Lucifer/Vol2/Text: Difference between revisions

  | original language = English

  | original title = Lucifer. Volume II

  | has text = yes

  | publication date = March 1888 – August 1888

{{Style P-Title|Zarina!}}

Whether she, in the ages past had been as they, I cannot tell. But after watching human life and human woe for centuries I thought I saw her resolved to become as the sons and daughters of men, to share their sorrow, for what is shared is divided and thereby lessened. She resolved to begin at the first round of the ladder, and gradually to ascend. In short, to throw herself into the whirlpool of human existence.

“What would you with the beggar’s daughter?” he was sternly asked. “Would you gain admittance into her humble home, and flaunt before her eyes the golden toys which turn a maiden’s brain? Nay, nay, thy face is that of an honest man. . . . Know that I am a philosopher, and that heaven and earth are unveiled at my bidding? Come then, with me.”

Calitzo asked no questions. He had a strange sense of being entirely at this stranger’s bidding; that he could not speak or move, or do anything, except the old man willed it.

{{Page aside|46}}

She opened the door of the alchemist’s house and crept silently along the narrow curving passage; and although she had never been there before, nothing seemed unfamiliar to her in it; she passed through the first room. Absolute silence reigned around, and she heard only the beatings of her own heart. Thud! thud! thud! like a great mallet, beat that heart which was so soon to stop for ever. She placed her hand on the latch of the alchemist’s sanctum and softly stepped in. The old man stood beside a table covered with vessels, and outside the circle with the curious characters in it which was drawn upon the floor, sat Calitzo on a bench. His breath came short and fast as she appeared, and the alchemist fixed his gloomy eyes upon her. But Zarina, keeping her gaze fixed upon him whom she had loved so well in her previous life, never looked after the first glance at the old man again. Evidently her visit was expected, for the old man betrayed not the least surprise and only waited in breathless silence. But now, she slowly approached the magic circle, and the alchemist began to look uneasy. Suddenly, a great cry of horror escaped from his breast, as, with the first stroke of the town-clock tolling midnight she was within the circle, and as the mists and vapour from the chemicals he had prepared arose into the damp air enveloping her as in a shroud.

But Zarina answered not. The glorious spirit had thrown off for the last time, and now for ever, the dusty garment of flesh. It was hovering again in the resplendent light of All-consciousness.

{{Style P-Separator custom}}

Into the great Unknown, with no vain sighs

Toward this world’s outer semblance, and to rise

Where finer senses, outward visions spurning,

Wrap us in holy mystery and surprise;

Where no dull shades bedim our weary eyes

{{Style P-Title|A Theory of Hauntings}}

In olden times, when people dabbled in black magic to an awful extent – as revealed in the life of Catherine de Medicis – a man or woman quite realised the efficacy of a curse, and that it could be handed down from generation to generation – a grim inheritance, scarcely so desirable as the family jewels. In such cases, why should mysterious apparitions not be merely fixed images in the family aura? Following a certain law, they are seen only at appointed times; when such changes take place in the lives of individuals of the family as to bring them more particularly within the line of psychic vision. If they appear as a warning unexpectedly, whilst the individuals warned may be in perfect health, or whilst only happiness and security reign in the family, yet the “house-spirits,” the “elementals,” of whatsoever grade or power they may be, for whom Time does not exist, are already cognisant of events which impend, and with mechanical precision exhibit the habitual signal. Obedient to an impression received perhaps centuries before, they faithfully reproduce the same warning when the ''soul-conditions'' of individuals reveal that death or misfortune is impending. Or, it may have become the inherited psychic idiosyncrasy of the family for this ''inner'' self, the “double,” of an individual to give the warning by ''means'' of the elemental wraith, or the astral sound – the “cry of the banshee,” etc. “Doubles,” in rare cases, have been known to give warnings of danger.

There is, however, another way of accounting for the apparition of the White Lady. In ancient times it was customary to inhume a living body in the foundations of buildings, castles, palaces, bridges, even gateways, and walls. It was a sacrifice of blood to propitiate the “gods,” “principalities and powers,” ''i.e.,'' the “elemental spirits” who watch over men. It was supposed that no building would remain firm and secure unless the foundations were cemented with blood, which was usually that of some criminal sentenced to death. This superstitious custom was handed down even unto Christian times, when an animal, a dog, goat, wolf, perchance a cock, or hen, was often substituted for the human victim.

{{Page aside|51}}

It is related that the workmen were engaged for three years upon the fortifications of Scutari, without succeeding in getting the walls to stand. At length they declared that the only possible way for them to succeed was to bury a living victim under the walls. A young woman, who daily brought their dinner, was seized upon and buried, after which, the walls stood firm.

Thus the phantom, or the picture of a former scene, or scenes, still lingers upon that illustrated page of human life, to which men’s eyes are usually sealed with a blindness that ends only with death, as one of the myriad proofs that this “insubstantial pageant,” these earthly scenes in which we bury all our senses, will continually fade, like the lives of men, leaving “not a rack behind,” while those invisible ''substantial'' scenes of soul-life will endure so long as the earth endures, and men still live upon it, passing through stages of evolution. For that is the ''real'' side of life, and this is its outcome.

{{Style P-Separator custom}}

<center>CHAPTER I.</center>

Near by was Castle Troyes, our home, and there now dwelt, my father, Sir Richard, my mother, myself, and the flower and extreme ruler of our house, sweet Marguerite, a little perfect nymph, with the cool depth of liquid blue child eyes.

I forgot the terror, and ran to my sister. The child had come running in pursuit of me, with a cabbage-leaf full of cherries which she would have shared with me. And she had slipped on the rough pavement and fallen, and cried out, more for the sake of the pity she wanted than because it hurt her. There she lay, half-laughing and half-crying, with the red cherries scattered round her flaxen head. I was but a poor support at first, I ween, for I trembled so that I scarce could raise her. Having her safe in the house again, I returned, as one must who hopes to rid himself of a cheat of the brain. The Monk was gone; the arch was growing black in the gathering dusk – and I believed, in spite of all, more firmly than ever, that face to face I and our enemy had been.

After a time of wavering between the body’s repulsion for any life not of its own nature, and the spirit’s need to find out the utmost meaning of any sign presented to it, I grew to familiarity with the recollection of the Monk’s appearance, and my whole soul being given to metaphysical studies and questionings at that time, I longed to behold the spectre

{{Page aside|57}}

I fainted dead and still, into an intense swoon that saved my good fame from the death of a coward.

<center>CHAPTER II.</center>

I was playing with Marguerite in the picture-gallery one day, and she, sweet elf, was making merry over the quaint costumes of our ancestors, and striving to mock their frowning looks, when the fancy took her to wander into a little dim side passage, where, in no very glorious case, hung an old portrait of the White Monk himself, our house’s foe.

She had never heard word of his foul history, but it seemed to me, with my secret loathing for him, that she could not choose but read it in the murderer’s face. So I called her away, first coaxingly, then urgently.

But she would not come. Nay, she had found an older picture still, all dusty; she must look once searchingly upon it and see what manner of priest this was. And I must hold her up to look at him.

But she would none of my biddings. She persisting and I again refusing, at the last she stamped her tiny foot and made as she would weep.

If our loved Marguerite had ever a fault in her snowy life, she was a trifle wilful. And what blame, since her will was ever for the right?

{{Page aside|58}}

And this was assuredly the first word of pity that Pietro Rinucci had ever won. “The poor wight looks sad” in sooth?

One day, not long after this, had Marguerite drawn me with her in her playing half through the quiet town and into a little solemn space she loved – for the maid was pensive even as myself, though as yet the sports of childhood claimed her.

The White Monk came, and paused in front of us. I clasped the child closer to me – come what might, whatever a human arm could do that should be done. Then I raised my eyes to the stony, sphinx-like mystery, and looked defiantly upon it. Wonder of wonders! he moved his slight white hand and drew the cowl from off his face. I knew nothing but the eyes. Such eyes, dark as an enigma, piercing to the soul, and sad enough to dream of. I never saw the like of them even in mortals, who have their death before them.

{{Page aside|60}}

{{Style P-Separator custom}}

Long past but yet familiar still,

We feel all this has been before,

Yet still we wonder more and more.}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=For every effort of the will,

’Ere the mind’s threshold it has crossed,

A vague idea – and nothing more –

But still we feel this was before.}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=Just as the gentle breeze at eve

So memory calls up within

A passing touch from times before,

The spray from waves that are no more.}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=The scent of violets nestling low,

The bubbling of the fretful stream,

Bring thoughts of something known before,

And make us wonder more and more.}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=A strain of music from the spheres,

The trembling of a single star,

A hope fulfilled and nothing more,

Bring thoughts we must have lived before.}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=The roaring of the tempest fierce,

Stand out upon the road of time

And speak with tongues we know once more –

Words that we’ve heard long years before.}}

And make our faith the more intense –

We know our souls have lived before,

<center>II.</center>

I am partly guided in this task by Mr. Harbottle’s letter in the January number, which indicates some points of variance or misunderstanding still existing between us. I trust that even if these articles fail, as they may well do, to effect a complete reconciliation on all points of disagreement between Socialists and those Theosophists who are at present opposed to Socialism, it may at least elicit a few sparks of truth in the mere process of “clearing the issues.” I shall not attempt to treat the two parts of my subject, that which refers to the economic and that which refers to the higher aspects of Socialism, separately, as they are too intimately connected with each other in their relationship to the Theosophic movement to permit of their being conveniently separated.

When I suggested that Socialists might be regarded as “the instruments

{{Page aside|63}}

Let my suggestions on the subject stand for what they are worth. I may state my own position rather more elaborately and “scientifically,” by saying that I believe we have reached a stage in human evolution on this planet in which a great many of the activities, and corresponding responsibilities, formerly attaching to individuals as such, are about to be, or are actually in the course of being, transferred to collective entities or aggregations of individuals acting in a collective capacity, such as municipalities, unions or communes, provinces, nations, and confederations. I do not, of course, mean to imply that individual activities, individual progress in this life, will become merged and lost in collective progress, but simply that in the action and reaction of the individual and social entities, the importance of the influence of the latter will ''increase,'' while that of the former ''relatively decreases.'' Physiology teaches us that in the lower forms of animal organisms, the life of the constituent organs – nay, even of the constituent protoplasmic

{{Page aside|64}}

{{Page aside|65}}

But just as in the evolution of animal life, of man himself, form has preceded substance in its manifestations, so in the social evolution also. Just as in the physical body rudimentary organs appear, and develop almost to perfection before their complete uses are discovered or revealed, so in the social body, parts, if not the whole of the frame-work of the harmonious organisms of the future, will be evolved (if some of them have not been already) before the perfect harmony can be attained. There can be very little doubt that Economic Collectivism, based partly upon existing political forms, and upon existing national aggregations, is the next stage of social evolution, the preliminary or provisional form in which the new society will manifest itself. Few Socialists are so sanguine as to suppose that the present generation will see the realisation of the higher ideal, perfect Communism; but most believe in the possibility – at any rate in those countries like England, France, Belgium, and America, where Individualism has most completely run its course – of realising economic Socialism, or Collectivism, within a decade or two. The triumphs of State and Municipal Socialism on the one side, and of Co-operative Capitalism on the other, are continually preparing the way for the democracy to follow as soon as it gets the chance, while the increasing number of persons engaged in them form the leaven of administrative ability which will secure the success of the Collectivist Commonwealths when once established.

{{Page aside|66}}

{{Page aside|67}}

{{Style P-Signature in capitals|1=J. Brailsford Bright.}}

{{Style P-Title|The Theosophical Publication Society}}

(1.) The Theosophical Publication Society is international in character. It is so, for Theosophy is not limited by any considerations of race, nationality, or creed. Its endeavour is to further the cause of Universal Brotherhood by uniting all those who are interested in the growth of intellectual and psychic spirituality in an attempt to assist others less favoured by circumstances than themselves.

(3.) In addition to providing its subscribers with literature as indicated above, the Society proposes to circulate large numbers of elementary pamphlets explaining the principles of Theosophy and the nature and aims of the Theosophical Society.

The subscription to the Society is five shillings per annum, which entitles subscribers to the receipt, post free, of all the Society’s publications the selling price of which is below sixpence.

{{Page aside|73}}

{{Style P-Title|Mohammed Benani}}

Mohammed Benani is a very strange book, one of the strangest examples yet given to us of that essentially modern product, the novel of thought. This is, indeed, more than a modern book; it is in advance of nineteenth-centuryism. It is a novel of thought, and yet more, it is a novel of speculation. And yet it remains fiction. The new school has discovered the secret of the art, and thought and speculation are part of the lives of the characters, instead of being in any sense overlaid or added as the reflections of the author. The peculiar atmosphere of exaltation in which all the events take place, and, indeed, by which they are induced, is the result of the characters being all of the most complex order. What would a novelist of the old school have done with such a heroine as Eftomah, such a hero as Paulovitch? Fielding or Richardson would have been unable to create situations with them. All the rough and simple passions are smoothed away to give place to emotions finer and wider, and even more exhausting. In Paulovitch lies all the force, and power, and meaning of the book; and the peculiar flavour of his atmosphere clings to one long after the book has been read. He has not a trouble in the world; and yet he would have succumbed to the trouble of the world, but for the society of his bright and charming wife. He is a Don Quixote of the most pronounced type, yet with a great longing to evade the profession of tilting at windmills. He makes a desperate effort to escape from the sight of misery which he is powerless to relieve by leaving civilization and making a delightful home in Morocco. But the destiny which compels him to be conscious of the misery of others, and to sacrifice himself in the attempt to alleviate it, pitilessly pursues him. The history of how he gradually becomes the champion of the unhappy natives, struggle as he may against the promptings of his noble nature, is in reality, the story of the book. Mohammed Benani is a persecuted native hero, whom Paulovitch protects, and through whom the complicated situations are produced. Benani is a very clever and subtle study of a typical Oriental; he passes through the book as he passed through life – devoted, heroic, wrapped in gloom, silent, so reticent as to be almost characterless to a Western observer, who is yet always conscious that at the bottom of this heroic temperament lies treachery. The same profound reticence exists also in Eftomah; but her life-long contact with her European benefactors has eradicated the treachery from her nature. In her is depicted the seer, the clairvoyant, and indeed in one remarkable scene the sybil of the highest order. The occult and “supernatural” is largely dealt with in the book, and in the most thoroughly modern spirit. Nothing is received with disbelief or incredulity, but everything is questioned, tested and

Another new idea, though one hardly so commendable, is to introduce such living names as the Czar of Russia and M. de Giers, into a drama avowedly based on fact, though taking place in northern Africa, where, as the author is careful to state in a foot-note, Russia has never had even a legation. True, this device effectually disguises the nationality aimed at. But could not this object have been equally well attained without the use of names, the presence of which will almost certainly cause the book to be prohibited in Russia, where it might otherwise do good and useful work?

One very striking feature in a book such as this, written confessedly “with a purpose,” is the great skill developed in attaining that “purpose.” The reader’s attention and interest are rivetted by the unfoldment of the plot itself as much as by the keen and incisive style of the writing. Thus led on, the reader never realises that he is being led to form definite opinions on political questions, and to espouse a cause for which, one day, his active sympathy may be demanded. Such a result is rarely achieved by books “with a purpose”; and high praise is due to the author for its successful accomplishment.

{{Style P-Title|A Modern Apostle; The Elixir of Life; the Story of Clarice; and other poems}}

“A Modern Apostle,” sketches the picture of one of those enthusiasts in

{{Style P-Poem|poem=“The Eternal Power which makes the Many, One,

Therefore, forsaking all, he follows the light; even though disowned by his father, a narrow teacher of a bigoted sect.

The same metre is used in the “Elixir of Life,” a brief but pregnant study of the human heart. Its burden, drawn from that deeper source of inspiration which occultists know, is summed up in the following lines:

Surely the end and meaning is not loss,

Some Book of Life there is, not writ across

Some fire thou hast to purge away the dross

From all things save the quintessence of Thee,

From Hate, from Love – Oh Life, deliver me!”}}

{{Style P-Separator custom}}

<center>By Percy Ross. (London, George Redway.)</center>

{{Page aside|76}}

{{Style P-Title|The Meister}}

Of this, our new contemporary, in its special aspect of a magazine devoted to Music, it is not our province to speak. But besides this, its special mission, it has another which calls for a few words from us.

<center>CHAPTER III.</center>

The little lady of the feast was herself its best ornament: methought as I looked on her, that Dante’s love himself could scarce have been fairer. She wore a little silken gown of palest blue, broidered in daisies, and she carried a simple posy of corn-daisies, her own “Marguerites,” in her hand, another in her golden hair. “And girdled was she and adorned in such sort as best suited with her very tender age” – like Beatrice, when her poet met her first. She was so daintily joyous with our guests; radiant, yet timid, with an exquisite child’s modesty, full of care and thought for all our friends. I thought within myself “Ah, Marguerite, wilt thou be thus loving when thou knowest more of men?”

{{Style P-Separator custom}}

Groping in darkness of their arrogant thought;

Having fettered the soaring soul that else had sought

’Gainst heaven and triumph at the ruin it wrought.}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=Yea, spirit communes with spirit, as sense with sense;

Else were the angels reft of all defence –

{{Page aside|149}}

By great love dreaming great love had sufficed

To save a sin-doomed world . . . Oh, faith unpriced!

Rolled back to silence by such love enticed!}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=Alas, not so! Would men be saved, each one

On the sharp rock of life – yet he hath won

{{Page aside|154}}

’Neath purple clusters for an aureole?

Shall fair red apples be his worthy dole

On other’s fruitage, pay no ransoming toll?}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=Before men gather roses from sown rue

Satan shall strangle ’mid his fields of blue

God shall grow false, and even Christ untrue,

{{Page aside|155}}

{{Style P-Title|[Letter on meeting the dead in Kama-loka]}}

As you invite questions, I take the liberty of submitting one to your consideration.

Is it not to be expected (basing one’s reasoning on Theosophical teaching) that the meeting and intercourse in Kama loka of persons truly attached to each other must be fraught with disappointment, nay frequently even with deep grief? Let me illustrate my meaning by an example:

I subjoin my name and address, though not for publication, and remain,

<hr>

{{Style P-Title|[Questions from a new member]}}

As a very new member of the Theosophical Society I have jotted down a few points which appear to me to be worthy of your notice.

(6.) In what light are Theosophists to regard the whole ''account'' in the late republication of the T. P. S. of the marriage of the Spirit daughter of Colonel Eaton with the Spirit son of Franklin Pearce?

<hr>

{{Style P-Title|[Letter on ‘Self-Evident Truths and Logical Deductions’]}}

I would like to ask, If the Universe, the One or All, must not be of a certain size; and if so, is the Original One, the ever produced, not of the same size?

The truth of the Universe is the Form of the Universe. The Truth of God is the Form of God. What Form is that? To attain to that is the great attainment for the intelligence at least. In these few lines my aim is mainly an enquiry.

<hr>

{{Style P-Title|[Questions on spiritual development]}}

Now I submit that such a life as is here spoken of, ''is'' led by men who attain to none of these results.

{{Page aside|159}}

<hr>

{{Style P-Title|The Crucifixion of Jesus: An Allegory}}

And to this day there has been no reply, but only that the rejection and Crucifixion of Jesus are a mystery. And therefore the world is still asking: Why? And what is good and true in Christianity? Because a mystery is not light but darkness, and therefore when the light that is in us is darkness, how great must be that darkness? And is not this darkness felt even now by the world, whilst anxiously waiting for the Church to explain the Mystery of “Christ Crucified”?

<hr>

{{Style P-Title|Absolute Relativism, or Absolute in Relation}}

{{Page aside|163}}

In the above work Captain McTaggart presents us with the first instalment of a new philosophical system, the aim of the author being to sift the truth from the rubbish of modern thought, and to rear on the bases thus obtained a new edifice. Says the writer:

Captain McTaggart is no Materialist, but an Agnostic, with a distinct leaning to one of the many phases of idealistic thought. The present volume does no more, however, than foreshadow the general drift of his conclusions on the subject of Perception, Materialism, and Idealism, without going into those details which are doubtless reserved for the future.

To the materialistic doctrine that Matter ''plus'' Motion constitutes the one basis of the Universe, Captain McTaggart replies (1) that no theories based on the mere phenomena of perception can develop into a pure ontology. We cannot penetrate the veil of appearances, because the nature of our senses bars the way. Matter is not known in any sense except as given in consciousness. Abstract the idea of a percipient, and what remains? – an unknown Noumenon about which it is folly to dogmatise. (2) He rightly points out that: –

The Atomic theory he appears to regard as essentially materialistic, and some considerable portion of space is devoted to a criticism of its validity. We venture to think, however, that a recognition of that hypothesis – cleansed and purified from the contradictions which have grown up around it – is in no way incompatible with a lofty spiritual philosophy of things. Very forcible, on the other hand, is our author’s attack on Materialism, on the ground of its hopeless inadequacy to explain the phenomena of our subjective consciousness. In the course of his discussion of this aspect of the problem, he conclusively shows that the customary imputation of Materialism to many of the most eminent scientists, such as Professor Huxley, is totally without justification.

In his ''Introduction'' to this little pamphlet, M. A. Oxon strikes the key-note of his Visions. They are “teaching” or “instruction” to those whose wants they meet. In saying this, the author has, perhaps unwittingly, expressed a great fact, ''i.e.,'' that for each one of us ''that is truth'' which meets our greatest need – whether moral, intellectual or emotional. As the author seems to feel, it matters very little whether these visions were subjective or objective. They conveyed to him certain moral truths with a directness and vividness which no other method of teaching could have attained. And whether we consider that these “Visions” were the thoughts of the intelligence teaching him impressed and objectivised in the recipient’s brain; or whether we think that in these visions the seer beheld objective things – does not in any way alter their value as expressions of subtle truth. In many respects they resemble the visions seen by Swedenborg, and they share with the writings of that wonderful man the same curious personal colouring or shaping of the form in which they are cast, in accordance with the intellectual views and beliefs held by the seer.

The clinging to personality is so strong that it is felt even in another state of consciousness. How then can it fail to colour and distort the pure truth, which

{{Page aside|165}}

The beauty of the thoughts expressed in the pages of this little book is very striking, and although the author expressly disclaims any literary merit, no one can fail to recognise the ability and truthfulness of expressions which characterise the work. All students will assuredly be grateful to M. A. Oxon for rendering these “Visions” easily accessible.

<center>PAR ELY-STAR.</center>

It is a great improvement on the work of Christian in point of clearness and lucidity of exposition and in the convenience of its tables. Especially useful, from a practical point of view, is the table of the numerical values of the letters of the alphabet; though it is to be desired that the author should give some authority for these values, a detail which he has unfortunately omitted. He also does away with Christian’s practice of translating the names, first of all, into Latin – a great convenience, though how far he is orthodox in so doing, remains a very open question.

The poem by whose name the book before us is christened, is a dramatic rendering of incidents of the “Reign of Terror,” grouped around the central heroic figure of Madame Roland. The work is an early effort of Mr. Pyne’s, and it is therefore all the more astonishing in its command of poetic thought and musical diction. It is one of those delicate idylls which would lose their reflective charm if represented on the stage; but for all that it has many dramatic incidents in its texture. The scene where the mob bursts into the King’s chambers in the Tuileries; the intercession of Raoul with the former victim of his lust, the Amazon Théroigne; the arraignment of the heroine before the Tribunal; and the tender sympathy of Madame Roland for the old man who craves to be permitted to pass before her the ordeal of the guillotine, are all painted in vivid lines. The character of the central figure is instinct with noble, sensitive, liberty-loving life, and some of the finest lines in the drama are put into her mouth; such as, for instance, the following: –

We choose out pleasure, and ignore the right,

Then call life dark: eternity will judge

If darkness be not shadow of ourselves

Self must be blotted out – a thing of naught –

Forgotten – non-existent, ere we catch

The light which our life holds, but does not hide

And again –

By canting priest and persecuting church;

No! the eternal spirit, fetterless,

E’en now – the bitter-sweet they’ve left to us.”}}

Golden, purple, snowy-chaliced}}

{{Page aside|167}}

Which the waking sun doth quiver

Here with snowdrops and narcissus

There with purple glory turning

And now burning

Into daffodils whose beauty, golden, dewy-eyed and tall,

Mr. Pyne’s love for nature is written large on every page of this volume; but, more and higher than that, he has thus early shown the poet’s intuition which grasps in nature the truths that the philosopher more laboriously unearths. For him all nature is one undivided manifestation of the universal spirit, and we are often forcibly reminded, in reading these lines, of the greatest nature poet, Shelley. The true Theosophic spirit of brotherhood and the earnest purpose which would give up all things in the pursuit of Truth and Wisdom are more visible here than in any of our recent poets. Let us take for example these lines from “Thistle Blossom”: –

What hope of happiness when all our life

Is founded on a fancy, not a truth?”}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=“Oh, true artist, swiftly listen, rise and hear while dewdrops glisten;

And: –

{{Style P-Poem|poem=“Heav’n will be realised, and truly known,

But raised, and purified, and blossoming!

When human souls have learned the nobleness

{{Style P-Poem|poem=“Not so, oh love; it is not happiness

But suffering alone which raises us

Unto the brightness of the mountain peak,

And fair glow of the stars – ah, not in vain

The lesson of thy grand philosophy . . .

Make our strong faith stand forth in stronger deeds,

On a future occasion we hope to give our readers a few notes upon a later volume of poems by Mr. Pyne, and called “The Poet in May.”

{{Style P-Title|Theosophical and Mystic Publications}}

The clue given by the Indian theory of the “Tatwas,” or basic qualities in Nature, to the colours and forms seen by so many psychics is very important, and, combined as it is here with explanations as to the effects of different ways of breathing, will come as welcome instruction to many.

An essay on “Sanskrit Literature” contains some suggestive hints, and some rather far-reaching admissions as to the difficulties involved in arriving at the true esoteric sense of the older portion of these works.

In the March number the articles on the “Sankhya and Yoga Philosophy” and the “Kaivalyanavanita” especially deserve careful perusal.

{{Page aside|169}}

Jasper Niemand’s “Stray Thoughts” are, like everything he writes, full of deep truth and ''knowledge.'' To quote one, as an example:

“The Way of the Wind,” by J. C. Ver Plank, is well written and full of ideas, and Zadok’s “Answers to Queries” are admirable in their brief pointedness.

“Tea-Table Talk” this month is rather more serious than usual, but Julius is evidently a writer of many moods from all of which much is to be profited.

It would be well indeed for the Theosophical Society were all its members to “mark, learn and inwardly digest,” as the noble old collect has it, what is written in this article.

And Jasper Niemand also brings home to us what we should do well to ponder till it is realised; for either Theosophy is life, and joy, and light in a man’s life, or it is worse than useless, a shibboleth, an empty word, an amusement, a thing to be played with, not ''lived.''

Finally we would ask our readers to note that there are 18 Branches of the Theosophical Society now existing in America and 3 or 4 more in course of formation. Why are we so backward here in England? Are we less earnest or less capable of appreciating truth and doing unselfish work for others? Let each answer to his own conscience.

As a study it is highly interesting, but M. Papus could assuredly – if he only chose – tell us much more of the ''real'' esotericism of this and other symbols than he has done.

The concluding article in this number is an extract from the rare works of Fabre d’Olivet, who wrote at the beginning of this century, and is still remarkable for his intuitive perception of truths and facts which are now becoming well established.

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My brothers, let us adore materialistic science aureoled with post-cards! – concludes the ''Lotus.''

These two articles fill up the March number entirely, leaving space only for a translation of a short article from the ''Path'' in reply to the question: – What is the Theosophical Society? – and for the usual poetry and notes at the end.

{{Style P-Quote|1=“When this paper was taken up the response did not come very promptly, and I remarked that I supposed the person questioned would require to exercise some deliberation, to which the reply promptly came: ‘So would you if you were here and had to come back and acknowledge your mistake.’ The answer was then written on the slate: –}}

But if the truth is to be found, it must be sought through reason and logic, and nothing must be taken on the ''ipse dixit'' of this or that influence or intelligence, but all things must be tried in the fire, and tested by comparison with the recorded experience of past generations of men.

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(1.) By noting in the ephemeris when the significators mutually come to an exact aspect, or when one of them comes to an exact aspect with the cusp of any particular house.

(2.) By calculating so many days, weeks, months, or years, according to the position of the significators, whether in angular, succeedent, or cadent houses, and in moveable, fixed, or common signs.

He also tells us to regard only the house and sign which contain the ''applying'' significator; to which I may add, that if they apply to each other by reason of one being retrograde, the swiftest significator must be taken.

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Two suggestions have been made.

This method of rectification does not agree with my own experiments. In the figure given in No. 3, the calculation was for 4 weeks 1 day, and the event occurred 2 days later. But at the time of the question, ☽ the applying significator was in lat. 3° 58′ S and ♂ the other significator in lat. 0° 50′ S. According to the rule of adding the degrees and minutes for South Latitude, 4° 48′ the sum of the two South Latitudes should have been added; and this, as each degree in this figure signified a week, would have prolonged the time to over 8¾ weeks, or more than 4 weeks beyond the actual event.

Furthermore, if we exclude this idea and take only a less though indefinite prolongation or shortening of the time; even this mode of calculation (which even if true would be uncertain and imperfect) is not in accordance with facts. In the above figure, with a total of 4° 48′ South Latitude, which should have prolonged the time, the event happened only 2 days after the calculated date. But in the figure given in No. 4, ☿ was in lat. 1° 3′ 40″ N and ♅ in lat. 0° 43′ 25″ N, giving a total of 1° 47′ 5″ North Latitude, which should have shortened the time; nevertheless the commencement of the event was 2 days, and its culmination 6 days, after the date shown by the figure.

But my experiments have so far contradicted this rule. Thus, in the first of the above figures, ☽ was 13° 22′ 36″ from the cusp of the house in which she was placed; yet the calculation, which extended over 4 weeks, was exact within 2 days. Again, in the next figure, though ☿ was 11° 51′ 15″ distant from the cusp, the calculation, which extended over 12 weeks, was exact within from 2 to 6 days.

<hr>

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And thrills my soul as tho’ mine own love told

Some tear-sweet story of days weird and old,

Ope’d heaven’s great gates to soaring hearts and bold!}}

{{Style P-Poem|poem=Surely this eve my yearning spirit hath trod

The unseen steps of that soul-wroughten stair

The dominant music of an answered prayer,

And my strest heart falls at the feet of God!|signature=<span style="font-variant:small-caps">Evelyn Pyne.</span>}}

<center>I.</center>

Here is one.

In my dream I felt as though this was ''my'' house.

I was 16 years old when I had this dream.

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“I will take this house, for I saw it years ago in a vision, and know it.”

<center>II.</center>

Whilst young, about the same age, I saw another “Home.” ''It'' has been my last home, the family country house of my husband’s father, to which he afterwards succeeded.

And now that I am seventy years of age, those dreams are as fresh in my memory as a scene of yesterday.

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{{Style P-Title|Acquired Habits}}

Now in man and animal alike there are great nervous centres which govern the vital phenomena, and hence, as a consequence, the physical phenomena of life. These centres, as they are called, are formed by collections of nerve cells, which occupy a very fairly defined area. They are found in the brain and the spinal cord for the most part, and to a lesser degree in the great vital organs themselves. Further, there is

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In fact “automatism” is a very important point in the argument. It is employed by physiologists to indicate the origination in nervous centres of impulses and their conduction from those centres independently of the reception of a stimulus from another part. And in this sense it is not possible in the present state of physiological knowledge to say what actions are “automatic.” But the nearest examples are certainly the functions of respiration and the rhythmic action of the heart, which will be considered later on. Suffice it at present that it is a very important point that actions, which are distinctly reflex at the beginning, may be

organised into unconscious actions which have a very strong character about them of automatism, and that the two above-mentioned functions are those which are at the foundation of all vital phenomena, and hence, by the passage of time and by education, would necessarily most nearly approach to being automatic.

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Thus, then, it is this “organizing conscious actions into more or less unconscious ones,” but which may still be under the control of some force that we may call the will, which is of the highest importance to the occultist, as will be seen later on. Speaking in terms of planes it enables a man to do two or perhaps more things at the same time. Starting an original impulse to walk from point to point, a man may take the necessary steps with no other guidance than the reflected sensations of one step to make another, and during the time occupied his mind may be engaged on matters of a totally different character. But waiving these considerations and the assumption that the brain is physically a registering “organ of mind” it is evident that to a considerable extent the brain has the control of the body.

personality by the higher self. Consequently we may compare the actions dictated by the personality to those physical ones which are governed by the lower reflex centres and which have no concern whatever with the brain.

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But a further and yet more interesting problem now presents itself for discussion. We have seen that it is rational to conclude that conscious acts are by education organized into unconscious, and that the two functions most important to the physiological health of the body, viz.: respiration and the action of the heart, have been rendered automatic and independent almost of any voluntary conscious effort, although this control may be, in some instances, recovered. Consequently, by analogy, the control on the moral plane may be vested in the higher self as against the personality, by an effort to unite the consciousness with that higher self. That is, the higher self, or brain, will be able to control the physiological personality, or a higher centre dominate a lower. But a still further point would seem to consist in this. Why should it not be possible to make of the higher self a reflex centre, and finally an automatic one, which shall control the personality absolutely. On the physiological analogy it would certainly seem reasonable that this should be so. Let the personality send up a suggestion for action to the reflex centre, which may be in or below the level of the higher self, as is the case in the relative positions of the cerebral hemispheres and the Medulla Oblongata. Supposing that the motor point be in the higher self, it would only seem natural that the corresponding motion excited by the suggestion of the personality will either be in accord with the higher self, and be accomplished, or will be nullified. If, however, the motor point be below the higher self, then the communication must be handed on

Let us grant for the moment that it is possible for the consciousness to be identified with the higher self, and that the personality as militating against that better part of man, and consequently interfering with “the life beyond individuality,” is entirely subjected and controlled by a centre of force, certainly reflex, and, if possible, automatic, which is vested in the higher self. What, then, is the consequence? The personality as a source of separateness is done away with, and only used as an instrument in the same way that the physical body uses a finger. The real life is centred in the higher self, which maintains an automatic action over the personality, and prevents it from becoming a source of mischief. The force which is vested in the higher self or individuality, is derived from that united Spirit of Life which is beyond individuality, and the man is left free to concentrate his attention and aspirations on that Spirit of Life, and draw more and more of its influence through his higher self into the world around him. Just as the physiological needs of the body are controlled by an unconscious, involuntary mechanism, so the personality becomes a conquered instrument, used for ends greater than it knows of. Man, as man, is no longer swayed by his changing and temporary desires, and has reached the happy “Waters of Oblivion.”

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   The soul attuned can hear

A sound as of singing voices

   Seeming now far, now near.

   Their nature he tries to seize,

Gone are the sounds celestial

   To fruition for ever and aye,

Emancipation from Karma

{{Style P-Title|Mary Merivale's First Words to Her Disciples}}

{{Style P-Poem|title=I. She Addresses a Body of Socialists.|poem=“The present ’tis we strive for, and to-day

Work, wrestle, vanquish, triumph, preach, and pray!

From small mean seed behold, can any tell

The glory of the flower that shall spring?

{{Style P-Poem|poem=Then spake one quickly, “tell me this I pray

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{{Style P-Poem|poem=And while we marvelled, on our heads she laid

Her slim white hands, and said, “be not afraid;

Thro’ the dim woodland, till across the hill

Her soft eyes sought the sea: some Might had riven

The dog-love mine, heedless of sin or shame,

That follows till it falls, and as it dies

There lay the ocean at her very feet

All ruddy in the sunset, and with sweet

A leader had arisen strong, and true,

A woman sweet and brave, whose sex was set

A woman in all gentleness, a man

In all high daring, since the world began

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’Twas just that mystic time ’twixt day and night

When life stands still and dreams, and fingers light

And stir the hair, and half unknowing how

We lay our burden down, and sink beside,

’Twas just that mystic time when with some thrill

Of imminent parting hearts draw nearer still,

Grasp hands more closely, and the invisible strands

Of life that sunlight severed, night hath strained

Swifter and swifter, till I half could see

The little golden feet that flit and flee,

And as the stars sprang after them, athwart

Their speechless language, and my heart grew hot

And swift I spake, “Dear lady scorn me not;

Read my thrilled soul, as ’twere an open book;

And her soft voice, brimful of half-shed tears,

My path thro’ fire and torture, or the stress

Dare you resign all pleasure, yea, all strife,

For personal joy, to make fair other’s life?

To scoff at what his ignorant disdain

Hath called the ‘lower creatures,’ tho’ they be

The crowned humanity we strive for, sets

No carven rules, no arrogant alphabets,

Humanity, God, Heaven, Eternity. . . . .

Think not these words bear sense alone to ye;

But brothers are we all beneath the sun!

The tiny ant speaks in its chosen way;

We well might judge our Master Christ had died

And lived for these same creatures, and not man;

Ah sisters, brothers, horses, dogs, and cows,

The time is coming when you too shall be

Slaughtered! . . . Ah God, that man can be so base,

And yet stand boldly with his arrogant face

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Till the dull strand that seemed so cold and brown

Burns with fair jewels that would shame a crown;

That level life had writ, sprang forth a grace

Of tender knowledge all unguessed ’till then,

I could not choose; when God calls, who dare;stay

Even to seek our own heart’s heart, or pray

When falls the night, and the day’s deeds are done,

To a small homestead set beside the sea,

“’Tis well,” she said, “the first gleam in the sky

Must see our feet set in that dusty road

<center>''(To be continued.)''</center>

<center>BY A SOCIALIST STUDENT OF THEOSOPHY.</center>

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Roughly my idea as to materialistic and utilitarian tendencies, is that these will, under the social commonwealth, ''burn themselves out.'' The grosser forms of luxury, which have flourished so easily under modern capitalistic and ancient slave-owning communities, will be almost impossible in a state of society in which idle and parasitical classes are abolished. Industry and social equality will not be fruitful soil for such vices. On the other hand free scope will be given to the development of the more social luxuries, and especially to the arts. Great reforms will, no doubt, be introduced at an early period in the physical education of children, and in the ordinary personal habits of all the citizens. These reforms, partly individual, partly collective, in their initiation, will of themselves tend to extinguish many of the vicious (that is to say anti-natural) impulses of the present generation. But vice and sin are, in many respects, merely relative terms to knowledge. To whom much is given, from him much will be expected; and there may be quite as much evil in one age, in relation to its opportunities, as in another.

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