive daily to have no “self.” Father, mother, husband, all disappear before the great questions of general welfare. An integral part of the great whole, my centre, like its centre, is everywhere in the thought of my future harmonious unity. For the moment, I must act in one small special
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corner of the earth, whither in the course of my evolution my previous affinities have brought me. I speak of this little corner, simply because I know it best.
“The French nation is frivolous,” say of it the other nations. Well, yes, it is frivolous! It forgets from one day to the next its injuries and insults. Under the influence of one kind word it puts itself back entirely into the hands of its most terrible enemy and allows itself to be deceived like a baby. Yes, it is frivolous, for to obtain for its dear ones, for its neighbours, for all, the smallest liberty of action and thought, it goes to meet death – singing.
The proof of what I thus assert is to be found in its love for the révolution bourgeoise of 1789. For what has that revolution done for the proletariat, for the penniless, for the daily labourer who possesses nothing whatsoever on the face of this our planet? Nothing, but to increase, by a violent transformation of social conditions, the intensity of his sufferings, of his physical and moral anxieties. The middle classes ousted the aristocracy and took its place in the possession of honours, of fortune, in the guidance of the classes it exploits, with no other thought of the poor than to batten on their misery.
And yet the French masses actually worship “their revolution,” and those who have defended its spirit. The poor owe nothing, absolutely nothing, to one or to the others on the plane of material gratification, for they are still more inexorably shorn and put to ransom than before; but they revere the one and the others because they know that they have given freedom to the spirit; and, to a certain extent, liberty to thought. The revolution certainly did more in this direction than Luther’s Reformation, which with us left the people mostly indifferent, as the Catholic Church, which is seldom mistaken in judging an enemy, well knows; and it considers the French Revolution as one of the hardest blows which have struck it since its establishment. It is right, for it is thanks to the breach opened in its ramparts by the light artillery of ’89, that the T. S. can to-day penetrate to the very heart of the stronghold, and the Church feels that it is by the hand of that doctrine that it will irrevocably perish.
A people which thus raises itself unconsciously from off the material plane, which it considers as nothing, to attach itself to the spirit, is it not ploughed and ready to receive the divine seed?
Moveover, to accomplish anything lasting in Theosophy, one must leave the dead and dying, and those who slumber in the comfort of the flesh, gorged with material and intellectual riches, and who neither see, nor hear, nor understand, nor desire, nor do anything. We must address those who live, who think, who suffer, who aspire, who desire, who hunger physically, intellectually, morally, and even spiritually. We must go to the true (the poor) people.
But how is the true to be distinguished from the false, the good man from him who hides under a simple exterior the same gross needs, the same selfish desires, the same longings, the same brutality and cruelty as the satisfied, the possessors, those in power, and who, if to-morrow they held the place of these, would be the same oppressors of the feeble, as those they seek to overthrow to-day?
In this difficulty we have only to imitate nature; to cast myriads of seeds on the wind to obtain one plant. According to the ancient parable of esoteric wisdom, re-edited like so many other things by our relatively modern
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evangelists: “one third will be trodden under foot, one third will be eaten by the birds, and the third part will sprout and bear fruit an hundred fold.[63]
The Protestants imitated this example; they have cast the seed of their foolish ideas to the four corners of the earth and have made the weeds of their folly and ineptness to spring up everywhere. You will say that the soil for such a harvest is not scarce. True; but it is also true that, in their hunger, many souls have thrown themselves upon this poor and insipid food, hoping it would give them strength, moral health, and spiritual life.
If to such is given true bread and a fish, instead of a serpent, to use the language of their New Testament, they will surely know how to distinguish between them. If a real doctor, an expert in the healing art, is brought to them instead of a charlatan who adds to their sufferings, they will know how to leave one for the other.
Beauty is always beauty, justice always justice, truth will be ever truth. Every soul to which is shown the pure gold of truth will of itself turn away from the base imitation, from the false in religion; and the hollowness of many of our scientific data will be perceived by one who, in the eyes of the world, is the simplest and most ignorant of men.
Thus, in order to naturalise in France, and even anywhere, in Europe as in America, the divine plant of Theosophy, we should sow broadcast the seed of the eastern esoteric teachings.
But how shall we sow the seed? How shall we bring within reach of the many, who have neither the means nor the leisure, these precious teachings? How? How? It is of the solution of this question only that I have been thinking, since I have had the happiness to find food to renew my life by their reception and assimilation.
The following was Dramard’s idea: Form a closed nucleus of attraction, however small, of tried theosophists, and accept anyone who, whether from idleness, from curiosity, or any other vain feeling, comes to ask anything. That which is of importance in this open group is to bring together the largest possible number of adherents, in view of their clubbing together as means for propagandising in the way we desire.[64]
This propaganda should not have for its objects to make Theosophists à la
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lettre, as for instance the Catholics seek to make Catholics, or people ready to declare themselves as such, but to spread, effectively, the theosophical teachings and to make their meaning reach those hearts which are ready to welcome it, and which it cannot reach from want of an inlet.
Dig canals through which a large part of what has for years past been filtering into the world from a sacred fountain, can reach the fertile soil which is ready for it, a soil which is only waiting for such an irrigation to produce abundant harvests.
We must thus select among all that has been written since the foundation of the T. S. and, without commentary or explanation of the why and wherefore, sow pamphlets broadcast, like the Biblical fanatics who thrust everywhere their little tracts, in which they beseech us to save our souls from Hell, to come to Jesus, to believe in Jesus, to fear a personal devil cunning and wise, and a god no less personal, but more foolish and more ignorant than his devil.
And to think that for centuries past it is with such “rubbish” that men feed souls, and seek to edify human beings! Can one wonder at the moral and physical weakness of poor humanity?
Blessings be upon the beings who have worked for their own divinity, and praise be to those through whom they have sent to us their work; it is not the materials for edification that are wanting, but the means of turning them to account. At one with Dramard, my husband and I would have considered ourselves the greatest wretches and egoists on earth had we remained quietly contemplating the splendid treasure we held in our hands, without thinking of spreading it abroad and sharing it with others.
How then! Such a fortune in the hands of some thousands of Theosophists, and of these three fourths are indifferent to the blessing granted to them, or think only how to profit by it themselves. What! Of these only a few have air, light and food, while the masses beside them agonise in the shadow, and die of starvation on the spiritual plane! The matter is a grave one, and must have, for all of us, the most terrible consequences!
With our present social organisations, a man – ten men, die of hunger. That is a trifle, for which the law of retribution will exact payment from the organisers and leaders of men and society; but that does not prevent the globe’s rolling on. But what is of real serious importance and a hindrance to the march of evolution is that, through the faults of men calling themselves friends of humanity, souls should wither from want, and die of inanition.
Is it surprising that our world should advance so slowly? What numbers of motive powers are unused, what numbers of beneficent forces are left inactive from want of a fulcrum, from want of one true datum which could serve as the starting point for a whole series of actions, which would strengthen the great movement of regeneration.
I repeatedly begged the “Isis Branch” to work in this direction, to print, for instance, the Abbé Roca’s articles and your luminous and crushing replies. Nothing is better calculated to strike the mind of the French people, and to assist it to find its orientation, than the work you have there done.[65]
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The same remark applies to the letter published in Lucifer to the Primate of England; I should like to see it translated into all languages and distributed in millions in all Catholic and Protestant countries. The same, again, for Theosophy or Jesuitism, which I translated for the Lotus. How much good might already have been done. So little has “Isis” concerned itself with propaganda, that twice have the subscriptions sent by my husband and myself been returned to us (after Dramard’s death?). Thus, though the “Isis” cannot be accused of having done nothing and kept the money, yet the last thing its staff cared to do, was to spread Theosophy broadcast.
What numbers of things might be used for the masses! And always on our system of spreading on all sides the glad tidings, how much might be taken from Esoteric Buddhism; Magic: White and Black, etc., but the most fruitful source of all to draw from, will be the Secret Doctrine; yet for its spread, when translated, it is to be regretted that Esoteric Buddhism has not been published. For France, its translation would have aided the spread of the Theosophical movement far more than that of the Occult World. Such was Dramard’s opinion.
Esoteric Buddhism, its incompleteness notwithstanding, gives a far better general idea of the Doctrine. All are of the same opinion. It is absolutely necessary for our country to prepare the way for the Secret Doctrine, which throws light on just those points which are left in the shadow by Esoteric Buddhism, and amplifies its explanations by the way in which it states the truth.
But to return to our idea of propaganda, which I want to explain to you thoroughly. For I feel disgusted when I see that the “Salvation Army” manages, penny by penny, to draw millions into its coffers, millions which it uses to distribute bad tea, rancid cakes, and poisonous doctrines, while sincere Theosophists cannot manage to quit their own narrow circle and spread far and wide the flood of saving truths, which they have received for some time past.
To accomplish anything, we must understand each other (and should that be so impossible among co-thinkers who preach only Universal Brotherhood?), and each should give financially, intellectually, morally, and spiritually, according to his means. An annual subscription is a good thing, apart from the donations which those who are favoured by fortune can give; always on condition, however, that for their few pounds the latter do not imagine that they have the right to hamper everything by their narrow views, their timid spirit, and their pusillanimous character.
The poor man’s farthing even is not to be disdained; on the contrary, a great step will be made when “the widow” will have understood that she can do no more useful work for Humanity than to give her mite towards relieving the great burden of ignorance under which that poor humanity is dying, whether clad in silken vesture or in rags, marching under the banners of Religion, of Science, Politics, or Society.
I say all this to you and you know it better than anyone since you are the mouth-piece of the Teachers who keep on repeating it in their letters and writings. And I only speak to you thus at length of this mode of organisation, which belongs to the entirely practical domain, because such an organisation tends to beget consequences on the “spiritual plane.”
One word more on this subject. François de Salles, terrified at the progress
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of the Reformation, was seeking every means to combat it. In his letters to the ecclesiastics and bishops among his friends, he used to say: “Let us write Catholic novels,” and they wrote Catholic novels, and these novels were in everybody’s hands. They never ceased appearing except during the First Republic. And after that had been crushed by Napoleon I. a revival of this kind of literature occurred, which became a regular avalanche after Napoleon III. had crushed, in his turn, the Second Republic. These books are everywhere to-day; in the libraries for children and women, they form the basis of the communal libraries, and are still given as prizes in the Lycées and other schools. Thus in spite of Voltaire and the free thinkers, or those who think themselves so, “François” always wins the battle and Catholicism still possesses, as in the past, the heart of the woman; through her it holds the child, and is master of the man, however emancipated he may fancy himself.
It is true that those who destroyed, had nothing to put in its place; and the soul’s aspirations are no empty word. “Give us our daily bread,” is a prayer uttered with a constancy worthy of a better fate by these poor starving ones. “Give us our daily bread” cry in the desert of life those who know not that this bread cannot be given, but must be earned, and that it is in ourselves. “Give us our daily bread” is repeated on every note, by poor humanity; some addressing themselves to the ministers of their religion, others to the leading lights of science; these to the philosophers, those to the politicians; these to the sociologists, who are no better off, those to any charlatan who claims to know.
And the wisdom of wisdoms, Theosophy, of whose existence all these needy ones are ignorant, answers to all desires and can fulfil all aspirations. It alone can restore strength, health, physical and moral peace to all these troubled, excited beings, exhausted by centuries of political, economic and religious despotisms. It alone can show to each man that he himself is the way, and that in himself alone are the truth and the life.
Let us then write Theosophical novels for the masses; i.e., novels in which, leaving aside the transcendental part of occultism, we seek only to express and to render intelligible by the action of the heroes, the lofty meaning of its saving morality thus inculcating into men’s hearts its all-embracing principles.
Let us write Theosophical novels, and if we know how, as Moleschott says, always to respect the law of cause and effect in the actions, the words, even the thoughts of the people we introduce, those novels will be interesting as well as instructive. They will be read with pleasure by the men, whom they please by their independent and manly tone: they will charm and move the women by the sentiments they express and by their healthy psychism; they will appeal to the children – by their simplicity, their straightforwardness, their truth.
What cannot be done in this direction with the help of the light which the esoteric doctrine throws upon man, the worlds, life, evolution in general? In the great humanitarian work, each has his lot. The task given to me, to my Highest Self, is to work thus – however difficult it may be. I throw my whole heart into it, knowing that all that a man wills that can he do.
A little will is my only possession; with this little I work ceaselessly to learn that I may be able to do. Able to do what? Able to start as many Egos as possible upon the path of the final spiritual growth. By this reckoning, al
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healthy books, which quicken the good feelings in man, or which assist their development, are books written with this end, whether intentionally or not. Tolstoi’s Socialistic novels, for instance, are thus theosophical novels; the presence or absence of the word itself making no difference.
I see in the October Number of Lucifer, that some members of the T. S. are possessed with the desire to form “Lodges of Magic.” Poor things! What are they thinking of? they are but wasting their time. If they are tormented by the desire to progress on the spiritual plane, let them first work at rendering healthy the physical and moral atmosphere in which they live, so as to develop some spiritual faculties. To that end, let them enlighten the whole, let them employ their strength, their intelligence, their need of activity, their money, in pushing a propaganda such as I propose. They ought to have the means, these people whom the devil tempts by suggesting to them thus to throw themselves haphazard, without training, without preparation, into a path so dangerous, so little trodden; and surely the daily struggle for a livelihood must be unknown to them. If they have leisure, let them help to teach those who have none. It will be the first step on the road of Initiation.
Adeptship, i.e., knowledge, and the power it gives, is what turns the heads of weak mortals and keeps them back from the goal for long; since, in their haste, full of covetousness and egoism, they completely lose their way.
For this reason, in such novels as I suggest, it is not the Adept in his power and glory whom I would see represented, but the Adept unconscious even of being so, in course of preparation, the Adept who will be, in his toilsome, difficult, impossible, unceasing struggle against himself, against all the evil and opposing wills, against all the elements – in one word, against all the previous causes whose effects he has to destroy by labours of which those of Hercules are only a pale symbol, it is this Adept whom I would have shown in every phase of his arduous ascent, so as to fire men’s souls and raise their courage.
What is true, is touching, and the Initiate, the Adept, is no myth. The Mahatma is. Edgard Quinet, in his splendid book, “Creation,” wherein he thinks and has the intuition of so many truths about evolution, states the fact as a self-evident truth, when he says: –
“A soul which holds straight on to the highest point of human nature is upon the plane of universal nature; it finds the truths upon which the world rests. Before experience has torn them from him, Nature confides her secrets to the great and good man.”
Let the Theosophists who want to found a lodge of Magic meditate upon these words, and let them make themselves able to find the truths upon which the world is based, and there will be no further danger for them in gratifying their desire. . . .
[Editorial reply to Camille Lemaitre on the Esoteric Section]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 435
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[Notice concerning deferred reviews]
[Owing to the great pressure on our space this month we are compelled to hold over all the Reviews till February. – Ed.]
"The Empty Vessel makes the Greatest Sound"
Miss Susie C. Clark, of Cambridgeport, Mass., says in substance:
“I am a mental healer . . . Of late rumours reach me of prominent theosophists who are confirmed invalids, of others who use quinine for ailments, not scorning to lean on the arm of the servant – matter – when the infinite resources of the Master (Spirit) are at their command. Even Lucifer countenances the use of mineral and other remedies. If the ‘Truth maketh free’ why not free from all physical bondage? Why are we, on the lower rounds of the ladder, freer than those who have climbed higher? I have been raised from invalidism to immaculate health.”
She then goes on to ask us for our views on what she calls “metaphysical thought” in America, and wishes us to exclude what is known there as “Christian science,” on the ground that it “has not yet grown to recognise or to hold to proper conceptions of the Wisdom Religion.”
Answer. This reply is not exhaustive of the subject but will cover the inquiry. We cannot give the “views” asked for, since it is not clear what is wanted. The correspondent speaks of “metaphysical thought” evidently meaning the strained use made in America of the term. As we do not wish to pronounce on this without experience on the spot, the writer’s wish cannot be gratified. But we cannot help noticing that she claims for her branch of this so-called “Science” a pre-eminence over a rival in the field, namely “Christian Science,” the latter being, the same as the other however, except that it is more or less closely attached to Christianity. As our correspondent infers that because she has been cured “the infinite resources of the Master are at her command,” those resources and that Master (or Spirit) could easily show her that Christian science is just as good as her own.
We know little of either, except, perhaps, that both show an arrogance in their supposed superiority over Science, Theosophy, and everything else in creation with results that do not seem to us proportionate with the loud claims made. We have received, however, a letter from a prominent Christian Scientist who is as distinguished a metaphysician as she is a valuable and good a theosophist; and we mean to treat of it at length in our next number. Meanwhile, we must reply a few words to Miss S. Clark’s queries.
The main question with her is, why do prominent, or any, theosophists use medicine for cure of disease? We think all theosophists have the right to do so or not, as theosophy is not a system of diet, or that which is simply to help our bodies, but is a metaphysical and ethical system intended to bring about among men a right thought to be followed by action. There are deep questions involved in the matter: deeper than our correspondent will solve in one life. We have no objections against anyone getting cured in any way they
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think good, but we have decided objections to “mind-curers” or “metaphysicians,” taking theosophists to task for not adopting their system and at once discarding all remedies. They argue that because they were thus cured, others must go the same road. This is our present difference with mental healers, and our correspondent should know that theosophists grant to all the right to use or dispense with medicine and claim for themselves similar privileges. They do not meddle with other persons’ liberty of thought, and demand the same independence for themselves.
Evidently Miss Clark has not reflected that “prominent theosophists” use medicine because of some bearings of Karma upon their lives and on account of its occult properties; nor has she, apparently, thought of what is called “delayed Karma”; nor that, perhaps, through too much attention to her body she is reaping a temporary enjoyment now, for which, in subsequent lives, she will have to pay; nor that again, by using her mind so strangely to cure her body she may have removed her infirmities from the plane of matter to that of the mind; the first effects of which we can trace dimly in her strictures on “Christian Science,” as she has acquired a slant, as it were, against the latter and in favour of her own, and a tone of lofty superiority with the Theosophists.
The claim that “the infinite resources of the Master” are within our present reach is not tenable, and the use of the text, “Truth shall make us free,” to show freedom from ills is not permissible. At any rate, truth does not seem to have made all mental Scientists free from conceit and prejudice. The man who uttered the words had, himself, a certain infirmity, and we think freedom of mind and soul is meant only. The acceptance of Truth and the practice of virtue cannot avert Karma waiting from other lives, but can produce good effects in lives to come, and what the extreme practice of mental curing does is to stave off for a time an amount of Karma which will, later on, reach us. We prefer to let it work out naturally through the material part of us and to expel it quickly if we may with even mineral remedies. But for all that we have no quarrel with mental healing at all, but leave each one to his or her own judgment.
Finally we would say that whenever it shall be proved to us and the world in general that among all the hosts of Mental curers, Mind healers, Christian Scientists, et hoc genus omne, there is even a large majority in perfect bodily health, instead of as at present only a minority, though a noisy and boastful one – then will we admit the justice of the arrogant claims made by our correspondent.
Cures – real, undeniable cures have been effected at Lourdes also, but is that any reason why we should all become Roman Catholics?
“When you begin with so much pomp and show, |
Lodges of Magic
Madam, –
I have only two remarks on your notes to my letter published in the December Number of Lucifer. – (1.) I do not “hope” to see spooks by the help of the Theosophical Society. My baser part sometimes desires manifestation, but I recognize such desire to be impure. I earnestly trust no Member of
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the Society will ever indulge in the evocation of phenomena, whether for curiosity, or for the gratification of the intellect.
(2.) I asked if the worship of the One God in spirit and in truth was the aim of the Society. You reply with the motto of the Society. But your real answer appears to be in the opening article of the Magazine on Denunciation.
I candidly think the formation of the Society was a mistake. Not a mistake in motive, but a mistake in generalship. The speed of the slowest ship marks the rate of progress of a fleet. The weak ones of the Society mark its position in the world. But if the Society has only helped one brother to right living, then it has done much to justify its existence, and I have naught to say.
My real reason in again addressing you is to call your attention to a Novel written by A. de Grasse Stevens. At page 141 is a reference to yourself as a Russian spy who was ejected from India by Lord Dufferin.
I have never before seen this curious slander in print, and, although you may consider it beneath contempt, I think it a pity to allow it altogether to escape notice.
The reprehensible conduct of the Publishers in allowing an Author to libel a living person, and that person a woman, is such that I do not care to express my opinion on paper more fully than in this letter.
I am, your most faithful servant,
A. E.
[Reply to A. E. concerning the slander by A. de Grasse Stevens]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 438
The Life of Jehoshua
F. Hartmann · pp. 439-440
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Supermundane Metaphysics
In her “notes” upon my paper printed in the October Number, the editor of Lucifer suspects me of materialism, but I am no materialist, only, if isms must be, an actualist, an acceptor of each one of the material and ideal facts of life and nature known to me, simply and humbly, that is in so far as the quite unexhausted brute element in me admits of simplicity and humility.
Metaphysics then, since they also represent a permanent tendency in human nature, I am bound to accept as fact, though fact astonishingly and uniquely relative to the idiosyncracy of each individual metaphysician.
This over preponderance of the personal element is characteristic of supermundane metaphysics, especially since they alone are without basis or buttress of some sort in the external world, and lack altogether the continuous confirmation of experimental certainty, which turns private theories at last into universal convictions. Only through being thus confirmed do hazy intuitions about the planetary system, about the origin of species, get themselves finally established; and they are ever afterwards subject to correction from normal experience, and by normal faculty. Whereas supermundane metaphysics depends confessedly upon transcendental experience, and makes its appeal to a higher consciousness.
Now I am very far from denying the existence of an unseen universe, or of a superior consciousness connecting us therewith; thence as it would seem, come strange experiences, gleams of light, inflow of strength and sweetness; but how indefinite are all these things, how ungraspable, and impossible even to catalogue correctly, is proved most conspicuously by looking over even once a few of the innumerable charts of a visionary Paradise left to us by enthusiastic seers of all ages, remote as well as recent, every one of them caught up several times into Heaven, or rendered immortal in the flesh.
This world’s common sense calls us back from the chambers of the Prophets and the caves of the witches to that homely earth where three quarters at least of our life is fixed, to the earth which from constitutional necessity is the most direct point of contact between the little locus of matter and focus of force that we call a man, and the universal Life (as blessed and beautiful surely here as elsewhere.) It calls us to the labour and the Arts which bring the nature that we know close home to our hearts and fill us with brave perceptions and high hopes, in essence doubtless all true, and in detail mere motley harlequinading dress borrowed from the wardrobe of experience.
No. 18 – February 1889
A Paradoxical World
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 441-449
Theosophy in Daily Life
J. Campbell ver Planck, F.T.S. · pp. 450-455
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[Chinese aphorisms]
The man who finds pleasure in vice and pain in virtue, is still a novice in both.
The wise man does good as naturally as he breathes.
[Notice of a new edition of a work on mesmerism]
The 6th Edition of what is regarded as one of the most reliable and practical works on the popular subject of Mesmerism, is about to be published by Mr. J. Burns, 15, Southampton Row, W.C., and in addition to the letterpress, which is said to emanate from a most reliable source, the re-issue will be embellished with several pages of litho illustrations demonstrating the various modes of applying the practice to scientific and curative purposes.
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To one there came a message as she stood |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
The Talking Image of Urur
Franz Hartmann · pp. 457-471
[Editors’ note on “The Talking Image of Urur” by Franz Hartmann]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 472
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My dear lost Master, I have sought thee long |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
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From the East of Time
(Continued from the January Number.)
Part III.
It seems strange that the world should be moving onwards, that man should sleep and wake, that one should be born and another die, whilst I, the victim of the Unity of Eternity, in my own person seem to give the lie to the ever-moving Time.
Sometimes I have wondered if I shall ever die, sometimes I have questioned uselessly whether if I have lost the power to sleep I have also lost the power to die. And but an hour ago the test was nearly made, for that pistol was placed against my brow. But as my hand clasped it and as my finger moved to touch the trigger my soul recoiled from its own deed and Onora’s form came between me and the grave.
What a hideous mood was upon me yesternight? what a terrible desire was that which caused me to call upon the spirit which is a part of mine to aid me in some hellish design that I might fascinate Onora Mayne?
Perhaps I was blinded by an excess of terror which hid from me the truth, that I love her – and love cannot injure, as I would have injured in that moment the beauty of her soul.
Onora, I love you for good or ill! yours must be the holiness which shall banish all that has come from the East of Time – if I gained your love it may be that its purity would fill me, and exclude all else! Alas! I dream of a thing which cannot be! Fool that I am, do I not know wherefore from the East the spirit came? it was to divide with me my youth, to share with me your love.
Within the past four days I have written much. To-night I have destroyed all these pages which contained, as does everything I write now, egotism in every line. If I wrote for the world I should be condemned, and justly. I care not!
But it was not because of egotism that I destroyed page upon page, but rather that I would not have you know the terrible depths to which my soul has sunk, and which lay unveiled upon the page a moment since.
My uncle is very ill – and I am glad that he is so – there is no need to conceal it – it is true. Let me say no more lest this also lead me to write too much.
Onora and I have been much alone, she is alone with me as though she loved me and were drawn towards me, though her maiden-like reserve makes her every act instinct as it were with bashful grace.
I have watched her closely. I cannot be mistaken. I believe that Onora loves. I laugh with a great happiness at my own folly when I
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recall my doubts but two days since, my fears that she could not be mine, and now I feel that I possess her love.
I am infatuated with the beauty of the thought. Onora mine, at last! Mine at last Onora! At last!
Have you ever loved? Can you then conceive this thought! – that for all you know the love which she gives you may be as nothing, that it may be a fascination, an empty mockery as the thing which I dreamt of some days ago in an evil hour when I called upon the power of the spirit from the East of Time.
My agony is intense. What if that which I look upon as bashfulness be naught but fear, what if that which I look upon as love is fascination? My own evil recoils upon myself. Hideous is the very prompting of my mind!
Onora, do you love me, or have I called upon you that curse which is mine? How is it that you are with me as it were in heart and soul, yet cringe from me and dislike my very touch?
I have been looking at myself in the glass. I cannot understand how aught so unearthly could attract a woman’s love. My eyes from want of sleep are deeply sunken, my cheeks hollow, and my lips pale, whilst a bluish tinge seems to have taken from my complexion every tint of youth.
I think I must be mad! Would to God I might be!
What a wish! I repent – not that – not that!
I shudder strangely at every thought that springs within me, for my every wish of fiendish nature seems to rebound upon myself as granted and fulfilled.
Death! If I only knew the great beyond. I fear Death because I cannot see, and yet what can my life be more than the existence of a spirit – of a double spirit – in a human tomb?
Onora Mayne, I call upon you still my thoughts; calm me and be with me that my thoughts may dwell upon the hours I spent with you!
This morning I received bad news. I, the man with the bluish face and the pale lips turned paler then, and Onora fixed her eyes upon me as I spoke:
“My friend, Frank Marston, will arrive in two days,” and a flash of jealousy shot through me as I spoke his name.
It is strange that Onora likes me, hideous creature as I am become. If to myself I seem so, what must I be to her? – to her the beautiful and fair; – and yet it is as though she saw nothing of that which is creeping upon me, for daily she comes nearer to my heart!
Can it be that I am right in that aching thought – fascination, not love or is she actuated by some depth of pity, that she does not see me as I am? She cringes from me, yet hides the very act, and why then, cringing thus, does she always seek my presence?
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I am a fool, my fiction writing in the old days has preyed upon my brain.
Onora loves me – that is all.
I have decided after much thought, and I wait for the day that I may speak to Onora of my love. How many nights have I spent thus – dreaming, anon horrible things, and anon the beautiful, and waiting for the dawn, whilst sometimes, as an old custom, I take up my pen to write a line or two, now only of my own career.
What use is a biographer to me, who write, without shame, of my own strange life, and whose mind circles ceaselessly upon itself? Yet it would seem that I am to have a Biographer in the days to come. Curious to think upon! – and will he then glean anything of my real life, and of the true nature of that which has come upon me; and will he describe in that second volume which was lost in the East of Time the nature of the change which has lighted upon me? Will he know anything of my misery, of my sleeplessness, and of my hopeless love? Hopeless? Why hopeless, since I still hope?
To-morrow, Onora, I shall ask your hand.
Another day has gone.
She was very still and very quiet, and she let me take her hand in mine; but it was cold, and did not answer to the pressure that I gave, and I, who was half kneeling, in the old fashion, on a footstool, by her side, looked up, as she did not speak, to see her face. She was marble pale, and it flashed across me: “Has she become even as I am, and as I must be?” Then I think I spoke again, in low tones, lest I should frighten her, and I told her, as I looked upon her still, frozen face, of the great devotion of my youth, and how I was unworthy, yet could not help myself in that I now spoke.
And then I think, for I cannot recall clearly all that passed in moments peopled with thoughts which rushed to and fro within me, pressing forwards to light from darkness and back to darkness from light. I think she was still for a few moments and then a trembling took her, and as I, fearing she would fall, placed my arm about her, she sprang from me with a shriek as though from an unholy thing.
And I think I fell upon the ground whilst the devils in my heart tore me asunder, and all darkness descended from above.
Then of a sudden a hand was placed upon my hair and Onora spoke, and what she said I shall not desecrate, only it calmed my soul.
And now I am filled with a great sorrow and am in my better mind! Ah, Onora, it must have been as I have feared, you were drawn towards me dear, as you are still, and I pray you to forgive me, for the power is none of mine. Ah, Onora, you have been more than friend, dear to me in the days gone by, yet I blame not you, but this accursed
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thing from the East of Time, whose power encircled your soul to draw it near mine own. And I pray, that as I shall shortly set you free, so you may forgive me for that of which you do not know. I have taken your answer, Onora, in the sadness of my heart, and you take this, dear, in the after days.
“Only a friend – no more,” |
Dear, can my better self speak to you before I go?
Onora, I am a young man, and my path has not been easy. Do you think that I have lived these years in poverty and in my uncle’s home without the longing that manhood brings – to be free? Do you think that I, who but a few hours ago asked you to be my wife, could have lived upon his bounty, or upon the fortune which may be yours? Rather I should have asked you to share an author’s home, where poverty may be, but where shame is an absent thing!
“A friend – no more.” Onora, it is well – well when I remember that which I had forgotten for a little time – that there is another’s soul within me even now! Onora, you will know why I have done this thing – you, Onora, will know – that it has been done for you. For this has been my fear, that you, too, might be entrapped by that power
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which has come from the East of Time! that you, too, may taste of my misery – if I but live!
This you shall never do!
I have been praying that it may be God’s will that I may die. For her sake I would do this thing, yet for my own sake also, for hell cannot be blacker than the life I have known for nine days! And for the present it seems to me that the spirit from the future time has ceased to trouble me as though it were aweary of life, and would fain pass beyond into the realms of death. And yet, if my time has come, and if it be that I may die as I so plan, who knows if the spirit which is silent now will die also, or if it will not be merely as if released, to pass back to its own century in the distant East of Time?
If my time has come! I fear lest it be not come, and I tremble lest the second volume, which tells of my life in the after days, may be the chronicle of many weary years to come. And the things which are written there must be, for they have been in future time.
My soul seems to have become a hell. It is as though I knew of other promptings, and these the truth, which bear me onwards to commit this deed. It is as though something whispered to me, “You wish to die for self’s sake, and for that alone. You face a miserable life, and you cannot bear it, that is all. And more than this you fear your friend’s arrival on the morrow, and that arrival you would avoid at any cost, and the jealousy which will lead you on to crime you are not man enough to face, and still you say, ‘I do this for her sake.’”
Great God! it is all true!
Dawn is approaching. Has no one guessed that I have not slept for nine days? Onora alone has seen me since my uncle fell ill; she alone and the servants have looked upon my face!
There will be talk in the servants’ hall ere another day has passed.
My resolve is made. I have argued logically with myself, as I used often to argue in my boyish days, each impulse of right and wrong, and I have fixed upon this thing. I mean to die.
For it seems to me that what is written in the future time must be and if I go against my destiny, a Higher Power will turn Death aside, and I, who long to taste of death, shall live, if my time be not at hand. And now I shall place this pistol against my heart, for I would, Onora, that your lips might light in kiss upon my brow when I am gone, and I cannot mutilate my face. The heart is here, is it not? Yes, I am sure of it – it is certain death – nothing stops me. I seem to know that it is His Will that my end may be, and all is at rest within me, yet I know that the spirit from the East of Time is not dead, but has tasted of misery from that youth it came to share and to destroy, and that it is
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only calm in the desire which is my desire and his desire – that life may end.
Onora, farewell! it is better, dearest, that it should be so, for my life is not a thing which could bring happiness to those I love, and you, Onora, must forget the man whose life was changed (not as you dream of, dear) because we met.
I have stood shuddering before my glass, trembling like an aspen, with my revolver placed against my breast, and like a coward I have shrunk back from death, and from that which I shall yet complete. I feel as though there were something I had not yet done. What is it? – what is it?
Your rose. I know it now – your rose, Onora. Do you remember the day you arrived at Varnley Hall? Do you remember it fell from your hair, and I picked it up and returned it to your hand, and you smiling laid it on the mantel as though still loth to cast the flower away, and then you said, “Some whim made me put the faded thing in my hair. I wore it at a ball last night, and it is withered, as you see!” and when you left the room I took it, for it was dear to me because it had added to your loveliness.
Poor withered rose, thou, too, |
Does it please you, Onora, that the last lines of my poor poesy are a fragment upon your rose?
In five minutes’ time I shall be a dead man! The hand of the clock moves leadenly – twenty-six minutes! four more and I lift my Colt without hesitation and fire into my breast. How the seconds drag themselves out! What has happened, that the clock seems to stand still – has it stopped? No, it is ticking still. See how the hands hurry me onwards to my doom. Two minutes – why am I all cold? The clock ticks too loudly. Why do I write like one frenzied? Ah! I die like a soldier, with my weapon in hand – my pen – the only weapon I have ever used!
One minute – God in Heaven! if it be thy will that I may not die, let the hand stop now, for the end is near. The seconds gather and heap upon themselves – Onora – Onora – farewell!
Now – !!!
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The Ancient Empire of China
About two thousand years before our Christian era, the Chinese tribe first appeared in the country, where it has since increased so greatly. It then occupied a small extent of territory, on the north and east of the Ho, the more southern portion of the present province of Shan-se. As its course continued to be directed to the east and south (though after it crossed the Ho, it proceeded to extend itself westwards as well), we may conclude that it had come into China from the north-west. Believing that we have in the 10th chapter of the Book of Genesis some hints, not to be called in question,[66] of the way in which the whole world was overspread by the families of the sons of Noah, I suppose that the family, or collection of families – the tribe – which has since grown into the most numerous of the nations, began to move eastwards, from the regions between the Black and Caspian seas, not long after the confusion of tongues. Going on, between the Altaic range of mountains on the north, and the Tauric range, with its continuations, on the south, but keeping to the sunny and more attractive south as much as it could, the tribe found itself, at the time I have mentioned, between 40° and 45° N. L., moving parallel with the Yellow River in the most northern portion of its course. It determined to follow the stream, turned south with it, and moved along its eastern bank, making settlements where the country promised most advantages, till it was stopped by the river ceasing its southward flow, and turning again towards the east. Thus the present Shan-se was the cradle of the Chinese empire. The tribe dwelt there for a brief space, consolidating its strength under the rule of chieftains, who held their position by their personal qualities more than by any privileges of hereditary descent; and then gradually forced its way east, west and south, conflicting with the physical difficulties of the country, and prevailing over the opposition of ruder and less numerous neighbours.
The arrival of the Chinese tribe had been anticipated by others.[67] These
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may have left the original seat of our infant race in the West earlier than it; or they may have left it at the same time. If they did so, the wave of emigration had broken in its progress. Some portions had separated from the main body, and found their way into the present province of Shan-se; and others, pursuing the same direction with it, but moving with more celerity, had then been pushed forward, by its advance, towards the sea, and subsequently along the sea-board, trying to make good a position for themselves among the mountains and along the streams of the country. We are not to suppose that the land was peopled by these tribes. They were not then living under any settled government, nor were they afterwards able to form a union of their forces, which could cope with the growing power of the larger people. They were scattered here and there over the region north of the Ho, gradually extending southward towards the Keang. Hostilities were constantly breaking out between them and the Chinese, over whom they might gain, once and again, temporary advantages. They increased in their degree, as well as those, and were far from being entirely subdued at the end of the Chow dynasty. Remnants of them still exist in a state of semi-independence in the south-western parts of the empire. Amid the struggles for the supreme power which arose when one dynasty gave place to another, and the constant contentions which prevailed among the States into which the empire was divided, the princes readily formed alliances with the chiefs of these wilder tribes. They were of great assistance to King Woo in his conflict with the last sovereign of the dynasty of Shang. In the speech which he delivered to his forces before the decisive battle in the wild of Muh, he addressed the “men of Yung, Shuh, Keang, Maou, Wei, Loo, P’ang, and Poh,” in addition to his own captains, and the rulers of friendly States. We are told that the wild tribes of the south and north, as well as the people of the great and flowery region, followed and were consenting with him.
King Woo established the rule of the Chow dynasty in the beginning of the 12th century B.C.
From the documents purporting to belong to the periods of Chinese history which are preserved in the Shoo, it will be seen that the year B.C 775 is the earliest date which can be said to be determined with certainty. The exact year in which the Chow dynasty commenced is not known; and as we ascend the stream of time, the two schemes current among the Chinese themselves diverge more widely from each other, while to neither of them can we accord our credence.
The accession of Yu, the first sovereign of the nation, was probably at some time in the nineteenth century before Christ; [68] and previous to him
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there were the chiefs Shun and Yaou. To attempt to carry the early Chinese history to a higher antiquity than twenty centuries before Christ is without any historical justification.[69]
There may have been such men as Chinese writers talk of under the appellations of Chuen-heuh, Hwang-te, Shin-nung, Fuh-he, etc.; but they cannot have been rulers of China. They are children of the mist of tradition, if we should not rather place them in the land of phantasy.[70]
The Chinese empire consisted in the time of Yu of nine provinces. On the north and west its boundaries were much the same as those of China Proper at the present day. On the east it extended to the sea, and even, according to many, across it, so as to embrace the territory of Corea. Its limits on the south are not very well defined in the “Books of Yu.” It certainly did not reach beyond the range of mountains which run along the north of Kwang-tung province, stretching into Kwang-se on the west and Fuh-Keen on the east.
Edward Biot calls attention to the designation of the early Chinese tribe or colony as “the black-haired people,” saying that they were doubtless so named in opposition to the different or mixed colour of the hair of the indigenous race. But I cannot admit any indigenous race – any race that did not come from the same original centre of our world’s population as the Chinese themselves. The wild tribes of which we read in the Shoo and Chinese history, were, no doubt, black-haired, as all the remnants of them are at the present day. If we must seek an explanation for the name of “black-haired people,” as given to the early Chinese, I should say that its origin was anterior to their entrance into China, and that it was employed to distinguish them from other descendants of Noah,[71] from whom they separated, and who, while they journeyed to the east, moved in an opposite and westward direction.
It was to their greater civilization and the various elements of strength flowing from it, that the Chinese owed their superiority over other early settlers in the country. They were able, in virtue of this, to subdue the land and replenish it, while the ruder tribes were gradually pushed into
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corners, and finally were nearly all absorbed and lost in the prevailing race. The black-haired people brought with them habits of settled labour. Their wealth did not consist, like that of nomads, in their herds and flocks. Shun’s governors of provinces in the Shoo are called Pastors or Herdsmen, and Mencius speaks of princes generally as “Pastors of men”; but pastoral allusions are very few in the literature of China. The people could never have been a tribe of shepherds. They displayed, immediately on their settlement, an acquaintance with the arts of agriculture and weaving. The cultivation of grain to obtain the staff of life, and of flax to supply clothing, at once received their attention. They knew also the value of the silkworm and planted the mulberry tree. The exchange of commodities – the practice of commerce on a small scale – was, moreover, early developed among them. It was long, indeed, before they had anything worthy of the name of a city; but fairs were established at convenient places, to which the people resorted from the farms and hamlets about, to barter their various wares.
In addition to the above endowments, the early Chinese possessed the elements of intellectual culture. They had some (?) acquaintance with astronomy, knew approximately the length of the year, and recognized the necessity of the practice of intercalation, to prevent the seasons, on a regard to which their processes of agriculture depended, from getting into disorder. They possessed also the elements of their present written characters. The stories current, and which are endorsed by statements in the later semi-classical books, about the invention of the characters by Ts’ang-Keü, in the time of Hwang-te, are of no value; and it was not until the Chow dynasty, and the reign particularly of King Seuen (B.C. 825 – 779), that anything like a dictionary of them was attempted to be compiled; but the original immigrants, I believe, brought with them the art of ideographic writing or engraving. It was rude and imperfect, but it was sufficient for the recording of simple observations of the stars in their courses, and the surface of the earth, and for the orders to be issued by the government of the time.[72] As early as the beginning of the Shang dynasty, we find E Yin presenting a written memorial to his sovereign.[73]
The habits of the other settlers were probably more warlike than those of the Chinese; but their fury would exhaust itself in predatory raids. They were incapable of any united or persistent course of action. We cannot wonder that they were in the long run supplanted and absorbed
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by a race with the characteristics and advantages which I have pointed out.
The Bamboo Annals give but the skeleton of the history of ancient China; the Shoo gives the flesh and drapery of the body at particular times. The one tells of events simply, in the fewest possible words; the other describes the scenes and all the attendant circumstances of those events.
The Chinese meaning of the term Shoo is “the pencil speaking,” and hence it is often used as a general designation for the written characters of the language. From this use of the term the transition was easy to the employment of it in the sense of writings or books, applicable to any consecutive compositions; and before the time of Confucius we find it further specially applied to designate the historical remains of antiquity, in distinction from the poems, the accounts of rites and other monuments of former times. Not that those other documents might not also be called by the general name of Shoo. The peculiar significance of the term, however, was well established, and is retained to the present day. The Shoo, in the lips of Confucius, denoted documents concerning the history of his country from the most ancient times to his own; as spoken of since the Han dynasty, it has denoted a compilation of such documents, believed to have been made by the sage. The Shoo, or “Book of History,” is simply a collection of historical memorials, extending over a space of 1,700 years.
“The Bamboo Books” is a comprehensive designation. It is not, indeed, so wide as De Mailla represents, when he says: – “It is the general name given to all ancient books written on tablets of bamboo, before the manner of making paper was discovered.”
Such books might be spoken and written of as “Bamboo Books.” The Bamboo Books is the name appropriate to a large collection of ancient documents, discovered in A.D. 279, embracing nearly twenty different works, which contained altogether between seventy and eighty chapters or books. The chiefs and rulers of the ancient Chinese were not without some considerable knowledge of God; but they were accustomed, on their first appearance in the country, if the earliest portions of the Shoo can be relied on at all, to worship other spiritual beings as well. There was no sacerdotal or priestly class among them; there were no revelations from Heaven to be studied and expounded. The chieftain was the priest for the tribe; the emperor, for the empire; the prince of a state, for his people; the father, for his family.
Shun had no sooner been designated by Yaou to the active duties of the government as co-emperor with him, than “he offered a special sacrifice, but with the ordinary forms, to God; sacrificed purely to the six Honoured ones; offered their appropriate sacrifices to the rivers and hills, and extended his worship to the host of spirits.”
Subsequently, in the progresses which he is reported to have made to
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the different mountains where he met the princes of the several quarters of the empire, he always commenced his proceedings with them by “presenting a burnt-offering to Heaven, and sacrificing in order to the hills and rivers.” I do not refer to these passages as veritable records of what Shun actually did; but they are valuable as being the ideas of the compilers of the Shoo of what he should have done in his supposed circumstances.
The name by which God was designated was the Ruler and the Supreme Ruler, denoting emphatically his personality, supremacy and unity. We find it constantly interchanged with the term Heaven, by which the ideas of supremacy and unity are equally conveyed, while that of personality is only indicated vaguely, and by an association of the mind.[74] By God, kings were supposed to reign, and princes were required to decree Justice. All were under law to Him, and bound to obey His will. Even on the inferior people He has conferred a moral sense, compliance with which would show their nature invariably right. All powers that be are from Him. He raises one to the throne and puts down another. Obedience is sure to receive His blessing; disobedience to be visited with His curse. The business of kings is to rule in righteousness and benevolence, so that the people may be happy and good. They are to be an example to all in authority, and to the multitudes under them. Their highest achievement is to cause the people tranquilly to pursue the course which their moral nature would indicate and approve. When they are doing wrong God admonishes them by judgments – storms, famine and other calamities; if they persist in evil, sentence goes forth against them. The dominion is taken from them, and given to others more worthy of it.
The Duke of Chow, in his address on “The Establishment of Government,” gives a striking summary of the history of the empire down to his own time. Yu the Great, the founder of the Hea dynasty, “sought for able men to honour God.” But the way of Kee, the last of his line, was different. He employed cruel men – and he had no successors. The empire was given to T’ang the Successful, who “greatly administered the bright ordinances of God.” By and by, T’ang’s throne came to Show, who was all violence, so that “God sovereignly punished him.” The empire was transferred to the House of Chow, whose chiefs showed their fitness for the charge by “finding out men who would reverently serve God, and appointing them as presidents and chiefs of the people.”
It was the duty of all men to reverence and honour God, by obeying His law written in their hearts, and seeking His blessing in all their ways; but there was a solemn and national worship of Him, as ruling in
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nature and providence, which could only be performed by the emperor, It consisted of sacrifices, or offerings rather, and prayers. No image was formed of Him, as indeed the Chinese have never thought of fashioning a likeness of the Supreme.[75]
Who the “six Honoured ones,” whom Shun sacrificed to next to God were, is not known [76] In going on to worship the hills and rivers, and the host of spirits, he must have supposed that there were certain tutelary beings, who presided over the more conspicuous objects of nature, and its various processes. They were under God, and could do nothing, excepting as they were permitted and empowered by Him; but the worship of them was inconsistent with the truth that God demands to be recognized as “He who worketh all in all,” and will allow no religious homage to be given to any but Himself. It must have always been the parent of many superstitions; and it paved the way for the pantheism which enters largely into the belief of the Chinese at the present day, and of which we find one of the earliest steps in the practice, which commenced with the Chow dynasty, of not only using the term Heaven as a synonym for God, but the combination Heaven and Earth.
Turkish Proverbs
He is a man who does not turn away from what he has said.
The heart of the fool is in his tongue, the tongue of the wise is in his heart.
You cannot make a fat broth from a lean fowl.
Two captains sink the ship.
The Elixir of the Devil
E. T. A. Hoffmann · pp. 486-494
If you Shoot at a Crow, Do Not Kill a Cow
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 494
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Theosophical Activities
OF THE
XIIITH CONVENTION AND REPORT OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY,
at the Headquarters, Adyar, Madras, December 27th,
28th and 29th, 1888.
With Official Documents.[77]
The thirteenth anniversary of the Theosophical Society was the most important in several years, though not so well attended as usual, owing principally to the fact of the majority of our leading Fellows being occupied with the business of the National (Political) Congress at Allahabad. Two most serious changes were made in the Society’s policy, viz., the re-organization of the administrative machinery upon the basis of sectional autonomy; and the abandonment of the system of obligatory cash payment of fees upon entrance into membership, and annually in the form of a tax of 1 Rupee per capita. The first was simply the adjustment of the plan of management to correspond with the expansion of the movement. The Society, having now 173 Branches scattered throughout the four quarters of the World, has outgrown the old system of centralization of executive responsibility. The Annual Convention of the General Council has ceased to be, save in name, the true parliament or congress of the Branches; their distances apart, and the heavy cost of the journeys to and from Adyar, making a thorough convocation of their Delegates or the expression of their will respecting Society affairs impracticable. To say nothing of those in Europe, America and Australasia, there was never a full representation of even those in Asia – those nearest, geographically, to Adyar. Experience at last prompted the adoption of a better working system, one embodying the true spirit of equality and parliamentary justice more than the one in vogue. As an autonomous American section had been in existence and successfully working for two years, and a British section had just been formed in London, the fair thing was evidently to extend the sectional scheme to all countries, keeping the Head-quarters as the hub, and the President-Founder as the axle, of this wheel of many spokes under the car of Progress. Upon a careful reading of the Revised Code of Rules it will be seen that the General Council has merely been divided up into sections, or groups, which are to act, each in its special territorial division, as the overseers, directors and legislators of the Theosophical movement, and of the territorial branches of which the members of the Council are respectively Presidents. For example, the Presidents of the Branches in the Madras Presidency, or Bombay, or Bengal, or of India may be grouped together and formed into the Council of the
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Madras, Bombay, Bengal or Indian Section, as the case may be; just as the Presidents of Branches in America, and those of the Branches in the United Kingdom, are already organised in their respective countries as Councils of the American and British Sections of the Theosophical Society. At the same time, these and all future sections are or will be inseparably united with the central point where the President-Founder represents and wields the executive authority of the entire undivided body known as the Theosophical Society.
As regards the change of financial policy, it results from the conviction, based upon experience as backed by statistics, that it is the safer, more dignified and practical plan, to trust the support of the Society to voluntary contributions, rather than pretend to count upon the fruits of an involuntary impost which has not, nor apparently ever will, yield enough to keep the work moving on. More need not be added here, in view of what is said in the President-Founder’s Annual Address and the several documents thereunto appended. The only other feature of any great note is the abandonment, at the instance of the Members of Council themselves, of the experiment of an Executive Council clothed with all the executive functions, and the return to the old-established plan of vesting all such functions in the President-Founder.
The Convention assembled at Noon on the 27th December, as constitutionally provided.
The President-Founder’s Address
H. S. Olcott · pp. 496-504
Qabbalah, the Philosophical Writings of Solomon ben Yehudah ibn Gebirol (Avicebron)
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 505-512
Marriage and Divorce – Religious, Practical and Political Aspects of the Question
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 513-517
Solar Biology
Walter Richard Old · pp. 517-519
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Imperial Germany
It is unusual to notice books in any degree of a political complexion in the Theosophical Magazines. But this volume is distinguished by such a large spirit of Catholicity, by such a theosophical breadth of view, that a brief notice of it will not be out of place in Lucifer.
In some 300 pages of good-sized print, “Imperial Germany” places before us with admirable perspective of detail, a complete outline of the Germany of to-day as it appears on the background of that historic Past, to which the nation owes its present position. The continuity of Past and Present is scrupulously preserved and the moral of its history as it applies to England is drawn with a clear and firm hand. Nor are the dangers which still threaten the unity of Imperial Germany forgotten. They too have their lesson for English readers, if only our public men were open-eyed enough to learn them.
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In brief but telling words, the book sketches out the great features of German life; political, intellectual, educational and social. The deeper roots of German military power and success are traced to their seats in the educational and historical life of the nation, and the influence of the idealistic element in the German temperament receives due but not excessive recognition. All this is illustrated with ample detail of fact and quotation, but so clearly and admirably arranged that the thoughts are conveyed with the utmost force and effect.
Though not sharing the author’s admiration for Bismark so far as to accept the view that his character is fundamentally religious (!) and ruled by Kant’s “categorical imperative,” or the conception of duty, we cannot fail to admire the true picture presented to us of one, who is undoubtedly the craftiest statesman of our time. But we cordially concur that a paternal government, if ruled by an exalted conception of duty to the people, is far preferable to the “Khoom-posh” which seems likely to be the outcome of modern Democracy – so-called. The following quotation sums up what is perhaps the most prominent and obvious lesson to be drawn from “Imperial Germany,”: –
“The form of government which succeeds best in developing the central idea of the State, backed up by the best instincts and unselfish devotion of its subjects, is the best.”
Abelardius. La Religione Come Scienza
“No class of works is received with more suspicion, I had almost said derision, than those which deal with science and religion. Science is tired of reconciliations between two things which never should have contrasted; religion is offended by the patronage of an ally which it professes not to need; and the critics have rightly discovered that in most cases where science is either pitted against religion or fused with it, there is some fatal misconception to begin with as to the scope and province of either.”[78]
This book belongs to this “class of works”: it is an essay, where science and religion are compared. The author says: “Religion represents a group of phenomena, which attracts our attention. They may be facts of quite a different kind from all other facts, but they are facts, nobody can deny it; they are not non-existent. And why should science refuse to examine them?” And further on he says: “Religion is psychological to the highest degree and the method of dealing with it must be a psychological one.” It looks at first as if this comparison between religion and science would be a research into the genesis of religious feelings, with other aims, but in the style of Feuerbach and of the neuhegelianer.
There is something of the kind, though only a few hints; but science in this case is a special theory of the author’s, and religion is Christianity. Many elements of the latter are separately examined and partially recognised, where they are not in opposition with the theory of the author. We say at once that his theory, although it is not developed, seems to conform itself to the esoteric teachings of the East, which are a new flash of light in the confusion of our celebrated civilisations.
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The law of identity, which is the basis of the whole theory, reminds one of the Light one, the love considered as a consequence of that law recalls the much-prized feeling of solidarity, and the maxim, “kill out the feeling of separateness,” of Light on the Path. Human immortality, considered as the survivorship of the man’s essential principles, reminds one of the distinction between the personality and the individuality and so on. But what remains of the Christian doctrines? The esoteric element, that is to say the primordial element which is the same in all religions. Therefore the name of Neo-Christianism, proposed by the author, may be accepted for the sake of convenience but not for any intrinsic reasons.
Abelardius seems to know much more than he says, and his book is really an essay, I had almost said a coup d’essai. Unhappily, Italy is not yet prepared for the new theory, and his words will awaken but little echo in this people whose thinking energy has been for so many centuries compressed. Its reasoning power is very strong only when it is called out for or against church and religious questions, but it is not sufficiently educated to deal with religious ideality. It is a fact that notwithstanding Italy has had Savonarola, Arnaldo di Brescia, Giordano Bruno and many other reformers, it has been always faithful to the Pope, and this is still much more the case than people generally think But the day, we hope, is not very distant when Italians also will deal without misconceptions of any kind with religious questions, as the Vatican influence on the mind is continually decreasing. In the meantime, it is a duty of those who have succeeded in conciliating the mind and the heart, to make others participate in their calm, and Abelardius, in his own way, has conscientiously accomplished that duty.
The Temple of the Rosy Cross
The sub-title is “The soul: its powers, migrations and transmigrations,” and this gives the reader at once some idea of the scope which the author gives to his book. As to whether the title is not too ambitious, the reader must be left to judge, for it is nearly impossible to review it properly. Were one to mete out praise and blame in honest criticism on all parts of the book, one would require to write a volume or two of greater size than the original. This does not mean that there is no value in the book. Far from it, there is much that is of the utmost importance. And whether one may agree with the author or not, it is impossible to avoid admiring his evident sincerity.
Whatever the form, and however much improved the original work may have been, it seems now that a still greater improvement could have been effected. For, in the first place, there is a considerable chaos in the matter of arrangement. While one is engaged in following out an argument on will-culture, it suddenly breaks off into what one finds to be an illustration drawn from digestion. It is not named as an illustration, and the reader is obliged to devote his whole attention in puzzled wonder to discover the meaning. By the time he discovers it to be an illustration, he has most probably lost the thread of the
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argument, and has to begin over again. This, of course, may be the author’s intention, so as to enforce thorough knowledge of the subject by continued iteration. But, to say the least of it, it is irritating, and unless a student is thoroughly convinced of the value of the book, he is apt to lay it aside with some feeling of impatience. Again, there is this to be found, though this will be personal to the individual reader. Paragraphs commence with axioms in this book, and these axioms are most admirable in their truth and wisdom. Then comes in the unevenness of the book, for when the author descends to the explanation of these axioms, he writes at one time from what is plainly his personal level of intelligence, and at another from that of the more exalted intelligence. Thus, as the form and terseness of the book makes it intensely dogmatic, the reader is apt to be impatient at the conclusions so expressed.
Again, the author delivers a homily on the subject of love and marriage. Treating of love from the highest ideal, at first he condemns the ordinary marriage; but in the next sentence he adopts the “Twin Soul” theory, and identifies it with Laurence Oliphant’s “Sympneuma.” Then to crown all he proceeds to quote from P. B. Randolph on the subject. Thus, from the highest subjective ideal we suddenly descend to the greatest objective degradation. Again, while starting from an axiom which condemns it, the author proceeds to argue in favour of the system of “Mind-cure.” The fact being that he, while meditating, as he aptly calls it, “The poising of the Soul’s wings for flight,” perceived the truth, but in endeavouring to give his thought expression, has given utterance to that most dangerous thing – a half truth. And with it all the author enunciates as clearly as possible the laws of “Karma” and “Reincarnation,” and denounces self-gratification as the curse of humanity with the greatest horror – yet he speaks with approval of “Mind-cure.”
Still, it must be remembered that in face of all this general criticism there is a vast amount of information of the utmost value, and that the book is worthy of the most careful perusal by the serious student.
But to take the chapter-headings as evidence of the scope of the book.
“The Supernatural; Principles of Nature; Life; The Unnatural; Body and Spirit; Mind; Divine Mind and Body; Generation of Mind; Attributes of Mind – Belief and Hope; Knowledge (Attributes of Mind, continued); Faith and Knowledge: The Soul; Migration and Transmigration; The Will; The Voluntary and Involuntary Powers; Will-culture; Soul Powers and Spiritual Gifts; Spirituality; ‘Rosicrucial.’”
Those upon the “Attributes of Mind,” “The Will,” “The Voluntary and Involuntary Powers,” and especially “Will-culture,” are worthy the most serious attention.
Yet there are some assertions which do not quite seem to be harmonious; e.g., “Intuition is instinct humanized”; “Knowledge is the ultimate of mental action”; “Soul is not a thing, save it be united to spirit. . . .”
Again, it is startling to find it asserted that “Buddhism . . . . is sexual from the first to last.” And here it may be remarked that the author makes a very free use of the word “sexual” as a qualifying adjective – a great deal too free, for it is apt to be misunderstood. Indeed, there is only a doubt whether it is to be understood literally or in the sense of polarity. It is so in some instances, but the meaning is in other places very obscure.
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But there is one caution which should be observed by all readers. The author gives a multitude of recommendations for the cultivation of “soul powers and spiritual gifts.”
As he justly observes, one of the first requisites for this is the silence of the mind. But while he inculcates this, he dilates on the dangers of mediumship. Thus he warns his followers of the dangers to be encountered, but he does not give directions by which these dangers are to be avoided. Consequently, the aspirant after knowledge is encouraged to follow a course of training by which he is brought in contact with acknowledged dangers, but which he is left to his own unaided powers to meet.
Further, in following this course of training, directions are given which may confer on the persevering candidate powers which he is warned against exercising, unless he has purified his soul. But there is nothing to hinder him from exercising these powers before the purification is effected. Thus, in plain terms, there are many practical directions which, if followed, may ultimately lead the aspirant to Black Magic. Therefore, it is not a book to be recommended to everyone.
But although it may appear that the faults of the book have been here too much dwelt upon, it is impossible to praise too highly the many excellencies which it contains. It will prove a valuable guide to those who fix their attention on their own exalted ideals, by giving them a course of regulated practical action and the reasons therefor.
Thus, taking all considerations together, it is a book which, in spite of some flaws of construction and principle, would be a valuable aid to a large number of Theosophists.
Theosophical News
The President-Founder, Col. H. S. Olcott, left India for Japan on January 11th, and is due in the land of lacquer and the latest catechumens of civilisation on February 8th. It will be curious to see whether – as a revivalist movement in a country which professedly cares little for religion of any kind – Buddhism or Christianity will gain the day. At all events, our President’s task will be an arduous one.
We learn with pleasure that there is more than a probability of the speedy formation of two new Branches of the T. S. in England.
The February Number of the Theosophist will contain the following notice: –
“Any subscriber to Lucifer will, in future, be charged only 15s. a year for the Theosophist, instead of £1, the regular annual subscription.
“All such reduced subscriptions must be paid to the Manager of the Theosophical Publishing Co., Limited, 7, Duke Street, Adelphi, London.”
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British Section, T.S.
Our attention has been called to an extraordinary oversight which has occurred in the drafting of the Revised Rules of the T. S. at the Convention at Adyar. The Rules of the British Section were forwarded to the Delegate of the Section at Adyar to be by him communicated to the Convention. This was regarded as a matter of form and courtesy, for the President had held two meetings while in Europe at which the constitution of the Section had been settled, and had given his official sanction as President in Council to its Rules, which, moreover, appear in full in the official Supplement to the Theosophist. Rule 15, which relates to an annual subscription to be paid by members of the British Section, is apparently flatly contradicted by Section P of the Revised Rules; and this is followed by Part 2 of Section S, which does away with all Rules previously formed and declares any action taken under such Rules to be illegal. Now as the British Section has had no opportunity of discussing any such alteration as this, and as its Rules were approved by the President-Founder in Council, it is at once evident that some great oversight can alone explain it. So much is this the case that the Rules of the British Section will be upheld pending an appeal to the President for his interpretation of the enigma. More especially so as the British Section has received no official or private notification that its Rules have been thus cancelled without its knowledge, and abrogated in such an unwarrantable manner. Probably Col. Olcott, in the hurry of his departure for Japan, was unaware of these alterations; at any rate, of their extent, and the results of their action. It is impossible that he should assent to a Rule which is contrary to the practically unanimous (one dissentient) vote of the meeting which he called in London. We await his decision.
The Mithra Worship
All visitors to the Classical Galleries in the British Museum are familiar with the Mithraic Bull. In this a young man, wearing a Phrygian cap, bestrides a bull, into which he strikes a knife, while at the same time this bull is attacked by an insect, either scorpion or crab, and followed by two ravens or other birds. I therefore ask the meaning of this sculpture.
I. What analogy is there between this idol and the Hindoo Vâch?
II. What analogy is there with the Hebrew “golden calf” or “cherub” which was manufactured by the Israelites in the wilderness from the metal of which they had deprived the Egyptians?
III. Does the insect represent Cancer or Scorpio?
IV. Are the two ravens interpreted by the ravens of Mephistopheles (see Goethe’s “Faust”); by the Norse mythology; or by the higher symbolism indicated in the Secret Doctrine? Is the mystic signification of the word raven, which forms so important a factor in the legends of Noah and Elijah, interpreted in any way by the Mithraic myth?
[Editors’ reply to “The Mithra Worship” by A Book-Worm]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 525
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The Dirge for the Dead
The interesting and highly-suggestive specimen of automatic writing that appeared in the December number of Lucifer is not a little remarkable in itself, but, pardon my saying the theory put forward by you in explanation is very far from being satisfactory to the enquiring mind.[80] As to the dirge, I doubt if it be known to Egyptologists; it forms no portion of the Book of the Dead; there is no copy among the papyri of the British Museum; and its appearance on the mummy of the Ptolemaic period is probably exceptional. [81] But my interest in the subject centres in your explanation that the communication in question is a reminiscence of past incarnations, presumably of the higher Ego of the writer. This theory of the Theosophist stands opposed to the hypothesis of the Spiritualist, who maintains such communications to be what they profess to be, viz., revelations by an independent, super-mundane intelligence, given through the medium of another organisation. From the standpoint you occupy, and the superior knowledge you possess, your explanation may, for aught I know to the contrary, be the true one, but permit me to say, you have not succeeded in making it even plausible to the average reader. [82] On the contrary, the impression left on my mind after reading the editorial
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note was that the Theosophical theory was trotted out in support of a preconceived doctrine rather than given as a scientific conclusion deduced from the facts. On the face of it the Theosophical theory fails either to cover the ground or explain the facts. My difficulty in accepting your theory of past reminiscences from former existences is not lessened by the mystery that surrounds the doctrine of reincarnation. As gathered from the lips of Theosophists and Theosophical literature, the doctrine appears to me to be largely tinctured by the Buddhistic school of thought through which it has descended. It savors of the company it has kept so long, which may account for the apparently contradictory theories obtaining on the subject of reincarnation. [83] The law of Karma, and the necessary and inevitable periodic return of the ego or astral monad into material existence, and on this planet as the universal destiny of every son and daughter of Adam, I understand to be the view of reincarnation held by Theosophists. But in Isis Unveiled, page 351, the following teaching is given:
“Reincarnation, i.e. the appearance of the same individual, or rather of his astral monad, twice on the same planet[84] is not a rule in nature; it is an exception, like the teratological phenomenon of a two-headed infant. It is preceded by a violation of the
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laws of harmony of nature, and happens only when the latter, seeking to restore its disturbed equilibrium, violently throws back into earth-life the astral monad which had been tossed out of the circle of necessity by crime or accident. . . . If reason has been so far developed as to become active and discriminative, there is no (immediate) reincarnation on this earth, for the three parts of the triune man [85] have been united together, and he is capable of running the race.”
Here, we have propounded a theory of re-incarnation that must, I think, address itself to every mind as at once probable, scientific, and rational; [86] a reasonable provision of the All-wise for meeting the case of exceptions to a rule of life. But how can this theory of re-incarnation be accorded with the Theosophical teaching of the same doctrine? If the re-incarnation of Isis be the truth, then the explanation of automatic communications, such as that of the “Dirge for the Dead in Life,” or the spirit teachings of M. A. Oxon, by the “reminiscences of past existences,” will be found to utterly break down. The re-incarnation theory of explanation will have to be re-considered and the intelligence who stoutly maintains that he is what he says he is, must be heard in his own defence.
[Editor’s note on “The Dirge for the Dead” by J. H. Mitalmier]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 528
Footnotes
- ↑ I find in the Hindoo Patriot of 9th July the following paragraph: – " Regarding the Barisâl Guns Mr. Waller, Magistrate of Khulna, writes: – It may interest those whose attention is directed to the subject to know that since the rain began to fall here on Wednesday afternoon there have been loud and frequent explosions heard of the kind called ' Barisâl Guns.' The sounds come from the south, and are heard sometimes by day, but mostly at night. As many as six explosions have followed rapidly one after the other. The sounds had not been heard for some time previously. The sounds resembled most nearly that which would be caused by a large heavy plank falling on to the floor of a large resonant empty building at a considerable distance."
- ↑ This story is founded upon an actual occurrence in the family of an American member of the Theosophical Society, and closely follows the lines of the real events, a brief account of which was given in one of the earlier numbers of The Path. – [Author.]
- ↑ This is undeniable; for we find stated in the Zohar that the “Ancient of all the Ancients” (Ain-soph, the Kabalists say, the Logos or At-tee-kah, also Hokhmah, or Wisdom, the Occultists maintain) having evolved or “created” Thorah (the law, or Dharma) hitherto hidden, Thorah forthwith addressed IT (the Ancient of all the Ancients) in these words: “IT, that wishes to arrange in order other things, should first arrange Itself in its (to it pertaining) Forms.” And the “For ever concealed” did follow Thorah’s advice and did so arrange its forms as to become manifested as the Universe. And if Thorah, why not Satan? – [Ed.]
- ↑ Just so. And it is precisely because we find these fruits abortive, by reason of the ever-failing attempts – as far as we have seen and heard – to cure a really serious disease by such means, that we permit ourselves to doubt the efficacy of Mental (or Christian) Science, in its modern garb and practice. It is not mental Science itself – thousands of years old – that we doubt, but the Scientists, whether Mental or Christian. We doubt as little the existence of such a Science in days of old, and the possibility of its revival in our age, as we do Theosophy, and the Wisdom-Religion, of which both Theosophy and Mind-Cure are part and parcel. But what we do say is that “many are the called and (very) few are the chosen.” Neither the Mental Scientist, nor the Theosophist, are such by the saying “by their fruits ye shall know them.” Two-thirds of the Mental (or Christian) Scientists and Theosophists are, we fear, but bad wine corked in good bottles. – [Ed.]
- ↑ It is this pernicious doctrine of ever relying upon extraneous help that leads to the collapse – physical, mental, moral, and spiritual – of well-meaning, but weak and unbalanced minds. It slays the patient of the mesmeriser and the mental healer, the neophyte of the sorcerer, and the dilettante of Reform. Neither success nor safety is to be found outside self-development. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Amen, with all our heart – upon the condition of mutual justice. – [Ed.]
- ↑ The circular was appended by Mr. Redway to Lucifer without being submitted to the editors. Lucifer is now its own publisher. – [Ed.]
- ↑ One of these hermaphroditic Gods of India, Arddha-Nari or Siva with his wife Parvati become one is figured in Moor’s “Hindu Pantheon,” plate 7.
- ↑ This, we are afraid, is a very dangerous ground to tread upon. See Editors’ Note. – [Ed.]
- ↑ In Inman’s “Ancient Faiths embodied in Ancient Names,” there is an interesting article on this Sophia of the Gnostics.
- ↑ This paper was written at the special request of a friend, whose connection with Theosophy is of itself quite enough to account for any interest I may feel in its fortunes.
- ↑ We demur to the epithet “clever,” which is too elastic to be passed over without a few words of comment. “Clever” may mean talented, clever in speech and daily life, but it may also convey the sense of being dexterous, skilful, and a clever trickster. To the former we object, because if Mme. Blavatsky had been endowed with average common-sense, not to say cleverness, she would never have taken on board the Theosophical ship, almost without scrutiny, a lot of cabin and deck passengers, ready to bore holes in the bottom and scuttle the vessel, when not watched. As to the second definition, the only necessary reply is, that posterity will justly judge whether the public have been cheated by Mme. Blavatsky or her pretended exposers. – [Ed.]
- ↑ In saying this I am very far from denying that abnormal powers, peculiar to certain organisations, are really possessed by Madame Blavatsky, and equally far from asserting that the phenomena above alluded to were not due to those powers. I have not the pleasure of her acquaintance, and do not desire in any way to criticise her actions.
- ↑ And the changing of water into wine: was this no more dignified a “miracle,” also for “mob-backing”? For simple, honest folk, elementary phenomena; for the Gamaliels, philosophy. – [Ed.]
- ↑ No true theosophist – the accused party least of all – believes in miracles, though every true theosophist ought to believe in the existence of abnormal powers in man; “abnormal” because, so far, either misunderstood or denied. All such objective physical phenomena, however, are simply psychological “glamour,” i.e., if not witchery, at least “a charm on the eyes and senses.” This, people may call brutally “trick,” but since they are psychic, they cannot be physical; hence, no conjuring or “sleight of hand.” As well call “tricksters” the grave medical celebrities, who hypnotize their subjects to see things which have no reality! “Theosophical phenomena” differ from these in this: that while hypnotic hallucinations are suggested by the operator’s idle fancy, occult manifestations are produced by the will of the Occultist, that one or a hundred men should see realities, generally hidden from the profane, e.g., certain things and persons thousands of miles away, whose astral images are brought within the view of the audience. Thus a cup may never have been broken in reality, and yet people are made to see it shattered in atoms and then made whole. Is this a juggler’s trick? Occult phenomena are then simply a hundred-fold intensified hypnotism, and between the hypnotic hallucinations at the Salpêtrière and the magic of the East there is chiefly a question of degree. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Why omit that branch of our work, which many deem the noblest, the founding of an Oriental Library which may become the most valuable in India, if present appearances are not deceptive; the opening of many Sanskrit schools; the publication of the Vedas in the original tongue? And why not mention our several charitable dispensaries, where from 10,000 to 15,000 poor patients are annually treated free of any charge? – [Ed.]
- ↑ See letters attributed to Mme. Blavatsky by Mme. Coulomb.
- ↑ Then why has no one of them done so, before us? Moreover, no one, as far as we know, has ever claimed metaphysical infallibility – not even the Masters who do not demand from the Europeans even their due – a simple recognition of their wisdom. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Our esteemed correspondent speaks like a materialist, even if a “transcendental” one. We occupy two different standing points, and therefore see things in different lights. – [Ed.]
- ↑ To subordinate, rather, to assign the lower rank to the temporary, the higher to the eternal. See next foot-note, however. – [Ed.]
- ↑ So does it, also, warn us against ascetic retirement, save in those very rare and exceptional cases where the individual has brought over from his last preceding birth an irrepressible attraction for the life of the Spirit and repugnance for the life of the flesh. The normal man is in normal sympathetic relation with his fellew men at each successive stage of human development. But under the law of psychical differentiation, there are in each epoch beings ahead of the average of the race at that time. From their number develop the teachers, seers and saviours of mankind.
Respecting the whole tenor of the above, we have only to thank our esteemed contributor for the doubts expressed in his article. In these days of wholesale slander: –
“. . . . that worst of poisons (which) ever finds
An easy entrance to ignoble minds,”– as Juvenal says, even an honest and cautious doubt must be gratefully received. Moreover, there is a line of demarcation beyond which one ought rather to feel proud of being slandered, than otherwise. For Swift’s remark: “the worthiest people are the most injured by slander, as we usually find that to be the best fruit which the birds have been pecking at” – may serve as a consolation. – [Ed.]
- ↑ “Paradise Lost,” Emendations, Notes, and Preface, by Matthias Mull. London: Kegan Paul, Trench & Co, 1884.
- ↑ Boston: The Occult Publishing Company, 120, Tremont Street. London: The Theosophical Publication Society, 7, Duke Street, Adelphi, W.C.
- ↑ Published by the Theosophical Publication Society, 7, Duke Street, Adelphi, W.C.
- ↑ J. W. Campbell, St. Louis, Mo. 12mo., pp. 202.
- ↑ Revised Edition, printed at Parkersburg, U.S.A., for private circulation, 1888. 8vo. pp. 261.
- ↑ Vide Editors’ Note.
- ↑ In view of a number of such letters received, a full answer will be given in the “Secret Doctrine,” now nearly ready. – [Ed.].
- ↑ She did, most undeniably. But as her several pupils (Europeans) were pledged disciples, which Mr. Sinnett never was, they could not give out to the world what they had learned.
- ↑ This letter was sent by His Royal Highness the Prince of Siam to the Theosophist, where it appears simultaneously with its publication here. – [Ed.]
- ↑ A contradiction. A thing cannot be absolute and still subject to change. What H. R. H. means to say, we suppose, is that space or the abstract universe (Akasa) is infinite and immutable; but that this universe is subject to changes in its periodical manifestations. – [Ed.]
- ↑ This is certainly not orthodox exoteric Buddhism. But it comes very near to our esoteric philosophy or “Budhism” (Wisdom religion) taught by our Lord secretly to his elect Arhats. – [Ed.]
- ↑ This is precisely the doctrine taught (See “Secret Doctrine” Vol. II.) with regard to the animal world, of which all the bodies of mammals have been formed out of the cast off atoms of various mankinds which preceded ours. Animals were “created” later than Adam and brought to him to be named (Vide, Chap. ii., Genesis). In the Purânas, it is the various Rishis who are the reputed parents of divers animals and even of birds and amphibious monsters.
- ↑ This is too materialistic – we fear. The “Soul” is certainly not immortal, but the eternal karmic ego, that which re-incarnates, is. This is esoteric philosophy, of course, not orthodox Buddhism.
- ↑ No “objective Nirvana” can exist in Nature. Nirvana is a state, not a mode of visible objectiveness, nor a locality. Nirvana, as Nagasena said to the king, is – but does not exist. – [Ed.]
- ↑ His Royal Highness is evidently unacquainted with esoteric philosophy. The latter believes neither in a God who fabricates souls out of nothing, nor that there is such a thing as any place “outside” the Universe, since the Universe is infinite and limitless. But we must also demur to the idea that space can ever be “used up,” whether during Manvantara (or life cycle) or during pralaya, the period of absolute Rest, when space remains the same, i.e., eternal, immutable, as it ever was and as it will ever be, since abstract space is but another name for the absolute all.
- ↑ This is to be doubted, as belief in spiritualism presupposes belief in the survival of the soul and that H.H. denies such a soul in man. Not being sure of what is meant by soul here, however, the Editor leaves this an open question.
- ↑ Karma, Tanha and Skandhas, are the almighty trinity in one, and the cause of our re-births. The illustration of painting our own present likeness at death, and that likeness becoming the future personality is very poetical and graphic, but we claim it as an occult teaching. What H.R.H. means to infer, as we understand it, is this. At the solemn moment of death no man can fail to see himself under his true colours, and no self-deception is of any use to him any longer. Thence the following thing happens. As at the instant of drowning man sees marshalled past his mind’s eye the whole of his life, with all its events, effects and causes, to the minutest details, so at the moment of death, he sees himself in all his moral nakedness, unadorned by either human flattery or self-adulation, and, as he is; hence, as he, or rather, as his astral double combined with his Kama principle – shall be. For the vices, defects and especially the passions of the preceding life become, through certain laws of affinity and transference, the germs of the future potentialities in the animal soul (Kama rupa), hence of its dependent, the astral double (linga sharira) – at a subsequent birth. It is the personality alone which changes; the real reincarnating principle, the Ego, remains always the same; and it is its Karma that guides the idiosyncracies and prominent moral traits of the old “personality” that was (and that the Ego knew not how to control), to re-appear in the new man that will be. These traits and passions pursue and fasten on the yet plastic third and fourth principles of the child, and – unless the Ego struggles and conquers – they will develop with tenfold intensity and lead the adult man to his destruction. For it is they who are the tools and weapons of the Law of Retribution. Thus, the Prince says very truly that our good and bad actions “are the only tools with which we paint our likenesses at death,” for the new man is invariably the son and progeny of the old man that was. – [Ed.]
- ↑ The shadow of the Gate.
- ↑ By Evelyn Pyne, Author of “A Dream of the Gironde,” “The Poet in May,” etc.
- ↑ The symbolical colour of magnetism and its Force. – [Ed.]
- ↑ The Yoni-shaped Argua, the lamp of the phallic and exoteric, or dead-letter creeds This is typical. – [Ed.]
- ↑ The broken fragments of the One Truth, which underlies each and every religion. – [Ed.]
- ↑ The four septenaries of the moon, the Occult meaning of the division of the lunar month, which division contains the mystery of generation and birth. This “dream” shows that the “Chela” has entered the phase of practical instruction given so often in symbolical dreams. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Ether would express better the idea than Akasa. The latter has but one characteristic: it is the cause and creator of Sound, i.e. the logos. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Which chronology? The latter differs in every Hebrew scroll almost and the Masters of Israel agree but to disagree. So according to the Septuagint 7240 years have passed since the world’s creation; the Samaritan text gives 6065; the Asiatic Jews count 6000; Josephus gives 7508 years: and the received chronology shows 5892. – [Ed.]
- ↑ The Hebrew is Katzenellenbogen’s. – [Ed.]
- ↑ We have in the Hebrew text “the jaws of Hell” instead of the words “the power of death” as translated in the English Protestant Bible.
- ↑ See the editor’s reply, printed on this page.
- ↑ It is not in the Theosophical Society that our correspondent can ever hope to evoke spooks or see any physical phenomena. – [Ed.]
- ↑ “There is no Religion higher than Truth” is the motto of our Society. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Philippians ii., 12.
- ↑ “The wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and of good works.” – James iii., 17.
- ↑ “The flesh lusteth against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh.” – Gal. v. 18.
- ↑ We have used the word criminally advisedly. The term is a just one, because of the disintegrating and deteriorating effect of the system alluded to upon mankind, individually and in its social groups. The system has not been imposed and maintained in ignorance. It was commenced and is maintained in defiance of the emphatic teachings of the New Testament, an embodiment of precepts asserted by those “who profess and call themselves Christians,” to be based upon the highest authority and to have been taught by One for whom they profess the highest reverence. (See Matthew xx., 20-28; xxiii., 12; Luke xii., 34; xiv., 7-12; xvi., 15; John xiv., 15; Philippians ii., 3; James iii., 14-16, &c., &c.) The spirit as well as the letter of those precepts is entirely against personal emulation and the struggle for notoriety, while the teachings which accompany them are, in many instances, illustrations of the moral and spiritual disasters which result from their infringement, and of the condemnation which eventually awaits him who transgresses. In spite of this clear and definite teaching, personal emulation is made a chief factor in a normal, universal experience of mankind, and at a period when virtues and vices, habits and impulses, receive their form and strength, and give the bias of the motives which will eventually rule the whole earth-life, and probably also the life beyond. We ask: Are the plants of a well-cultivated garden ruled by this plan, and stimulated to grow each better than its neighbour, or is each trained and fostered to its own best possible development?
- ↑ The act of a late bishop of the English Church may serve as an illustration of what is here meant. He disinherited his only daughter, “to mark,” as he said in his will, “his sense of her conduct.” This daughter, in the exercise of her personal inherent rights and responsibilities, which no parental assumption can abrogate or remove, had married the man whom she loved, and her father had, from that time, refused all intercourse with her. She appealed to him in vain. Acts of this imperious and arrogant nature are, in varying degree, only too common. They set in motion currents of evil and misery of which no one can foresee the end or the consequences. It is the forces underlying such acts which originate dogmatism, persecution, priestly assumption, and all forms of inquisition into personal life and personal convictions. Have these not wrought sorrow, pain, social chaos, and national anarchy? Are they not still in operation around us? What said Jesus about personal arrogance and Phariseeism?
- ↑ “The good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do.” “I delight in the law of God after the inward man: but I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members.” – Romans vii., 19, 23-4. The force of the lower nature becomes the law of sin, of which St. Paul speaks, by surrender of the individual life of thought, feeling and motive to its control.
- ↑ “For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts,” &c. – Matt. xv., 19.
- ↑ “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.” – Ephesians vi., 7-8.
- ↑ “Beloved of God.”
- ↑ The author, a foreigner, has never before written in this language. But, believing that timidity is neither a theosophical virtue nor an English vice, he hopes the reader will forgive him this attempt at Theosophy in English.
- ↑ These two last attributes, however, are not contradictory to each other, whatever Hamilton may say to the contrary. He arrives at his conclusion by opposing the infinite to the finite; but these two terms are to be superposed and not opposed; for the finite lies between two infinites. The terms to be opposed are the infinitely great and the infinitely small, which merge into equality or absoluteness.
- ↑ This is just the policy of the T. S. from its beginning. Its visible leaders are unable to always distinguish the good from the bad, to see still dormant evil in the hearts of those who apply to join our Society, and the real Founders – those behind the screen – will denounce or accuse no living man. All are given a chance. Gladly would our Society abolish even the small entrance fee, had it any funds, however small, to carry on the work which increases daily, and many branches have already done so. For several years no initiation fees were paid; but our scanty and even joint means were found insufficient to maintain the Headquarters, pay the stationery, and the ever-increasing postage, and feed and lodge all those who volunteered to work gratis for theosophy. Thus, the fees were re-established. Other Societies beg for, and are given, large sums of money, but the T. S. never does. Nevertheless, the taunt that the Founders sell Theosophy, creating Theosophists for £1 or twenty shillings, a head, is being repeatedly thrust into our faces! And yet the poor are never made to pay anything at all. And if those who have the means will refuse to help to do good to the disinherited and the suffering, what are those who have given all they had, and have nothing now to give but their services, to do? – [Ed.]
- ↑ We are glad, however, to hear on the testimony of our correspondent, an old and trusted friend of M. Louis Dramard, the late President of our T. S. in Paris, that such were his ideas, as we had been assured of the contrary. We may have something to say of this at some future time. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Reference here is made to the late Isis, the Branch of the T. S. in Paris, and a controversy in the Lotus between the Abbé Roca and one of the Editors of Lucifer. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Our contributors are entitled to their opinions and allowed a great latitude in the expression of their respective religious or even sectarian views. Yet a line of demarcation must be drawn; and if we are told that the evolution of Races and their ethnological distribution as in the Bible are “not to be called in question,” then, after Noah, we may be next asked to accept Bible chronology, and the rib, and the apple verbally, to boot? This – we must decline. It is really a pity to spoil able articles by appealing to Biblical allegory for corroboration. – [Ed.]
- ↑ And all this in less than 2,000 years B.C. (1998) if we accept Bible chronology? The Chinese race has been ethnologically and historically known to exhibit the same type as it does now, several thousand years B.C. A Chinese emperor put to death two astronomers for failing to predict an eclipse, over 2,000 years B.C. What kind of an antediluvian animal was Noah, for that “Adamite” to beget all by himself three sons of the most widely separated types – namely an Aryan or Caucasian, a Mongolian, and an African Negro? – [Ed.]
- ↑ The first Emperor, the grandson of Chow Siang, the founder of the Tsin dynasty, which gave its name to China, flourished in the VI. cent. B.C. but the series of Sovereigns in China is lost in the flight of time. But even nineteen centuries carry the Chinese race beyond the Flood, and leave that race still historical. – [Ed.]
- ↑ The Chinese chronological annals have preserved to this day the names of numerous dynasties running back to a period 3,000 and 4,000 years B.C. Why should we, whose history beyond the year 1 of our era (even that year is now found untrustworthy!) is all guess-work, presume to correct the chronology of other nations far older than our own? With doubts thrown even upon Wilhelm Tell, as an historical personage, and King Arthur in an historical London fog, what right – except egregious conceit – have we, Europeans, to say we know Chinese or any pre-Christian chronology better than the nations who have kept and preserved their own records? – [Ed.]
- ↑ Surely not any more so than the Patriarchs and their periods? – [Ed.]
- ↑ We believe there could not be found now one single anthropologist or ethnologist of any note (not even among those clergymen who care for their scientific reputation) who would take any concern in, or consider for one moment Noah as the root-stock of mankind. To use this personage as a buffer against the views of any man of science is, to say the least out of date. Mr. Gladstone alone could afford it. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Bunsen calculates that 20,000 years, at least, were necessary for the development and formation of the Chinese language. Other philologists may disagree, but which of them traces the “celestials” from Noah? – [Ed.]
- ↑ How can this be, when we find in Knight’s Cyclopædia of Biography that the work Shan Hai King is spoken of by the commentator Kwoh P’oh (A.D. 276 – 324) as having been compiled 3,000 years before his time, “seven dynasties back”? It was arranged by Kung Chia or Chung-Ku “from engravings on nine urns made by the Emperor Yu B.C. 2355.”
- ↑ No Chinaman has ever believed in one personal God, but in Heaven in an abstract sense, whose many “Rulers” were synthesized by that “Heaven.” Every philosophy and sect proves it; from Laotze and Confucius down to the latest sects and Buddhism. A “He” God is unknown in China. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Just so; because the mind of the Chinaman is too philosophical to create for itself an Absolute Supreme as a personality in his (the Chinaman’s) likeness.
- ↑ “The six honoured ones,” are those of every nation which had a cult based on astronomy. The “God” was the Sun. Ahura Mazda and his six Amshaspends of the Mazdeans are the later development of the 12 Zodiacal signs divided into six double houses the Sun being the seventh and always made the representative (or synthesis) of the six. As Proclus has it: “The Framer made the heavens six in number, and for the seventh he cast into the midst the fire of the Sun” (Timæus), and this idea is preeminent in the Christian (especially the Roman Catholic) idea, i.e., the Sun-Christ, who is also Michael, and his six and seven Eyes, or Spirit of the Planets. The “six – seven” are a movable and interchangeable number and are ever made to correlate in religious symbolism. As correctly shown by Mr. G. Massey there are seven circles to Meru and six parallel ridges across it, there are seven manifestations of light and only six days of creation, etc. The mystery of the “double heaven” is one of the oldest and most Kabalistic and the six chambers, divisions, etc., in most of the temples of antiquity with the officiating priest, representing the Sun, the seventh, left abundant witnesses behind them. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Of these, for want of space, we reprint only the President-Founder's address. – [Ed.]
- ↑ 78.0 78.1 “Natural Law in the Spiritual World,” by Henry Drummond, F.R.S.
- ↑ By F. B. Dowd. Second Edition. Revised and enlarged.
- ↑ No doubt it is not satisfactory to the Spiritualists, not any more than the doctrine of Purgatory or any other Roman Catholic tenet is satisfactory to the Protestant Predestinarian. – [Ed.]
- ↑ The Editor has premised by saying in the introductory note (which, by-the-bye, was mangled out of recognition by some printer’s mistake, who dropped out two whole lines) that some Egyptologists may have seen it, but never said they did. Of course, it is not in the “Book of the Dead.” Still, the Editor has seen it, and copied its translation in French and in English; and what is more, the dirge (a name given to the writing by the editor) is absolutely identical in spirit and form with other such dirges. These were chanted, ages ago, first during the Mysteries, over the apparently lifeless and entranced bodies of the mystæ who were made Epoptai – i.e., passing through the trial of their last initiation, when they became the “Dead in Life,” and later over the really dead – the mummies. It is this explanation, given in the two lines, which were omitted, or dropped out in printing, which thus disfigured the whole sense of the sentence; and putting a comma after “psychographic writers” followed only by the tail end of the above explanation, namely – “as we were told it was only in the days of Ptolemy that this dirge began to be chanted over the really dead, or the mummy” – it made of the last closing sentence in the editorial preface perfect nonsense. Thus, it was not found on a “mummy of the Ptolemaic period,” but on one of the IVth or Vth Dynasty, if we remember right. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Very likely. But the remark cuts both ways since no more has the Spiritualistic explanation ever satisfied us, or appeared “plausible” to the average Theosophist. Not only does the theory of the returning “Spirits,” so called, militate against the whole teaching of the Occult Sciences as taught in the East (the broad reincarnation theory of the Buddhist and Hindu Esoteric philosophies being assuredly that of the Theosophists), but it goes against the writer’s personal experience of about 45 years’ duration.
- ↑ The two theories (those of the Spiritualists and Theosophists) are a matter of personal preference. None of us need enforce his views on the other, or those who may differ from him. Time alone can show which side is right and which wrong. Meanwhile, those who study seriously the doctrine of reincarnation, and those supernal Intelligences who can, and do communicate with persons still in flesh, will find no contradictory theories among us. No one can judge of such a difficult and abstruse subject on simple hearsay. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Since 1882 when the mistake was first found out in “Isis Unveiled,” it has been repeatedly stated in the Theosophist, and last year in the Path, that the word “planet” was a mistake and that “cycle” was meant, i.e., the “cycle of Devachanic rest.” This mistake, due to one of the literary editors – the writer knowing English more than imperfectly twelve years ago, and the editors being still more ignorant of Buddhism and Hinduism – has led to great confusion and numberless accusations of contradictions between the statements in Isis and later theosophical teaching. The paragraph quoted meant to upset the theory of the French Reincarnationists who maintain that the same personality is reincarnated, often a few days after death, so that a grandfather can be reborn as his own grand-daughter. Hence the idea was combated, and it was said that neither Buddha nor any of the Hindu philosophers ever taught reincarnation in the same cycle, or of the same personality, but of the “triune man” (vide note which follows) who, when properly united, was “capable of running the race” forward to perfection. The same and a worse mistake occurs on pages 346 and 347 (Vol. 1). For on the former it is stated that the Hindus dread reincarnation “only on other and inferior planets,” instead of what is the case, that Hindus dread reincarnation in other and inferior bodies, of brutes and animals or transmigration, while on page 347 the said error of putting “planet” instead of “cycle” and “personality,” shows the author (a professed Buddhist) speaking as though Buddha had never taught the doctrine of reincarnation!! The sentence ought to read that the “former life believed in by Buddhists is not a life in the same cycle and personality,” as no one appreciates more than they do “the great doctrine of cycles.” As it reads now, however, namely that “this former life believed in by the Buddhists is not a life on this planet,” and this sentence on page 347 just preceded by that other (paragraph 2 on page 346), “Thus, like the revolutions of a wheel, there is a regular succession of death and birth,” etc. – the whole reads like the raving of a lunatic, and a jumble of contradictory statements. If asked why the error was permitted to remain and run through ten editions, it is answered that (a) the attention of the author was drawn to it only in 1882; and (b) that the undersigned was not in a position to alter it from stereotyped plates which belonged to the American publisher and not to her. The work was written under exceptional circumstances, and no doubt more than one great error may be discovered in Isis Unveiled. – [Ed.]
- ↑ “The three parts,” are Atma, Buddhi-Manas, which this condition of perfect union entitles to a rest in Devachan which cannot be less than 1,000 years in duration, sometimes 2,000, as the “cycle of rest” is proportioned to the merits and demerits of the Devachanee. – [Ed.]
- ↑ So it is, minus the erroneous qualification “only this planet,” and the omission of “immediate” before “re-incarnation.” If the correction and the substitution of the word planet by that of cycle, are made, there will be no contradiction. – [Ed.]