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(March 1888 – August 1888)
Publications:
- London: George Redway, 1888. Nos. 7-12, pp. 1-500.
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Title for references: Lucifer/Vol2/Text
Short description:
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; the electronic transcription of the March issue and later reprints of “Acquired Habits” and “Theosophy and Modern Socialism” were consulted for comparison. OCR errors and omissions have been corrected against the scans; historical spelling and readings of the journal are retained, apart from clear typographical errors. 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. 7 – March 1888
Sunday Devotion to Pleasure
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 1-5
Self-Evident Truths and Logical Deductions
Franz Hartmann · pp. 6-8
Talismanic Magic
S. Liddell MacGregor Mathers · pp. 9-13
The Birth of Space
Charles Johnston · pp. 14-18
The Blossom and the Fruit
Mabel Collins · pp. 19-36
The Life Principle
N. D. Khandalavala · pp. 37-40
[Editors’ note on ‘The Life Principle’ by N. D. K.]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 41-42
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Darwin.
A grand upheaval of humanity! |
Time-honored head of Socrates! to learn |
| Mary W. Gale. |
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Zarina!
Floating in the astral light of our own planet, ages and ages ago, hovered a beautiful Spirit. She, from worlds beyond our knowledge, drew near, and kept æons after æons watching the human races as they swept from the unseen into the seen, from spirit into matter, and from matter into spirit.
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.
Ages rolled on but what were they to her? She had enrolled among the children of men, like they, she was clothed in a decaying garment, and like them she cast it off when worn out, only to assume another.
Up the eternal, spiral column of life she travelled step by step, until one morning a beautiful babe was born on the earth and the mother whispered: “The Gods have smiled on thee!”
What was the cloud of melancholy which deepened on the fair young face as girlhood stole on and deepened as girlhood faded? Alas, the consciousness of earth was beginning to return, the succession of lives to which she had bound herself must be passed. Earth began to fetter her, as she gradually realised the sad tragic truth, that although thousands pressed around her, yet was she alone! “I will be a poet,” she said, “and feel for others!” And Spirits from other worlds inspired her so that man wept when they read her sonnets. For each man stands like a mournful spectre, and is alone, finding little love and little sympathy in those around. But the poet reaches every heart in its loneliness, shattering the stern walls around, to let the sunlight stream into it. She touched the hearts of men and made them better. She, clad in mortal flesh, revealed the folded page of nature and spelt out for men its mystic symbolism.
Once more she folded her earthly garment and laid it aside for a new one. And now she was born on the earth a beggar’s child! the Spirits of the earth formed her robe of flesh into perfect beauty. The poet’s soul was there, and she looked through it into other souls. What was there but sorrow and loneliness again in store for herself and the crowds of weeping humanity around her? If thou wouldst see the real man
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thou must look within. That which is within is the real, the outer is its shadow, still oftener its mask.
From childhood she grew into womanhood, and consciousness began to dawn fuller than before. Now she dimly saw forms around her, which were clothed in subtler garments than those of the flesh. Knowledge came into her heart, and she remembered what she had been before. Remembrance returned gradually, steadily, as womanhood advanced. The lives she had lived in the past ages grew like a great light of memory, and overwhelmed her. . . .
“Look,” said the people, pointing at her, “look, that is Zarina, the beggar’s child!”
“A beggar’s child!” exclaimed a young man one day, when he heard these words. “A beggar’s daughter!” he repeated to himself as in a dream, feeling a sudden wave of love for her overspread all his being.
“Ah,” was the answer given by an old, white-bearded man to the youth, as he stood and gazed at the beautiful girl dressed in rags. “Only a beggar’s child!”
Zarina caught the words, caught the tone. The hot blood rushed to her temples, and she fled in sorrow down the narrow street. The youth, brushing back his long dark hair with one hand, and with the other clasping tight his violin, for he was a musician, tried to overtake her. But the footsteps of wounded vanity and shame are swift, and she was gone. So he returned to the old man, and questioned him easily concerning her whom he already loved so madly.
“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 followed the speaker silently down the narrow street and entered with him a low, arched doorway. Beyond this was a long, narrow passage, at the end of which the old man opened a door, and ushered the youth into a small, barely furnished room, where a lamp was burning, although it was still daylight,
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.
“I know you, O poet-musician,” said the old man. “Do not you recognise me? Ah, well, heaven and earth are closed books to most; the past is obliterated to you, the future unknown; and yet, poor fool, you do thirst for knowledge! Knowledge shall come, your fate is written on your brow, and your past is as yesterday to me. Your future? Youth, it is for you to make it. So is mine. Would you
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know the beggar’s daughter? I will tell you of her. Ages ago, she was born as a child unto me – she was a poet. She touched all men’s hearts but mine, for it was hardened; and with a poet’s love, she gave her life for mine, and entered into her rest. You were then a noble boy, and she loved you. But she gave you up, while giving up, her life for me, and left you alone on earth. Her father, he who is now her parent, in a hot, unguarded moment, seeing your despair, killed me; yes, he took away the life she had saved by sacrificing her own.”
Oblivion wrapped all in darkness, until the sea of time washed us all to the shore once more, and we were again clothed in flesh. And now am I a philosopher and an alchemist. The keys of the past are mine; but before I can attain to the perfection of knowledge I must return four-fold into her heart that which I withheld from her, for I loved her not in the bygone ages, and made her life sad. I must also before I can help thee, accord unto him who was thy father, Calitzo, full reward for the rash deed, which caused my disembodied spirit to suffer ages in being so suddenly severed from the body. I will give her back to thee; for which purpose I must make use of powers forbidden, and thus bring on just retribution to all of us. Zarina does not know me and I dread her. Knowledge is dawning upon her, as it must upon all one day, and she begins to converse with and discern the unseen. Time must not be lost, and first of all the memory of the past must be imparted to thee. Come!”
The alchemist led the way into an inner room, where Calitzo almost fainted with the suffocating fumes. The place looked like a cave, lit with a curious, fairy-like vapour hanging as cobwebs drawn hither and thither. The various odours of chemicals making him feel quite ill, he dropped down on a rude bench, while the alchemist kept moving round and round him, until he saw that Calitzo was fast asleep. Then the old man proceeded to make some mixture, muttering all the while weird sentences, and drawing diagrams upon the floor, until the neighbouring clock struck the midnight hour. . . . “It shall be,” he murmured. “Thou, Calitzo, art one to whom I shall owe a great debt of gratitude, but thou knowest it not. Zarina cannot be thine unless her father dies, and the hour that brings her here, shall bring death to him. Then will she turn to thee as her only friend, and thus fate will be accomplished.” He awoke Calitzo, and made him tell him what he had seen. The youth described Zarina’s home, her beggar father, and then, as one in a dream, spoke of a life, ages ago, when he and she loved each other! of her sad tragic death, and of his own rash act. “In three days,” said the alchemist, under his breath, “she shall be thine, and I shall be delivered unto the evil powers, to whose aid I resort. Come to me,” he added aloud, “at midnight, the third night from this. Everything shall be prepared, and she shall be thine.”
Zarina sat in her father’s room alone. It was the third day after the
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alchemist’s interview with Calitzo, and she knew of the awful powers which were to be used that night, powers which she might not be able to withstand. Better than the alchemist, she knew also that her father, and even Calitzo, her beloved of old, might fall a victim to them. For two nights the mystic spells had been at work, and now on this last and fatal night she alone must counteract them. She sat thinking until half past eleven, and then, drawing a black shawl around her, silently left the house, taking her way to the abode of the alchemist. Her inspired face was rigid and sad. “This night the powers of Light and Darkness shall meet, and the alchemist must not be allowed to give himself up to powers of Evil” . . . . it is she alone, who shall pronounce the fatal words, and she alone, who shall be delivered unto the dark destiny, if anyone must be. The supernal love and power which inspire one at the thought of saving others at one’s own sacrifice, pervaded her whole being. . . .
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.
Her action had been so quick and unexpected that while he was yet speaking, the phosphorescent smoke filled with filmy living creatures had entirely closed around her, and she sank within the magic circle a helpless heap. . . .
“Lost, she is lost!” cried the alchemist. “Nay, Calitzo, approach her not. Zarina is lost, lost. She has taken the curse upon herself, and her father, my enemy, still lives. . .”
Lost! Lost! the cry that escaped the old man’s lips was caught up and re-echoed like a deep sigh by Calitzo’s violin. It sang an old melody, a familiar dirge: –
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“Saved – ah, saved! Hell loses power |
The melody grew fainter, as the mists thickened around Calitzo. Then a faintness came over him and he lost consciousness. When he awoke he found the alchemist kneeling with his head on Zarina’s prostrate form and as dead and cold as his victim was. The violin was silent and daylight was stealing in, struggling with the dark shadows of the cave. With a heartrending cry Calitzo knelt down beside her and softly breathed her name. . . .
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.
To pray! To utter forth our deepest yearning |
| Dum Spiro Spero. |
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A Theory of Hauntings
In ancient and mediæval times occult mysteries, such as are considered superstition and superstitious practices by the esprits forts of our day, received more credit, were allowed to influence human life.
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.
Our theory seeks to exclude the idea that a human soul can be destined to become after death an earth-haunter for a period of centuries. It is true that the lower and the more wicked a soul has been in earth-life, the more does it cling after death to the earth; despairingly seeking to re-embody itself, if possible, to escape from the torments attending the gradual disintegration of its sidereal body, and to experience again the pleasures of the passions which were the source of animal gratification in the body. But even in the case of the most wicked, this condition would hardly endure longer than a hundred years, or the usual limit of a man’s life in these days. Such beings may, of course, become haunting ghosts for a certain length of time, and doubtless often do; but they are not of the genus of “hereditary ghosts.” A “hereditary ghost” must, it appears to us, be of the nature of an elemental, or merely a reflection in the astral light. These reflections are
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seen by persons momentarily gifted with the open sight, and as reflections, nearly always wear the same appearance. As elementals, who possess more or less consciousness, their appearance would vary. Only an enlightened seer can discriminate between mere reflections in the sidereal light, and real appearances, objects, or beings in the adjacent region of more ethereal matter.
The sidereal bodies of pure and innocent human beings soon disintegrate; in some instances, when there has been high spiritual evolution, they evaporate as a kind of incense, and the pure soul is immediately wafted into its heavenly condition. For this reason, where a “hereditary ghost” assumes a benevolent aspect, and returns for objects of beneficence, it would be a great mistake to imagine it to be the “spirit” of a pure and sainted ancestor, or ancestress, inasmuch as the only thing which could really be seen, would be simply the astral body which is, sooner or later, disintegrated after death.
There are some apparitions which have a world-wide celebrity, having been repeatedly seen during centuries, their appearances having become matters of local or family history. Two of the most notable instances are those of the White Lady of Berlin, and the Flying Dutchman.
The story of the Flying Dutchman is that the captain of a Dutch ship, baffled by contrary winds in attempting to round the Cape of Good Hope, became enraged, and swore that he would accomplish his purpose in spite of storms, or winds – the opposing forces of Nature – if it took him an eternity to do it. The ship was lost, and the captain’s soul, or wraith, still continues to navigate the stormy seas, appearing as a warning to mariners of approaching calamity. It is probable that some of the sailors, who were cognisant of the captain’s oath, survived the loss of the ship, and originated the idea of his retributive doom; which idea has continued to exist as a reflection in the astral light, and is disclosed to view as an actual scene during some sudden rift in the veil of matter. It is impossible to account for or explain the intimate interblending of the two conditions of existence lying side by side – the material, and ethereal; and those transitory conditions caused by disturbance of the elements which would produce a momentary rift in the veil of dense matter. But at the same time it is possible that the intense emotions of rage, and determination to have his own way in spite of God and Nature, may have caused the curses of the Dutchman to exhaust their energy upon himself, and kept him, the victim of a violent and sudden death, chained to the scene of his sin for a certain period. The miserable entity, wearing out its sidereal body, may have appeared again and again, until the appearance has become a fixed idea pictured in the astral light, and becoming visible, like a Fata Morgana, under the disturbed elemental conditions above described.
The White Lady appears just before a death, not only in the Hohenzollern family, but is believed to haunt also the palaces of
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Baireuth, Anspach, and Cleves, which are residences of families allied to the imperial family of Prussia. The house of Rosenburg in Bohemia, also allied to that of Hohenzollern, is honoured by the apparition of the White Lady. She appears also to the Hapsburgs.
The White Lady is said to have been seen before the death of the Elector John George in 1598. Her last recorded appearances were in 1840, before the death of Frederick William III.; and 1861, previous to the demise of Frederick William IV.
Many stories of a conflicting character have been handed down, becoming more or less mutilated and confused in the process of transmission, to account for this apparition. These have a foundation of crimes and cruelties which are supposed to chain the human soul, as a species of retribution, to the scenes of its old sins. In one instance only, does the tradition point to a life of goodness and benevolence, in the case of Bertha von Rosenburg. After the death of her husband, a Styrian Baron who treated her cruelly, she returned to Bohemia, and devoted her life to the care of orphans. She always wore a dress of white mourning, which was then customary for widows. The White Lady of Rosenburg is represented as loving children, and appearing to rebuke careless and inattentive nurses.
In the traditions of this apparition every incident stated goes to strengthen our theory that this ghost is the product of une idée fixe in the mental aura of these several families, all allied by marriage, and who have transmitted from century to century the impression of a mysterious visitant who comes as a warning of death.
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.
Henrich Heine mentions this custom.
“In the Middle Ages,” he says, “the opinion prevailed that when any building was to be erected, something living must be killed, in the blood of which the foundation had to be laid, by which process the building would be secured from falling; and in ballads and traditions the remembrance is still preserved, how children and animals were slaughtered for the purpose of strengthening large buildings with their blood.
In the “Swedish Folk-tales” Afzelius says:
“Heathen superstition did not fail to show itself in the construction of Christian churches. In
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laying the foundations, the people retained something of their former religion, and sacrificed to their old deities, whom they could not forget, some animal, which they buried alive, either under the foundation or without the wall. The spectre of this animal is said to wander about the churchyard by night, and is called the Kirk-Grim. A tradition has also been preserved that under the altar in the first Christian churches a lamb was usually buried, which imparted security and duration to the edifice. This is an emblem of the true Church Lamb – the Saviour, who is the corner-stone of His church. When anyone enters a church when there is no service, he may see a little lamb spring across the quire and vanish.”
That is, the reflection in the astral light would be seen by those who expected to see a lamb, and whose psychic vision was temporarily opened. Many persons are born with a tendency to open vision or clairvoyance, which frequently displays itself during their lives; others, again, have it rarely, when they are more open to those psychological effects termed a species of inebriation. The Fakirs of India are adepts at producing this effect upon those who witness their wonderful performances.
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.
It is possible that the White Lady of Berlin is the apparition of some girl or woman (perhaps a criminal already sentenced to death) who was buried under the foundations of an ancient castle, and that the original true cause for the haunting appearance has been forgotten, and twisted into traditions more nearly relating to the personal histories of remote ancestors of the royal houses to which the memory of the ghost has attached itself.
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.
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The White Monk
We dwelt in a quiet cathedral town, famous for naught, save its tranquillity and rose-bushes, and the gorgeous workmanship of the holy edifice itself. All took its tone from the ecclesiastical gravity that reigned in and around the close, with its whispering, fragrant limes, and the solemn black-robed men who dwelt beneath their shade, ay, and had their small jealousies and hatreds and earthly passions too, thinly veiled by the enforced and sometimes ill-fitting mask of piety.
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 was a grievous source of dudgeon to my honoured father. He was a noted warrior; his father and his brothers had been such, and so, he meant, should be his son. As with all parents, the bent of his son’s mind to learning rather than to action much discomfited him. I have ever thought my noble father did me less than justice in this matter. I could shoot as well as he with the bow; I was no novice with a horse, and I fenced, I know, with elegance and strength. But he would have had me a champion in these arts, and in sooth I had a mind more framed towards solitary musing and deciphering old tomes. I know right well, though he strove to hide it from me, that I was a stone of stumbling to my father, and from time to time, as the ireful side of his tongue came up to breathe itself at the surface, he showed it me.
The main difference betwixt me and my foregoers was this. They had gone forth, confident and firm and ardent, to the world as it actually was, and cared no whit that it should be better than it was. It was good enough for them, they deemed, or they would not have been brought thither. They met the world as a friend, with open eyes truly, but also with open hands and hearts.
I looked at the world a little, casually, from my position as a bystander, and felt that I cared not greatly for it. Therefore to my friends I was tedious, to my enemies despicable.
And thus I became a brooding boy, timid also by habit, for the very fervour of mine imaginations, but full of high fancies that made a man of me despite myself. For that I spoke little and from the purpose, and kept my eyes to look upon the ground, I was held dull, until my thirteenth year. Then it was that my sire chanced to lay hand on some
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poor verses I had lately left on paper, and, not content to judge of them by the light of his own plentiful reason, committed them to the reading of a certain Canon, who, approving them, brought me into great respect of the same parents as, the day before, had thought me dull. Not that the good Canon – I say it wittingly – knew the half that I did of the laws of Rhyme – but there, so be it! By his censure I was to stand or fall. I remember I laughed sadly as I became aware of the change in my parents’ judgment of their son. They were so glad when they found somewhat for which I might be praised. And yet, what skilled the manual labour? What if I had not hitherto laid my verses upon paper? The thoughts had long been there – the poetry had welled up from my heart like life-blood since my birth. I was the same boy who, years before, had his brain thronged with far prettier fancies than those they chanced to see. Howbeit, from henceforth I was “the Poet that shall be!” and the guests gazed upon me as on some poor changeling with whom they had scant sympathy, feeling dimly, even while they despised me, that I bore in my brain the power to punish them.
Let me not be bitter. A cathedral town holds as many kind hearts as any desolate city which hath no God to worship. I had friends even in my birth-place; though as yet I knew them not. Until now, I loved my Marguerite, my young, my fairy sister – her only, as yet, I sang, I loved, I worshipped; and through her, the Ideal of beauty, and of pure thoughts, and of a God who constructs holy things and to whom we vaguely but incessantly aspire.
Well, but to my purpose.
I meditated often by myself upon such thoughts as come to those who dwell under the shadow of a great cathedral, fenced about with the gloomy security of cloisters, far from the city, and near, as it should seem, to the worship of God. We were at variance with the creed established in the town and illustrated in the splendid services of the cathedral. The De Troyes were of Norman blood, good Catholics to this day, having their private chapel for the old worship, and knowing little or nothing of the new Protestant form, save that it was favoured by the reigning monarch, and that it had ousted us from the public confession of our belief within the walls of our own cherished cathedral, which we were now fain to look upon as a fair space desecrated, filled with apostates. I brooded often, as I sat searching with my eyes the intricacies of delicate workmanship on the lofty spires. I mused on the quaint shows and apparently necessary symbols by which men strive to harmonize their souls with a tone of thought which is to most of them incongruous, unreal. How they seem only fit to reach and grasp Ideas by the help of something tangible. Whether can men, in truth, lift the soul by the senses? In my own sober abstraction – boy that I was! as yet untempted – I despised them and their struggles
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after what seemed to me to be the natural state of a rational being.
I knew nought as yet of the great weariness and disgust of brain that besets the human creature who has striven, like a god, to stay in the region where things appear not, but are. Else, had I looked upon all rites as the soul’s earnest confession of weakness, showing the purpose better than the power, the heart uplifted, but intelligence despairing – ciphers which only ask to perish at a sign from Heaven!
It was natural, owing to the suggestions given by the place of a new world and a life of the spirit, that my meditations led me often, by devious paths to think of the old bodiless enemy of our house – the fabled phantom who could yet work ill – “The White Monk,” whom I pictured, now that I was older, as some homeless spirit, stored with fearful wisdom and with capacity still to kill men by a magic terror, and withal, in constant relation to another universe, of which I thought much, but knew less than nothing. In the sunlight I would pace the cloisters and yearn to see and speak with him. I would – alas for my folly! – construct a dialogue which I should hold with him, bearing myself manly and bold the while. But in the soft shimmer of the moon – I know not how – I never felt the same. Then it was that I perceived, and bowed to, the essential difference between the life of mortal and of spirit.
How shall I tell it, the first meeting I had with the enemy of our house?
As I remember, it was somewhat on this wise; but think not that I can in words describe the physical terror and the soul’s subjection to unthought-of creeds!
I stepped out one evening in the summer gloom to listen to the muffled whizzing of bats’ wings, and the cooing of wild doves, and the hum of thousands of insects. (I loved all Nature, all, that cannot argue and sneer.) I went in my musing out of the house by a side way, and stood in the old court-yard. Idly I noted the flight of a starling to its nest under the eaves of that part of the castle which was now but a fair ruin, left standing yet until my sire should have wealth to build a new wing in its stead.
All suddenly my eyes were rivetted to a certain arched window-moulding at a great height from the ground. I saw nothing, but I drew in my breath and crossed myself, and then forgot myself and all the world in an intolerable waiting. I know not if this endured long; this I know – had anyone held a sword unsheathed beside me, and I had been able, I would with gladness have turned and fallen upon it, even to still the horrid dread.
It came – the vacant dark space flashed – a whiteness, first dim, then vivid, then dim again; then more shapely, and then the revelation. To my unspeakable horror, I vow the clear semblance of our
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long-dead enemy leant out at that ruined casement and looked down.
I tried to shriek. I hid my face; through my hands I could feel the whiteness striking on my eyes. I could only utter a faint murmur, and at last, in desperation, I looked up again. I could not see the spectre’s features, for they were concealed by the white cowl, all but a motionless white line of mouth and chin. And just then I heard a shriek. Not mine, no, but Marguerite’s.
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.
Our creed countenances the idea of returned souls, spared from Purgatory awhile for ends which we mortals may not fathom. Moreover, there is a certain feeling – but I will not argue. Suffice it that what I had seen threw me into a shrewd fever. It was so horrible; to fear that arched window so, for what I might see there again. To fear the court-yard, the disused part of the castle, the lonely stairs, the very cloisters of the cathedral. At last I came to have the delusion that, wherever I walked, suddenly I would come facing that window, in which would slowly shape the white form, until I could not bear it, and holding out my arms stiffly, would walk right through the dismal picture. This unnerved me entirely at length, though I distinguished the nature of the vision from its original. I fell into a fever, still (for yet was the child in me) refusing to tell what ailed me.
I was very ill, and when the recoil came, I awoke to a deeper life. I was more manly; I confessed my fears, entitling them “delusions.” I bade the servants search the ruin for any sign of an inhabitant; myself went with them and bore the light, and I know that the work was thoroughly done. So I professed myself satisfied. But the knowledge gained upon me that what I had seen was for me alone.
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
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again. Next time, I vowed, I would learn somewhat of our ancient enemy. I feared not much the traditions of his hurtfulness to our hearth even after death; he had appeared to me, and behold! I lived, and desired the sight of him again.
And I did see him.
One night, as it grew dusk, I sat copying a bit of the exquisite tracery on the interior of a cloister wall by the cathedral. I loved drawing, and exercised myself often upon it, as upon music also of different sorts; for it mattered little to me how I caught the Ideal, so that I was privileged to see it rendered up to me in part. It was not so much the butterfly love for divers beauties, but rather adoration for the Unity of Thought which manifested itself to me under Protean forms.
Well, I sat there drawing, in meditative watchfulness, at the end of one long, shaded cloister walk. The yew-trees sighed and fluttered without, and the trailing rose-tendrils beat softly against the grey stone, which scattered in revenge rosy petals even into the dim seclusion where I was intent upon forestalling the darkness with my sketch.
At the instant when my eyes were most searchingly occupied with a divine curve which the stone-work took into the dimness of the corner, something attracted them to the extremity of the cloister. Into the entrance had just flashed that weird white glimmer for which I had been waiting all these weeks.
I rose up, moistening my lips.
He had come; now must I speak? I strove to step towards him and fell back silently upon the ground. The figure slowly advanced, stopping at each arch as if to gaze out over the quiet lawn beyond. I sat up, with my brain confused, but my will fixed to meet and confront the vision. Blessed Saints! was I not honest at heart? What should I fear?
And still the slow, white, sweeping figure ever advanced, nearer and nearer towards me, and it seemed the darkness gathered before him – or was it in mine eyes? For a horrible, cold quailing was about my heart, and a singing in mine ears. I thought of old tales I had heard, and I could not distinctly see the shrouded mystery. Further from me he had shown clear – at every step he took he became more intense a secret. Ah, I cannot picture him to you! You must gather all from what I can tell of my own intolerable emotion. In Nature there is very little white, except the snow. In summer, mark how the sudden flash of white surprises. My sweet sister came in white once hastily round a dark oak tree, and I remember how the harmony of the landscape was shattered and she alone stood out, the rest subordinate. A white thorn flowering on a Spring star-light night will bring you into strange surmises.
I dally in the telling. The Monk came very slowly; his hands, I know, were clasped before him, palms downwards, inertly, as if in
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despair or pain. His face was hidden – how I yearned for some sign of life in his unnatural stillness! Still, the concealing cowl; would it ever be lifted? And now it was very dark, and he came near, quite near, and there was no sound of breathing or of footsteps, but he was vague before my dazzled eyes, only very white, and of great stateliness. The whiteness blinded me – he was about to pass me – somewhat I must do to prevent the next moment, or lightning from that whiteness would strike me and I die.
I fainted dead and still, into an intense swoon that saved my good fame from the death of a coward.
As you may think, this disaster threw me into so great dudgeon and contempt for my weakness that I loved not overmuch to recall it. But I seemed haunted by my enemy at every turn.
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.
I never liked its being there, and I hated to see the child looking at it.
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.
“No, no, Marguerite!” quoth I. “Come, look at Marshal Ambrose. He was twice the man that this fellow was; besides, your namesake loved 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?
But if she ever showed a will to weep, what consternation did it cause! My father, whose name was still a terror to the Spaniards, was a reed in Marguerite’s royal hands. Our house-chaplain, a surly man, whose intellects were fettered by his breviary – my governor, a timid man, a slave to Aristotle’s influence, like most scholars of the time – these two were just the same. Nay, it is fabled that these twain, at two separate seasons, were discovered in the act of treading a measure with Mistress Marguerite; but to this rumour I will never give the sanction of my
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credence. As for the younger men – (but this was ever a sore point between me and Marguerite.)
So when the smallest tear gathered in our despot’s eyes, I was fain hastily to catch her up and lift the butterfly weight to a proper level with the picture. Whereon she gazed till methought she would never cease, so the countenance moved her.
She traced the features with her tiny delicate finger, and brushed the dust off daintily; then turning to me for sympathy:
“The poor wight looks sad!” she said.
And this was assuredly the first word of pity that Pietro Rinucci had ever won. “The poor wight looks sad” in sooth?
I was about to reply, something tartly, that the wight had need, when the desire to speak forsook me. My whole body trembled at the presence of an intelligence alien to us two children, and my heart stood still when I looked and saw no one. Was it possible that there could yet emanate from that old disgraced portrait so keen a breath of life? Or was it that the unwonted sound of a mortal’s word of kindness for him, had indeed drawn the soul of our enemy to earth again, and that – but I could not bear to wait for the answer to my bewilderment. I fled before my fear, grasping the child in my arms convulsively, until she laughed and sought to know what ailed me.
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.
We had run and bounded till the fancy took her to be weary and to make me carry her (for she was but a minute creature, and I used to rally her in saying that the only heavy part of her was the two great plaits of flaxen hair). Once on my shoulder, she fell asleep, so I carried her, stepping delicately off the stones, into her favourite haunt, that she might sleep quiet a while and then wake there.
It was a smooth-shaven grass plot, enclosed by the walls of an old grey church, the ruddy stained windows of which shone like fires just now in the afternoon sun. There was a sombre yew-tree, many years old, in the midst of this sward, and a still older sun-dial stood in ruins near the tree, whose spreading, dusky arms had long obscured the light too much to let the sun-dial do its work. Therefore the two rivals stood together; Nature’s structure triumphing over man’s; each one a testimony to the antiquity of the other, and the most ancient sun treating them both to his half-vivifying, half-destructive power.
Softly I seated myself against the dial under the yew-tree’s shade, and caused the fair head of my most beauteous sister to rest upon my arm. She just stirred and murmured my name as if to herself as I placed her so, on the grass by my side, leaning across me. I stroked her hair and she slept more peacefully than before, whilst I mused, and numberless
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small heads of birds looked out in amaze from the ivied church wall, and twittered interrogatively, with a cool, far-away, sleepy rustle of tiny wings.
I was following the movements of a translucent fellow of a dragonfly, which was taking pleasure in a pink rose that trailed about the dial. Only one pink rose there was; the rest were over, or perchance in this solemn spot there had never been more. One bright bit of colour amongst all the dark grey and green. It belonged to the same order of loveliness as my Marguerite, ay, and she should have it too. I cautiously stretched out my hand, possessed myself of the fair blossom and made it a nest in the flaxen hair. It just matched the flush on the child’s sleeping face.
I think my spirit must have strayed near to Heaven, so great inspiration had filled me from the sight of the exquisite, innocent countenance.
I was intently looking upon her, when the old sensation came upon me again; there, in that lonely spot! I knew that our enemy was near us. We two were alone. No shout could bring us help, and this time I might not swoon. I groaned; here was my Marguerite, my mother’s Marguerite! in my sole care, to be protected against unknown evils. Oh, and should she awake – how horrible!
He came. Through the thick dark boughs of the yew I saw a dazzling white glimmer. The next instant he was on our side of the tree, and striding hastily towards us. This time I fancied there was something distinctly more human in the apparition, and placed as I now was, it made him more terrible. It recalled the deadly enmity he had ever borne – so the chronicles said – to our house.
What could I do against him? How fright him from the side of this delicate rose? I had no power; only the resolve to act as a man should do, and be brave for the sake of the only daughter of our house.
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.
But this I remembered afterward; for the moment, I knew only that those deep, dark, motionless eyes, over which the lids never closed, were piercing Marguerite, and that she knew not of it. If she should wake – oh, God, let her not wake! – I swayed to and fro in my anguish. I looked only on the child. I gathered her to me; I whispered a soothing word to her, though my head felt like to break with the strain I was forced to put on my own terror. For her was this terror now; I
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felt none for myself any more. I would have challenged the fearful Monk, and conjured him to leave the innocent child – but that I dared not speak aloud and wake her.
And she slept calmly on, breathing so light and balmily. Until in an instant the oppression on my spirit was lifted; I looked away from my darling in astonishment – the Monk was gone.
Only, as my eye fell on the rose in Marguerite’s hair, it dropped suddenly and covered the flaxen head with delicate petals. This woke the child; she put her two hands up to her hair, and drew them down full of rose-leaves, and laughed wonderingly, and blushed and dimpled to find how sound asleep she had been. And then she asked me why I was so pale, and why I trembled so in every limb; but I made no answer, for I was keenly noting her, to see if there was change in her spirits or features. But there was none; she was rosy and full of laughter, and plaited again her tumbled hair with a gay stamp of her tiny foot. And I, laughing with her, thought, “Ah, I might have had more faith in the security of Innocence!”
(But is that a true faith to hold? As the deep bell of the church clock tolled out the hour, and we started homewards at a goodly pace, I was secretly thinking on these matters. Full many times is innocence abused by mortals, if not by gods. Who shall tell us that the evil spirits do not still carry on their hateful trade of striving to crush out good? Howsoever that be, fate rules these things. The most a man can do is to be ready when there is a use for him. The god of Opportunity will take care he shall be out of the way when a ghastly deed has to be done.)
There is a time in every life |
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For every effort of the will, |
Just as the gentle breeze at eve |
The scent of violets nestling low, |
A strain of music from the spheres, |
The roaring of the tempest fierce, |
So every tune that wake the soul, |
| P. H. D. |
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Theosophy and Modern Socialism
In a former article on this subject (Lucifer, No. 4), which was written in reply to some points in Mr. T. B. Harbottle’s interesting article on “Brotherhood,” in the preceding number, I indicated what appears to me to be the true relationship of Socialism, in its economic or material aspects, with Theosophy. I wish in this and the concluding article both to add to, or explain and comment upon, what I then had to say on this point, and also to treat of certain higher aspects of Socialism and the modern Socialist movement, which I did little more than hint at in that article.
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.
In the course of my former article I endeavoured to show that Mr. Harbottle, and any who think like him, are wrong in supposing that Socialism or its adherents advocate “a direct (or for that matter, any kind of) interference with the results of the law of Karma.” I admitted that if I were mistaken, Socialism was foredoomed to failure. I feel inclined now to rejoice in having gained Mr. Harbottle to my side; for he proclaims in his January letter, and very justly, that “the Socialist movement is itself a part of the cyclic Karma.” But I hardly find him consistent with himself when he goes on to add that “in its endeavour to rectify what seem, from its limited point of view, injustices, it cannot fail to be unjust to those, the justice of whose position in life it declines to recognise.” What does this mean? Can a part, or as I shall prefer to express it, an agent, of Karma, be accused of injustice? If so, Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes? Surely not either Mr. Harbottle or myself, or any other contributor to Lucifer.
When I suggested that Socialists might be regarded as “the instruments
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of a greater equalisation, distribution, and acceleration of Karmic growth,” and that this would come about “by transferring a great deal of the responsibility for Karmic results which now lies with each individual in his personal capacity upon the collective entities composed of individuals acting in public capacities,” I implied much the same as I understand Mr. Harbottle to mean when he speaks of the Socialist movement as a part of the cyclic Karma. But I implied rather more than he does. Many other much less important movements than the Socialist may be equally regarded as forming part of the great cyclic Karma. Even reactionary movements (that is to say, movements contrary to the now prevailing tendencies of human and social evolution) may claim, inasmuch as they form part of the inevitable back current, to be described in the same language; and those who take part in them may claim to be the inferior agents of Nature – although, of course, if they do so in obedience to their own lower instincts and prejudices, and not “according to their lights,” they will individually suffer for it. The same, for that matter, applies to those who are helping the main or forward currents, but from selfish motives.
The real question, then, for Theosophists to consider is not merely whether Socialism forms part of the cyclic Karma, for that is not worth their while disputing, but whether it forms part of the progressive and main evolutionary current, or of the retrogressive back current? If the former, as I firmly believe, then those who at present oppose it may not indeed all be constrained to turn back, like Saul of Tarsus, and fight on its side: some may conceive they have higher work to perform in Nature’s service, or work more adapted to their powers and opportunities. But let them at least examine and ascertain for themselves, according to their lights, the true answer to this question, before they continue to oppose Socialism, lest haply they be found fighting against the gods.
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
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cells – is much less dependent upon that of the entire body, than in the higher forms. So also in the case of social organisms, as I read evolution: Since the break-up of the primitive European civilisations (primitive, at least, so far as extant history, comparative politics and archæology enable us to see), which seem to have developed communistic social organism on the tribal scale, the current of social evolution was set, until quite recently, in the direction of Individualism.[1]
This individualism may be said to have culminated in the material, plane in Modern Industrialism, or individual and class monopoly, in the means of production; in the intellectual plane in the supremacy of the Baconian method of experiment; in the moral plane in Utilitarianism, and in the spiritual (where that retains any substance) in Calvinism. But even while at the height of its power – say 1850-70 – Individualism carried within it the seeds of its final destruction. The principles of a new society had already been formulated by reformers and “Utopians” of various schools, while the growth of discontent among the uncomfortable classes more than kept pace with that of sympathy among the comfortable. The evolutionary current has now distinctly changed its course and is running at a daily-accelerating speed in the direction of a more perfect Communism – a Communism no longer on the tribal scale, but on the national, or possibly in some departments of the social activities, a still larger scale, and founded on a more complex yet more solid basis. In this higher form of social life, the interests and destinies of each member or component cell of the social organism will be more closely bound up than in the past with the organic whole. Mr. E. Belfort Bax, of the Socialist League, has recently expressed the final possibilities of communistic solidarity in a sentence which I shall do well to quote. It comes at the end of a series of articles entitled “The New Ethic” (The Commonweal, February 4th to February 25th) written from a materialist’s rather than pantheist’s standpoint, which contain, nevertheless, a great deal of interest for Theosophists. Speaking of “the inadequacy of the individual as an end to himself” – the basis of the new Ethic – he suggests that we may regard this growing sense as
“the indication that the final purpose of society, as such, is not to be merely for the consciousness of its component personalities, but that they are in the end destined to be absorbed in a corporate social consciousness; just as the separate sentiency of the organic components of an animal or human body are absorbed in the unified sentiency and intelligence of that body.”
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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.
The first evident advances effected by the Social Revolution will certainly be in the material domain, and this is the only sense in which I am ready to admit that the Socialist movement is materialistic. So, of course, are all other movements having in view the material welfare of those who suffer under the present social order, or, rather, disorder. The abolition of chattel slavery in the British possessions and subsequently in those American States which had previously recognised it, was the result of a humanitarian movement strictly analogous to and comparable with the modern socialist movement, so far as its advocacy by the middle and “comfortable” classes are concerned; but not nearly so unselfish, since many of those who advocated it had everything to gain by the abolition of the competition of slave-labour with that of “free,” or wage-labour. The present middle-class advocates of Socialism, that is to say of the abolition of the wage-labour system itself – a system entailing in many places a much worse and more degrading form of slavery than that of the plantations [2] may fairly claim that there is no element of self-interest in their advocacy, for the material benefits which would result to them by the immediate establishment of socialism, in any of its forms, are very
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doubtful. They would be saved the risks of bankruptcy and ruin, it is true, but in other respects many of them would have to give up their existing advantages, and betake themselves to industries and services, for which the former lives had ill-fitted them.
As to working-class socialists, of course they are fighting for the material redemption and emancipation of their own class; but I think it ill-becomes their opponents among the privileged classes, those who under the present system of society live on their labour, to accuse them of selfishness and “materialism” because they wish to relieve themselves and children of their present almost intolerable burdens. Of course, I do not claim for the victims of the present system that they are as a class one whit less selfish by nature than their masters and conscious or unconscious oppressors. Many of them may even be suffering as Mr. Harbottle seems to suggest from the evil Karmic growths which they have accumulated during past existences. But that is not for their fellow-men to judge of. Nor would it, if true, justify those who become aware of the material causes of their suffering in this life, and who are able to help them in destroying these causes, in raising the old cry, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” What Socialists are now endeavouring to make plain to all, is that everyone is, in his political or collective capacity, his brother’s keeper. He is shirking his duty as a conscious agent of evolution, that is of Nature if he refuses to recognise this.
Even Economic Socialism, therefore, has its higher aspect. The cultivation of solidarity or fraternal co-operation among the wage-slaves and their friends for the emancipation of labour all the world over, the cultivation of the sense of collective or corporate responsibility among all, for the victims of the present Social Juggernaut of capital and privilege, is the very essence of the movement, even in this its most “moderate” but most “materialistic” form. The spirit of solidarity and collective responsibility must, of course, precede as well as accompany, and result from, the progress of the economic movement. It stands to the latter in the relations of cause, accessory, and consequence. Modern civilization, with all its rottenness, has proved a blessing in this respect, that it has developed within it this motive force for its final regeneration. Capitalist production has necessitated the massing together of the workers in large towns, under miserable conditions compared with those of the independent artisans of the towns and villages of olden times; but these very conditions have taught them the necessary lesson of their material inter-dependence, and enabled them better to grasp the higher notion of the inter-dependence of Society and the world at large. Socialism has, then, come to take hold of and develop this germ of the spirit of solidarity, guiding the people in their vague aspirations towards social co-operation, and giving them a definite ideal. Thus the motive power, generated by past economic conditions,
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is developed by Socialists and utilised for the destruction of old and production of new economic forms, which in their turn shall generate new and higher motive forces. This, I think, must be recognized as Nature’s own course of evolution, so far, at least, as our freethinking intellect and ordinary means of observation can ascertain. Thus the Form (Economic Socialism in practice) will be found to precede the substance (complete Human Solidarity, or the Spirit of Socialism), but depends for its own evolution upon a less-perfected Substance (the Spirit of Solidarity), which is itself the product of pre-existing Forms. But both the form and the substance, which will eventually carry us much further than Economic Collectivism, are evolving simultaneously; and from the higher standpoint of Theosophic Pantheism I can see no good in attempting to dogmatize as to which precedes, or ought to precede, the other. Let us merely admit that they are so mutually dependent, that the one cannot be good and the other evil.
Occult Phenomena
W. Ashton Ellis · pp. 67
From "Lucifer" to a few Readers
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 68-71
[Editorial apology to H. L. Courtney for postponing his letter]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 71
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The Theosophical Publication Society
The Editors of Lucifer have been requested to call the attention of its readers to the following announcement; and they have the more pleasure in doing so, since the work in question seems to deserve the hearty and cordial support of all those who attach any importance to the spread of Theosophical ideas by means of literature: –
(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.
(2.) In pursuance of this object it proposes to place within the reach of the subscribers the most valuable contributions which have appeared dealing with the inner Soul-life of man, and providing guidance for its cultivation and development. Its publications will comprise (a) Reprints of valuable magazine articles which have appeared in past years in “The Theosophist,” “The Path,” “Le Lotus,” and Lucifer; (b) Original papers which shall contain practical instruction for students of the Occult; (c) Selections from rare MSS. and works; and (d) Reprints in cheap form, and translations of books not otherwise obtainable.
(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.
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In addition to this they have the right to receive at cost price, all its other publications. Address, the Secretary, R. Harte, 78, Clarendon Road, Notting Hill, London W.
N.B. – As the work undertaken by the Society is an extremely wide and important one, and as the amount of good which it can do is largely dependant on the funds at its disposal, it is earnestly requested that all friends of the movement will support its work by liberal donations.
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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
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doubted. Eftomah’s sister is also a seer and clairvoyant, and there are two powerful scenes in which these abnormal powers are exercised, first by one sister and then by the other. Paulovitch, who induces the trance condition by his will, and his companions on the two occasions are alike profoundly impressed at the time; but the next morning the impression has faded. It is found that the seer saw nothing which could be used for practical purposes, and moreover said nothing which was not already in the mesmerizer’s mind. This is wonderfully true to life. Horror was the first trial of the neophyte in the more credulous age when Lytton wrote, but now it is doubt. The whole book is essentially a life picture, and is fresh and brilliant as only a life picture can be.
It is quite a new idea to literally sprinkle telegrams over the pages of a novel. It adds a certain zest to the reading, as one awaits the next “wire” with the same curiosity with which one awaits it in life at any stirring crisis.
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?
Where the phenomena of mesmerism plays so prominent a part, Theosophy could not escape mention; and, though only referred to casually, it is spoken of in a tone which proves the author better informed on that much misunderstood subject than most of the writers who use the “occult” to give colour to their novels.
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.
A Modern Apostle; The Elixir of Life; the Story of Clarice; and other poems
Miss Constance Naden is, we believe, a Hylo-Idealist; but she is certainly one to whom the ideal side of life appeals with more force than does its materiality. Her volume of poems shows this clearly; and, unlike most modern poetry, penetrates below the surface of things.
“A Modern Apostle,” sketches the picture of one of those enthusiasts in
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whom spiritual intuition burns too brightly to be quenched by the fogs of materialism.
After battling with an agony of doubt, his inner vision is opened, he “senses”
“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.
In sharp contest to this seer of visions stands his beloved, who mistakes the false light of mere brain reasoning for the pure light of intellectual truth.
Both are perfectly honest and sincere. Hence, deeply as they love each other, Ella feels that she would be a fetter on her lover’s soul and sends him from her.
In the end the seer dies, worn out with labour and pain, as die all those who truly serve the truth; but dying he bequeaths to Ella his unfinished task, for the light which shines through his death, pierces her heart and awakens the intuition which lay dormant there.
Thus the story; the form it is clothed in, is the stanza so inimitably wielded by Byron in “Childe Harold.” In Miss Naden’s hands it is effective, although its two last lines, the epigram of each stanza, too often fall dull and heavy on the ear.
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:
“Oh, Life, stern Life . . . |
Or, as more tersely expressed in “Light on the Path,” – “Life’s utterance is not, as you that are deaf may suppose, a cry: it is a song.”
A Professor of Alchemy – Denis Zachaire
This is a romance carved in the full and glowing life of the century of the Renaissance. A truism it is that human life and its passions are ever the same; but in this tale Percy Ross shows an exceptional power of entering into the forms of life and feeling in which the men of three centuries ago breathed and moved. In Denis Zachaire, the reader is made to feel the throb, the intense ardent aspiration of an age in which nature, art and civilisation were bursting in all their magnificence upon the delighted senses of a newly awakened race,
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All things seemed possible to these men rejoicing in their youthful strength, for their’s was still the instinctive consciousness of a life, a life fuller, more glorious, more satisfying than the life of matter.
Denis Zachaire, the Alchemist, his wife Berengaria, a noble type of loving womanhood, his teacher, Wencelas, a striking figure though barely outlined, his enemy Raoul de Foncé, are living beings and in them all there is the same burning intensity of life, but in each differently expressed.
The climax is strong and dramatic, the plot, though simple, is well-conceived, and its interest maintained throughout; but the device of making the spirit of Berengaria appear to Denis to soften his heart, is far too common-place for use in a tale, wherein the pursuit and achievement of the “Philosopher’s Stone” plays so important a part. Indeed, the element of occultism contained in the book is much too slight for such a canvas, but this, perhaps, will be a recommendation in the eyes of many who look rather for amusement than truth. In any case “A Professor of Alchemy” is well worth reading and deserves to be a success, but this rather in the character of a romance than as a work affording any information on the subject of Alchemy and the “Philosopher’s Stone.”
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.
Richard Wagner was a mystic as well as a musician. He penetrated deeply into the inner realms of life through his intellect as well as through his art. His prose writings are full of the most profound mysticism, and the number of the new journal before us gives evidence that this element will receive due recognition. Moreover, its Editor has already shown that he is equally qualified by his natural mysticism to appreciate the writings, as he is by his musical talents to interpret the compositions, of that great genius.
The Meister is got up in a style in keeping with its subject matter; and, in the short compass of 32 pages, it contains a well-chosen selection of articles both philosophic and literary, which will amply repay perusal.
Re The Brain Theorem of the Universe
Robert Lewins · pp. 77
The late Mrs. Anna Kingsford, M.D.
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 78-79
Science and Sciolism
Robert Lewins · pp. 80-82
From the Note-Book of an Unpopular Philosopher
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 83-84
No. 8 – April 1888
What Good has Theosophy done in India?
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 85-91
Self-Evident Truths and Logical Deductions
Franz Hartmann · pp. 92-95
A Strange Adventure
Anna Kingsford · pp. 96-99
Illumination
Jirah Dewey Buck · pp. 99-100
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The White Monk
Not long after this we had a banquet and dancing – well I remember it! – to celebrate the birthday of little Marguerite. For my mother was proud of her child’s loveliness and liked to see it implied in the looks of her many friends. So there were sounds of revelry, and the whirl of dances and bright music.
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?”
(For I have ever held that the truer the servant of Man, the greater his secret contempt for our race. Beware of those who talk much of the beauty of Humanity. Trust rather those who rail at human vices; they are the men to institute a change and to establish the higher ideal. The others love not so much Humanity, as Humanity’s faults.)
Yes, Marguerite was a fair flower, and as I stood aside and heard a group of gallants judging and lauding our country beauties, I heard young Raymond Delorme (a right promising youth of excellent parts and high-breeding) say with ardour in his keen blue eye: “For my part I shall wait for Mistress Marguerite!”
And pending the time of her being older, the youth led her forth to the dance. I stepped outside from the ball-room with the brother’s head strong jealousy hot within me.
Yes, he shall win my pearl, perchance easily, and they will prove one more ensample of lightly returned love. I, her brother, who worship her as a spark of God’s power and beauty sent to make holiness comprehensible to men, shall never in all likelihood have of her one-half the gratitude that Raymond shall for a glance or two of his bright eyes. Devotion is not meant to be returned. Where were then the single-mindedness of Dante and Petrarca, had their ladies thrown over all obstacles to unite with them? Was not Astrophel’s Stella wedded to another man who, perchance, lacked insight to value her?
So I in my trivial thinking, growing morose as the young spirit will in a crowd, when things are not to its liking.
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And then I went forth into the cool star-light, and stepped a little distance from the illumined windows and the sound of fluting, to where the pale heaven-gleams played on the dewy roses, and the stars of the night sang and danced in my fancy a mystic measure that intoxicated me. I threw myself down on the soft lawn under the windows, by the fountain, which sparkled dimly and bounded as if to kiss the stars, and fell again as we all do after striving up to Heaven. Its spray fell on me and seemed the purer and the colder for its leaping upward. I tasted of its coolness and of the dew and of the starry silence out here and I fell into one of the trances that dreamy youth alone can fully share in – a trance of ignorance of the world and its impulses, a nearness of the Ideal, a newness of sensation and an omen of things for which the human intelligence is not naturally born. In such times – for no man knows how long they are – a man grows old in knowledge, but when the world reclaims him, he has oft forgot the half of what he saw, and must spend weary hours, told upon a dial in his study, or the great clock in the market-place, in trying to recollect what was then cast down to him in handfuls.
Something disturbed me; I know not what. Belike it was a stormy flourish of Goodman Devon’s trumpet from within – or what if it were but the faraway last good-night coo of a murmuring wood-dove; I know not. I only know I rose from my trance in a great sadness and yearning hunger and thirst for more insight. How I hated the world to which I should have to creep back! I sighed; “One could bear all, if but one might be helped a step, taught somewhat of the things one is grasping after?” So I said, and, as if in answer, as I rose blindly enough and sighing, a flash of white from the further end of the black cut yews, and the White Monk came hastily along the stone terrace, close under the ball-room windows.
I heard the dance-music blaze out. I heard every note, laughing out to us. A whirl was in my brain, but a grand excitement in me. Now – now would I speak with the old enemy of our race; now should he be forced to serve me – the latest son of the house; now would I see if he be the poor fiction of a rhymester’s brain, or no! I knew he was no mere picture – folly to speak of such a thing. He was real Spirit Life, and I dreaded, while I desired, our meeting. I went to the encounter, as our men had alway gone to danger – with a bright forwardness, but a well-based knowledge of its meaning.
I stood with folded arms in the midst of the terrace walk, with the yews cut into square thick walls on either side of us, and I awaited the quick-moving phantom. Before he came I would arrest him – else I knew the deadly cold terror would stun me whilst he passed. Whiter than the fountain, whiter than the white marble urns, whiter than the pure-flowering springy, whiter than the white cold light of stars. Most wonderful yearning! Why do I, a mortal, feel it towards this white
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strange mystery? “Spirit – man!” I challenged him. “Thou hast the form of a brother to me. Disdain me not – tell me, for the secrets of life are pressing in upon me – tell me wherefore thou art here, unexplained, friendless?”
If I spoke thus to him, or if I have but put the cry of my heart into words here, I no longer know; but I yearned towards him and spread my arms wide abroad as if I might thus stay him. An instant I thought he was gone past me, for a chill blinding mist seemed to surround me, and I felt my spirits leaving their seat in heart and brain, and the opportunity of my keenest hopes becoming lost to me. I fell upon my knees; I besought the majestic, lonely phantom; I prayed him to speak to me and teach me; for I could learn (I entreated) and I would hear.
And then, as I knelt with my hands pressing tightly on my face, and head bent almost to the earth, I did hear.
There was a sigh, long and far away, like a sob for pitifulness, and the White Monk spoke to me.
“Boy,” he said, “thou wilt hear nothing but sorrow from me. And what does that profit thee? Poor poet, ever seeking after the unknown regardless if it be baleful! Well, these have their reward. Those in whom the soul is ever straining away from earthliness may know a charm, in sorrow, and a glory in deep mysteries that I imagine not, nor comprehend.”
And there was a pause. I knew he was by me still, by the cold white light that penetrated my closed eye-lids through my hands. But I feared to lose the priceless moment, and, though I spoke as if the air was thick and heavy, and a weight against my lips, I pleaded for a word from him.
“Nay,” said the monk, it seemed to me with all the grandeur of some ruined demi-god; “no words from me can profit thee. I am walking in mystery that I cannot even learn to know, and which will not accept me. Before death, oh, youth, thou canst not know bewilderment.”
I groaned; my last hope in life seemed cut from under my feet. What! if the problems with which our hearts ache here are tenfold more terrible and more inexplicable in the spirit life, when we are face to face with them, without the tempering of trivial pleasures to distract us? and yet, that it was so, I might hear from this errant spirit, once, perchance, a thinker like to me. I sobbed aloud, in impotence of will under this new infliction. Not only Life, but Death, and Life thereafter were horrible now.
“Dost thou know sorrow?” asked the spirit. I mutely shook my head.
“Perchance thou never mayest,” returned the Monk. “A man may live, youth, even in this world of yours, and never understand it. Oh, be its foe, young dreamer! Seek not to fathom it, not be the cause why others learn it. It is unholy.”
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“Why should a man not brave it?” I urged. “It is the half of human life.”
“Is that a merit?” the voice answered me.
“Sorrow is part of the truth,” I challenged him.
“Privation of truth, rather. Sorrow is illusion.”
“Teach me what sorrow is,” said I. “Illusion itself is the greater part of fact – to us, in any case, if all be said. I am a poet – now I feel it – and I will learn the meaning of every point of knowledge that man can. What care I if the insight wrecks my happiness here – what is earth’s happiness? – or my salvation after death – let me wander wretched as thou – learn I must! God himself ordains it. If sorrow be a secret (myself had rather deemed it common fare enough, and fitting to this our world as bravely as a glove upon a hand) then let me wrestle with its mysteries.” I spoke in hot whispers, all defiance. Still I kept my hands against my eyes; I was a coward under all rebellion, and my soul trembled, lest knowledge should burn it up. I seemed to live a century till the answer came. And then, how different to what I had awaited! No thunder of the gods, no spark Promethean that I might pass to mortals to serve and give them light. Only a sad perplexity.
“Sorrow is never real without immortality,” the White Monk said. “You are like children down here, who rage and weep an hour and then lie down to sleep away the time wearily, grasping a toy that seems new in your disappointed arms for comfort. We – it is not so with us; I cannot cause thee fathom it. Our sorrows are immortal, even as ourselves; note that. We have no toys to comfort us; and we cannot taste realities of happiness, for our sorrow inheres in us, and the real Sorrow and Joy do mutually repel each the other.”
“Thou hast not revealed the nature of immortal sorrow.”
“Thinkest thou that because I died to earth, I must needs be as a god? – I – Pietro Rinucci, the murderer – a hypocrite, a man of violence also? Thou hast no sense of grades, nor of divisible infinity, poor would-be Titan!”
There was scorn, but such a sadness rang in it, that I wept.
“I know not ‘natures,’” said the Monk. “They know, the god-like learners, but I am repulsed. I know my sorrow; it is to have been exiled from every state in which I could use freedom, or understand the nature and reasons of things. It is to carry a deep grief of mine own unspoken in my heart in silence, without a friend, and to go from door to door in a world that has become hateful to me, seeing the misery of others, guessing at their after misery, and not able ever to forget one scene of it, nor of my own.”
“Nay, truly, that is a fate that many share,” I said.
“In your earth-life; yes –” agreed the spirit. “But, after death, thou knowest not what it is! Infinite capacity to receive infinite pain! Love not Sorrow over-much. I charge thee. Seeing it so powerful in the
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earth, men have made a god of it and worship it – do not thou so. There is nothing in it, beyond what its name expresses.”
His voice was so despairing to my ear, used to harsher but more vivid sounds, that I was impelled to look up at him. The sight caught my breath and brought my timid childhood back upon me. For he was terribly the same as in the old portrait of Pietro Rinucci that hung in disgrace in the corridor, away from the pictured ancestors of our house, as a curiosity, breeding dislike and fear. I had often trembled before the portrait, fancying that the deep frowning eyes followed me, and that the slight hand, that was depicted in the act of raising the white cowl back from the face, beckoned to me. And now I was face to face with Pietro Rinucci himself.
And yet, not so! Though he had claimed the name, what was there left of the murderer, save only the semblance of the features and the garb?
This spirit was a revelation of sorrow, all the wickedness had long been tamed away. Nay, how entirely had it doubtless been exorcised by the sharp finger of death, the cooler of all passions! The minute touch of raillery that seemed to me to dwell in the edges of the hard-drawn mouth, just served to put that coping-stone of contrast that is needed to make perfect woe. I was smaller in wisdom than he, and he could not choose but scoff at my braggart will to know, and my confidence that he could tell me, or would tell me, what I desired.
But the pathos of that solitary white figure that appeared to stand but some four paces from me, and yet was removed by one world from my touch – and the grandeur of self-knowledge and unchangeable dignity that looked forth from the piercing cold depths of those despairing eyes, drew my soul out again from myself to contemplate a destiny but half unveiled. At that moment, and still in ignorance so great of the vast After-death, I would have died to quench the wistful light in those deep eyes.
“And is there hope of thy release at last?” I sighed.
“I know not,” breathed the Monk very low. “That is what I cannot learn. Of all mysteries, that is the most clouded. I am tortured – to speak it in such words as you can grasp – by yearning and suspense; even the knowledge of hopelessness were gain compared with this eating uncertainty. For, after all, when all is over, it is the knowledge of things for which we crave. Having that, the soul is fed; but doubt like mine is bitterness beyond comparison with any earthly smart. Ah, the intensity of baffled search for what may not exist for me!”
“Yet even so are we,” I murmured, and the Monk bowed his head solemnly in agreement.
“You do not understand as we,” he added, however.
“Art thou alone thus afflicted, oh spirit? Are not there others whose aid or sympathy can help?”
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“Did I not tell thee I had no friend?” said the Monk. “There is room for all in the spirit-worlds. I am doomed to the sight only of those who dwell, ignorant and sensual, on your earth, or of those whose bare proximity strikes tenfold the confusion into my nature that the sight of me does into thine. There is no fellowship for me, because I abused my fellow-men. I did over-much harm on the earth; thus, when I grew trembling into consciousness, a rational soul in the new aether, my first knowledge was – that I was rejected. I had sinned over-boldly on the earth, so I was refused the boon of re-visiting it as a human being again, with the faint, fresh touch of spirituality that accompanies all new birth to give another chance in a more careful life. I might not again behold the dear light of the sun with eyes meet to joy in it. I was doomed to see the world I had loved and left in a new aspect – an aspect which struck horror, for I understood the evil in it, and the little joy of it (which I could feel no longer) seems o’er slight to compensate for the pains that mortals suffer. Worse than this, I was doomed to retain – for my humiliation and others’ warning – the accursed murderer’s frame in semblance – how I loathed it thou mayst guess. Any mortal’s semblance were pain and harassment to a soul – how much more that very habit and form under which I did my sins. My soul cries out to God by day and by night, but His face is utterly turned from me. I seek every token of His presence – every hint of His mercy – every ray of the ideal Light – and through how many wanderings I have to go before I find them! Your religion, which I once professed, is now foreign to me. I scarcely know the God you worship. And I cannot comprehend the Idea of the spirits’ God. I am broken and crushed by too much knowledge on the one hand, and by utter, sunless, conscious blindness on the other. I know your world now. Have I not seen it develope these two centuries, as you accompt of Time? I hate and utterly despise the things that fill men’s thoughts under the sun. But when I look into the world of souls, I fear annihilation; for I cannot comprehend the vastness of the changed systems of Time, of Space, of Thought, of Being.”
“I am nowhere at home, and no sympathy thrills the note of hope back to me.”
“Why dost thou thus suffer – for sins done in partial ignorance?”
“From purely physical forces, which accompany a man to his tomb. In life I dealt out Sorrow to others – I was the genius of Sorrow; I belong, therefore to sorrow. The strongest part of my nature as man has infected my soul, and my ruling tendency remains in force, a weight that makes the earth still a magnet to me. I am compelled to stay by he place of sorrows, and to drink in all that can be learnt of it, in myself and through others. I am to see the saddest scenes of life according to the body, and, knowing by virtue of the few steps more of wisdom I possess what could avert these most horrible mischiefs, am
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bound in chains that I cannot loose from stirring in help. How many awful tragedies have I seen, standing myself the while by the side of the man who, could I have breathed a word to him, would have changed all! Nay, worse; my presence is destructive, and I cannot enter a poor widow’s cottage without her feeling double woe. Oh, Sorrow hath entered my soul, and spreads a thick mist to keep out the light! I am athirst for Happiness. I could not reach it, even if God gave it, now, for what you men call years. Boy, you have the gift of speech from a burning poet’s heart. Bid men shun sorrow and the causes of it. Let me pass – here is my goal; there is discord in the dance-music; dost thou not hear it, happy one? Let me pass.”
The last glow from the power of those dark, sad eyes. The unwonted permission of speech withdrawn, the human look faded, I knew the face no more – the terror returned – the dazzling whiteness and the shock of chilling giddiness – besides, I felt he must not pass the threshold of our home. I strove, I yearned, I strung my will to passionate tension.
He was gone, and whither I knew not, with the quick, resistless motion, stronger than Death. And I lay in frenzy, crushing the sharp gravel in my hands, and laying its harsh edges hard to my cheek, in passionate, terrified striving to feel the world again.
If Raymond Delorme will wait for Marguerite, he will be a true lover and a deep and tender one, for she is dead; she died that night.
They lie who say immortal spirit is nought |
Yea, spirit communes with spirit, as sense with sense; |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
Buddhist Doctrine of the Western Heaven
Joseph Edkins · pp. 108-117
The Blossom and the Fruit
Mabel Collins · pp. 118-135
Ultimate Philosophy
Herbert L. Courtney · pp. 136-141
[Editors’ note on ‘Ultimate Philosophy’ by H. L. Courtney]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 141
Christian Lecturers on Buddhism, and Plain Facts about the same, by Buddhists
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 142-149
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Our world hath had its saviours – Buddha, Christ, |
Alas, not so! Would men be saved, each one |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
Practical Occultism
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 150-154
154
Shall he who sows the thistle in his soul |
Before men gather roses from sown rue |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
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Correspondence
[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:
A mother departs this life twenty years before her son, who, deeply attached to her, longs to meet her again, and only finds her “shell,” from which all those spiritual qualities have fled which to him were the essential part of the being he loved. Even the “shell” itself, by its resemblance to the former body, only adds to his grief by keeping early memories more vividly alive, and showing him the vast difference between the entity he knew on earth and the remnant he finds.
Or take a second case:
The son meets his mother in Kama loka after a short separation, only to find her entity in a state of disintegration, as her pure spirit has already begun to leave her astral body and to ascend towards Devachan. He has to witness this process of gradual dissolution, and day by day he feels his mother’s spirit slip away whilst his more material nature prevents him from joining in her rapid progress.
I subjoin my name and address, though not for publication, and remain,
“F. T. S.”
[Editors’ reply to F. T. S. on Kama-loka]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 155-156
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[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.
(1.) What books do you specially advise to be read in connection with Esoteric Buddhism? and any remarks upon them
(2.) Have the Adepts grown or developed to their present state and powers by their own inherent capacities? If so how far can the steps of the process be described?
(3.) What is known of the training of the Yogees?
(4.) What is known of the Root races of man of which we are said to be the fifth?
(5.) What are Elementals? – their nature, powers and communication with man?
(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?
(7.) In the Articles on the Esoteric character of the Gospels I observe that as yet no notice has been taken of Prophecy and its alleged fulfilment in Jesus Christ. I have read these with intense interest, and regret that I was unable to obtain the first two numbers of Lucifer.
J. M.
[Editors’ reply to J. M.]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 156-157
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[Letter on ‘Self-Evident Truths and Logical Deductions’]
In the last issue of Lucifer is a paper “Self-Evident Truths and Logical Deductions.” The paper is important, but is not, in my opinion, sufficiently clear. “One is a Unity and cannot be divided into two Ones. This is so if we understand Unity to be many entities, parts, or forms, organised into a body of harmony so forming a Unity.
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?
Also, being an organic Whole, what is the form of the All? And is the form, whatever it is, not also the form of the self-existent Cause or God?
Is nature co-eternal with God? or was there a time, or rather state, when God, the self-existent One, was all in all, before nature was produced from himself? I cannot think of anything of nature, spirit, soul, or God, without the ideas of size, form, member, and relation. So there can be no Life, Law, Cause, or Force, formless in itself, yet causative of forms. All evolutions are in, by, and unto forms; the All-evolver is Himself all Form.
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.
J. W. Hunter.
Edinburgh, 29th March, 1888.
[Editors’ reply to J. W. Hunter]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 157-158
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[Questions on spiritual development]
Several questions have of late occurred to me at the entry of the subject of Theosophy. . . . . I am quite new to the study, and must perforce express myself crudely. I gather that an early result of entire devotion to and inner contemplative life, and a life also of fine unselfishness, such a life as is calculated to allow of the growth of faculties otherwise dormant, that a result of this life will be a growing recognition of the underlying unity of man and his surroundings, that to such a man truth will make itself known from within, and therefore will claim instant acceptance and unquestionable certitude; that in fact the longer that such a life is lived with unfading enthusiasm, the higher will the central spirit rise in self-assertion, the wider will be the survey of creation, and the more immediate the apprehension of truth; also that with these tends to develop a greater physical command of the forces of nature.
Now I submit that such a life as is here spoken of, is led by men who attain to none of these results.
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Most of us know Christians who seem never to have a selfish thought; who exist in an atmosphere of self-sacrifice for others, and whose leisure is all spent in meditation and in emotional prayer, which surely is seeking after truth. Yet they do not attain it. They fail to rise out of Christianity into Theosophy; they remain for ever limited to, and satisfied with the narrow space they move in. (1.) It may be replied that they do expand slowly. Granted, for some of them. But my point is that there do exist (and one is enough for my purpose) men, and particularly women, leading lives both of spiritual meditation and of unselfishness, to whom nevertheless is not vouchsafed a clearer view of the great universe, a larger apprehension of Theosophic truth, nor any increased physical command of nature. (2.) As regards the last point, take for an example John Stuart Mill. Surely he lived always in the white light of exalted contemplation and in instant readiness of high unselfishness; yet to him came no dawn of Theosophic light, nor any larger hold upon the forces of material nature. (3.) May I ask now for a word of explanation on this point? I apologise for the trouble I give, and for my want of ability in unfolding my difficulty.
[Editors’ reply to H. C.]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 159-160
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The Crucifixion of Jesus: An Allegory
Standing alone at the foot of the Cross, in all the solemn darkness of night; e’en though it was day; a darkness so great that it was like that in Egypt which, we are told, could be felt. Standing alone with Jesus, deserted by all, uplifted on the Cross and crowned, yes! crowned, but with thorns, in bitter contempt and scorn of his asserted divine mission to draw all men unto him; standing thus alone with Jesus, in that awful and solemn presence, the presence of the dead.
“I asked the Heavens, what foe to God hath done this unexampled deed?” “’Twas man,” the answer came, “and we in horror snatched the Sun from such a spectacle of grief.”
Still standing nigh the Cross, with the wind roaring and a great tempest raging; whilst the rocks were rent, and the earth did quake as though she would open her mouth and swallow all men, as we are told that she swallowed Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, because of their rejection of Moses.
“I asked the Earth.” “The Earth replied aghast ’Twas man; and such strange pangs my bosom rent, that still, e’en still, I fear and tremble at the past.”
Leaving the foot of the Cross, where Jesus was left to die the death of a blasphemer, in the company of thieves, abandoned and deserted of all men and forsaken of God:
“To man, gay, smiling man, I went, and asked him next. He turned a scornful eye, shook his proud head and gave me no reply.”
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”?
Woman: Her Glory, Her Shame, and Her God
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 161-162
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Absolute Relativism, or Absolute in Relation
This volume, by Captain McTaggart, is one of those rare works in which the author forgets his personality and natural predilections, in favour of a plain statement of facts. He asks the reader to approach together with him the task of examining the various creeds and philosophical systems “with minds divested of preference, prejudice, or bias,” and carries out the laudable policy to the end. One would vainly seek throughout the volume for any of those too oft-repeated sentences in other essays and disquisitions on philosophy, as “I claim to have discovered” – “I maintain,” and so on. “The judgment seat must
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know no bias,” the thoughtful author tells us. He has rightly “deemed it necessary to represent . . . . the various creeds, not from afar off, or as one apart, but as entering into and being one with each, when under consideration,” and he has admirably fulfilled his task.
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:
“Theologies are fading fast; one religion after another slips its hold on the lives of men. Philosophy is chaos; system after system, criticised by the acquired light of acquired knowledge and organised and trained intellect, is abandoned as untrue. Even the torch of science, to which so many minds had eagerly and hopefully turned, burns sadly dim, uncertain, and flickering, crossed and bedarkened with the shades of conflicting theories and unverified hypotheses.”
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.
Commencing with an analysis of our ideas of Space and Time, he proceeds to examine the claims of Materialism. The case for the latter is presented with admirable impartiality, and illustrated with a selection of apt quotations which leave no room for confusion of ideas on the part of the reader. Exception may be taken to the apparent inclusion (pp. 30-31) of such men as Clerk, Maxwell, and Leibnitz in the materialistic fold, and a more definite representation of the modern schools of Continental Atheism would have, perhaps, enhanced the value of the discussion. But these are minor points.
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: –
“In the domain of even the phenomenal – the legitimate sphere of experiment, deduction, and verification – experiments and observations are exceedingly limited by the shortcomings of our faculties. . . . Still, it is constantly found that these provisional and uncertain deductions are exalted to a position of equality with, but of superiority to, the conclusions of reason, based upon other premises, indeed, but of a far higher certainty than the somewhat vague generalities of Matter, Force, and Law.” (p. 45.)
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.
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Chapter II. is devoted to a consideration of Idealism, which in its pure form the gallant Captain seeks to show, is absurdly untenable. While Materialism resolves all things into phenomena of Matter, Idealism only admits the reality of the Ego, and regards all apparent “objects” as its mental states. Both these positions are equally open to objection; a transfigured realism being the safe mean. The “Not Self,” if not “demonstrably” (?) existing, is at least a practical necessity of thought, without which the thinker is hopelessly at sea in his attempt to account for phenomena. About the nature of this Unknown Reality underlying the Universe, Captain McTaggart agrees with Mr. Spencer that we can know nothing save that it exists.
In conclusion, we need only say that the metaphysical reader will find no more bracing tonic than in the perusal of this eminently suggestive and uniformly impartial work.
Visions
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 “Visions” are instructive from several points of view. They offer a curious study to the student of psychology, who will trace in them the various elements due to the Seer and to the influences acting upon him. To the man in search of moral light, they will express truths of the inner life, known and recorded in many forms during the past ages of man’s life-history. They teach most impressively the cardinal doctrine of that inner life, viz., that man is absolutely his own creator. To the student of practical psychic development, they speak of the difficulties which attend the opening of the psychic senses, of the difficulty of distinguishing between the creation of man’s own imagination and the more permanent creations of nature.
There is a pathetic touch here and there, bringing out clearly the difficulties just mentioned. The seer longs for the personal contact of earth and is told “to leave the personal.” How long will it be before this, the deepest truth of Theosophy, is in any sense realised even by such seers as M. A. Oxon?
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
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is and must be absolutely impersonal? But this lesson is one hard to learn, so hard that many lives suffice not even for its comprehension.
The statements on page 21 would seem to show that the visions recorded are those of the Devachanic state. For it said that all the scenery and surroundings, the natural world of that plane in short, are the creations of the particular spirit with whose sphere the seer is in contact. This coincides perfectly with the Theosophic view, and when once this truth is really grasped, Spiritualists will realise how mistaken they have been in attacking a doctrine which is in reality what they have so long been seeking for, and which offers them the logical and philosophic system which they need as a basis for their investigations.
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.
Les Mystères de l’Horoscope
Dentu, Editeur.
This book is mainly based on a work by P. Christian, “Le petit homme rouge des Tuileries.” It is a combination of astronomical astrology with the keys and numerals of the Tarot, the point of departure being the name, surname and date of birth of the individual whose horoscope is to be cast.
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 first conclusion to which the student is almost irresistibly impelled is that the “reading” of the horoscope is a matter of intuition and at least semi-clairvoyance. And the second is that a real seer could readily dispense with all such paraphernalia.
Still the book is an interesting and valuable contribution to occult literature, and in particular to the text-books which are of use to students in the training and development of their own faculties.
It is well worth the study of our readers, especially as it relieves one almost entirely from the mathematical calculations demanded by ordinary astrological methods.
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A Dream of the Gironde and other Poems
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 seek for happiness instead of truth; |
And again –
“My faith is sure, |
The blank verse in which the body of the drama is written is admirably treated and flowing in its rhythm, and occasionally offers us a dainty little Shakespearian conceit, such as Marie Antoinette’s address to Louis: –
“Dear Louis, speak not thus: I would not change |
In the shorter poems contained in this book a remarkable ear for music is evinced by the cadence of the varied rhythm. In this respect that entitled “Lost Happiness” is perhaps the most finished, witness: –
“Sweetheart, ’tis the happy spring-time; |
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In the light |
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”: –
“’Tis not ‘I know;’ |
Or again: –
“Oh, true artist, swiftly listen, rise and hear while dewdrops glisten; |
And: –
“Heav’n will be realised, and truly known, |
The whole poem, “Thistle-Blossom,” is to our mind the finest in this collection, portraying as it does the noble sacrifice of two souls who put behind them selfish thoughts of mutual and exclusive love, and each gives his and her whole life and energies to urging on mankind to higher aims, till kindly death at last unites each with the other in the bosom of Eternity. The last extract for which we have space, and with which we take reluctant leave of these fascinating poems, sums up the purpose of this tale: –
“Not so, oh love; it is not happiness |
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.”
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Theosophical and Mystic Publications
The Theosophist for the months of February and March 1888 is above its general average of interest and value. In the February number the continuation of the series of articles on “Nature’s Finer Forces” is full of valuable information for psychics and practical students of the occult, which would otherwise cost them much study and labour to obtain.
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.
The paper on the “Golden Ratio,” translated from a German periodical, deals with a subject which has attracted much attention there, and has been handled with masterly skill by at least one writer in that land of students.
Unfortunately, in England it is considered “unpractical,” but this is very far from being the case, and students would find it well worth their time and labour to devote more attention to the laws of super-nature which are exemplified in this and other mathematical relations.
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.
The “Angel Peacock,” a mystical tale which has been appearing in the last few numbers, grows very interesting. Some of our London readers may remember seeing the famous bird – the Melek Taous, the sacred symbol or image of the Yezidis, the much-maligned “Devil-Worshippers” – on exhibition in a certain Indian Art Gallery in Oxford Street. It was this bird – a marvellous work in graven and inlaid steel – which gave the suggestion for the story here worked out, and those who are sensitive to subtle influences will realise, on seeing the original, the veracity of the impression conveyed in the fiction.
Fourteen pages of this number are occupied with a review of the “Kabbalah Unveiled,” which has already been noticed in the pages of Lucifer. Of the present review it can only be said that it is exceedingly to be regretted that it should have ever been published in a Theosophical magazine.
In the March number the articles on the “Sankhya and Yoga Philosophy” and the “Kaivalyanavanita” especially deserve careful perusal.
The former contains, besides a mass of bibliographical information of value to special students, a brief and admirable summary of this philosophy, as well as some very useful hints for practical work. The latter is one of those translations from Eastern works which are of great use to the student of Hindu philosophy.
Besides these, Dr. Pratt continues his series of papers on “Travestied Teachings,” under which name he means the various forms of doctrine taught in the Old Testament. He brings forward some very interesting considerations, which, however, raise issues too wide for discussion here. In Madame Blavatsky’s new work, the Secret Doctrine, now ready for press, much information is given and many new lights are thrown on these questions, which are of so great an interest to men born and bred up in attachment to the Jewish scriptures.
An article on the “Anatomy of the Tantras” is also very suggestive and throws, thanks to the medical knowledge of one of the staff at Adyar, a good deal of light on some obscure points connected with the relations between the psychic and physical organisations of man.
The Path for February opens with a continuation of Mr. Brehon’s papers on the Bhagavat-Gita, the concluding sentence of which is so important that it must be quoted: –
This (the only real) system of initiation “is secret, because founded in nature and having only real Hierophants at its head, its privacy cannot be invaded without the real key. And that key, in each degree, is the aspirant himself. . . .”
From the Bhagavat-Gita we pass to the Seeress of Prevorst, a portrait of whom is contained in the number. This
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remarkable woman is an extremely curious example of a natural-born seeress, and her life and experiences are very curious and instructive reading.
Jasper Niemand’s “Stray Thoughts” are, like everything he writes, full of deep truth and knowledge. To quote one, as an example:
“Pain is an effort of Nature to restore its lost harmonies; therefore pain is joy. Joy is the effort of Nature to disturb the proportions of harmony by the exclusive appropriation of a selected note: therefore joy is pain. These together are the second lesson of life. The first is sex, itself a permitted discord whereby true harmony is better conceived.”
Compare these lines with the suggestive words in “Through the Gates of Gold”; remembering how well this truth is exemplified in the history of architecture. Ruskin’s works are instinct with it, though nowhere is the principle so clearly and tersely formulated. A perfect architecture becomes extravagant and degenerates, through the undue stress laid on some one particular part of its perfection.
Charles Johnston’s article on the “Lessons of Karma” is well thought out; but we need much more elucidation of this most important subject from someone who knows, before clear and true conceptions by which to guide life can be formed.
“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.
In the March number, the Editor writes a page or two on the past history of the “Path.” His words are bold and noble, and should inspire courage in the hearts of those whom the difficulty of the arduous struggle of life has cast down.
Mr. Brehon concludes his articles on the Bhagavat-Gita, by showing how life itself, “the daily round, the common task,” forms the preliminary stage of the “Path,” the first initiation into Knowledge.
Two articles are especially remarkable in this number. One, “Give us One Fact,” signed by Nilakant, and “East and West” from the pen of Jasper Niemand.
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.
Were some of the hunters after phenomena and “experiences” to study the records contained every month in “Tea-Table Talk,” they would soon find that each day is a regular mine of such occurrences. They would soon perceive in their own constant experience those tangible proofs for which they profess themselves to be waiting, and one would hear less of the parrot-cry: “Show us a sign, and we will believe.”
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.
Le Lotus for February contains a reply by the Abbé Roca to some observations made by one of the Editors of Lucifer on an article by him of which a summary was given in a recent number of this Magazine. The gist of the Abbé’s reply is that his meaning has been misunderstood, and so he says “et tu quoque,” to her remarks. The readers of the Lotus will be able to judge for themselves on the points at issue; at any rate these articles are certainly interesting reading.
The second article is a translation from the German of Karl zu Leiningen’s article on the Kabalistic conception of the soul and of death. This is followed by an ingenious and very learned paper by M. Papus on the Legend of Hiram Abiff – one of the great symbols in Free-Masonry.
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.
Astral Perception, an article translated from the Platonist – an American Journal – is worth reading, though it is only a compilation containing neither new information nor new thought.
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.
From the concluding pages the following
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extract is amusing enough to bear translation. The famous scientist Moleschott, in a lecture delivered on December 31st, sang the praises of modern civilisation, but above all the rest he glorified – the Postal Card! Thus: –
“It could never have been foreseen that the pile would become the mother of the Postal Card, another mistress of simple and stirring words. Our younger generations know how to make such good use of it, that for some of them it is still too large. In wonderfully few lines they can assure their friends of their affection, produce in them the illusion that for a few moments they have had the pleasure of their presence, have felt their caresses, the touch of their minds. Even the economy of time leaves one leisure to write these short letters, for which time was lacking in the days of Pliny. And the interchange of ideas, as well as the habit of affectionate feeling, have gained therein inestimably.
“So true is it that every application of Science developes the moral power of man.”
Ah! qu’en termes galants ces choses-là sont dites! |
My brothers, let us adore materialistic science aureoled with post-cards! – concludes the Lotus.
The March number opens with a fragment from a new work on which M. Stanislaus de Guaita is at present engaged, and which is to be called “The Serpent of Genesis.” It is to be feared that this work will contain along with very much of permanent value some rather fanciful esotericism – to judge by several of the statements made in these extracts.
But – we shall see.
Another translation from the German, an article this time by Dr. Carl du Prel on the scientific aspect of the post-mortem state, very interesting, very learned, but neither quite so luminous nor so convincing as might be.
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.
Light is becoming more philosophical, and, consequently, more interesting. Séance phenomena are apt to grow monotonous from their resemblance to each other, and perpetual columns of such records are a pain and a weariness to the flesh of the reader, whatever the performance of such feats may be to the “spirits,” who do them.
Read in this aspect, the comments are instructive which it makes on a séance held by Dr. J. Rhodes Buchanan with a medium called Watkins, at which the “spirit” of the late Professor Carpenter is alleged to have communicated with the discoverer of Psychometry.
“Says Dr. Buchanan to Professor Wm. B. Carpenter: In life you would not tolerate such views as mine; how do you now regard my discoveries?”
“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: –
“Professor – One is liable to make mistakes as long as one is in the body. I regard it as the grandest thing yet, and so easily understand your new science of which you are the representative. I also come back willingly and acknowledge that I was wrong. It is a very strange feeling – the coming back here in this manner.”
“Strange feeling indeed! A change has come over the spirit of his dream, since the days when Mr. Crookes demolished him, and held him up to inextinguishable laughter. Strange company, too, he found himself in. Beginning with St. John (who seems to have assured Dr. Buchanan that his (Dr. Buchanan’s) intellectual work was “the most important ever done on earth”), we have Drs. Gall and Spurzheim, Dr. Rush and Wm. Denton, and then at the tail the remarkable man with his most remarkable communication. Who shall read us this riddle?”
“We have not yet got down to the real truth on these matters, and perhaps we never shall. Meantime it is the matter of the message, not the name at its close, that is of the most importance to us. Mr. Watkins is undoubtedly a very excellent medium, and the writings given to Dr. Buchanan are, no doubt, genuine.”
When once such a highly intelligent spiritualist as M. A. Oxon, himself a psychic, admits frankly that the communicating “intelligences” of séance rooms are not always what they call themselves, a long step has been taken to the reconciliation of modern spiritualism with the philosophy and knowledge of the ancients and with Theosophy as the inheritor of these traditions.
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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Correspondence
Astrological Notes – No. 5
Morrison writes (Lilly’s Introduction to Astrology, Bohn’s Edition, p. 100): “The most difficult thing in all questions is to judge of time with accuracy.” Yet, when achieved, such a verified calculation is one of the most convincing proofs of the truth of Horary Astrology. To figures which merely declare that an event will or will not happen, the objection is always raised that it may have been a mere coincidence; hence it requires a very large number of such figures to demonstrate to the honest sceptic that the post hoc is really also propter hoc. But that the time of an event should be accurately predicted considerably prior to the event itself, the circumstances of the case being also such that all ordinary means of calculation were impossible, is surely a proof which cannot rationally be gainsaid. That such should be a mere coincidence would be a greater marvel than that Horary Astrology should be true. Furthermore, a prediction devoid of a date, loses half its value; for whether it is a prediction of good of which we wish to avail ourselves to the fullest extent, or of evil which we desire to avert, or, if that be impossible, to minimise, we need to know the time of its predicted fulfilment with, at least, some degree of certainty, in order to regulate our actions accordingly.
There are two methods of judging time in Horary Astrology.
(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.
The first method needs no explanation, except this, that it seems only applicable to certain cases, and what those cases are have not yet been fully determined.
The second method, which is the one generally resorted to, would have also been easy of application, had it not been for the extraordinary confusions and contradictions to which astrologers have committed themselves. If the reader will refer to the above-mentioned work of Lilly, and compare what he has written at pp. 84, 93, 94, 100, 104, 105, 117, 118, 121, 131, 153, 191, 217, 239, 250, 263, 291, he will find proof of this.
C. Heydon, in his New Astrology, 1786, second edition, pp. 115-6, gives another mode of calculating by signs and houses, and Guido Bonatus (Astrologers’ Guide, p. 33) a third method.
Morrison was the first to clear up this confusion, and enunciate the true rule; which has been accepted by Simmonite and Raphael. It is as follows: –
| Signs | In angles | In succeedents | In cadents |
|---|---|---|---|
| Moveable | days | weeks | months |
| Common | weeks | months | years |
| Fixed | months | years | unknown |
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.
And here let me say that no astrologer has, so far as I know, definitely stated whether by a “month” a lunar or calendar month is meant: indeed Lilly (p. 94) seems to imply that he reckoned a calendar month. But this surely must be an error; if days, weeks, and years are to be reckoned as fixed and practically unvarying epochs of time corresponding to definite astronomical cycles; is it rational to calculate months by a purely arbitrary and varying division of time, out of harmony with the lunar cycle? This alone should be sufficient to prove that lunar months are to be reckoned, and my experiments have hitherto shown that it is so.
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But there is another and most important point which has not yet been elucidated. We find, as a matter of fact, that the event does not always occur at the exact time predicted; and the question at once arises, what is the limit of margin to be allowed? If we can allow a possible margin of a single day, why not of a week, month or year? That some margin should be allowed is only reasonable, if Astrology is a real science, that margin must be estimated by rule.
Two suggestions have been made.
(1.) Simmonite says, and others agree with him:
“Great south latitude prolongs the time; great north latitude often cuts it shorter; if the significators have no latitude, the exact time is made simply by the aspects. Degrees and minutes of latitude, if it be south, should it is said be added to the time, but if north, subtracted from it, but I have not much opinion of this.”
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.
Raphael (Horary Astrology, p. 49) gives another explanation of the fact.
“This is a difficult thing to judge exact, unless the planets be on the cusps of houses; for instance, the ☽ in ♈ on the cusp of the 10th denotes days; but if ☽ were in ♈ in the middle of the 10th, it would be longer time, for the time gradually increases from a day on the cusp [of the 10th] to a week on the cusp of the 11th; and from a week on the cusp of the 11th to a month on the cusp of the 12th, that is for moveable signs; and the other signs and houses are to be dealt with in a similar manner according to the locality of the planet.”
Were this so, it would be almost impossible to judge the large majority of figures, without a most tedious mathematical calculation.
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.
So far as my observations have extended, I have found the rule to be this: – allow a margin of one degree, so that if a degree in the figure signifies a day, allow one day; if a month, allow a (lunar) month, &c.; but whether this margin is to be allowed before, as well as after the exact date shown by the figure, I have not yet made sufficient experiments to determine.
Another problem to be solved is whether the above rule of calculating the value in time of a degree by houses and signs is modified if the applying significator is about to leave the house or sign it is in, and so within orbs of the next house or sign. In the figure given in No. 4, though the applying significator ☿ was in 29° 36′ 15″ of ♓, and so decidedly within the orbs of the following sign ♈, it made no difference in the calculation; hence I should conclude, from analogy, that the same applies to the houses also.
No. 9 – May 1888
Occultism versus the Occult Arts
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 173-181
Bird and Butterfly
C. Pfoundes · pp. 182-184
The Sraddha
Andrew T. Sibbald · pp. 185-193
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Oh hills empurpled ’neath the sunset’s gold |
Surely this eve my yearning spirit hath trod |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
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Previsions of later Life
I must begin by saying that I left Scotland when 11 years old and went to live in Morocco. I had been in Spain, but never in Switzerland or any other European country. Having outgrown my strength, I was delicate and suffered from pains in the head and the eyes. I therefore could not read, but used to lie in my room alone for long hours during the day, as well as awake during night. I generally lay with closed eyes and used to see visions when awake, and vision-dreams in sleep.
Here is one.
I fancied myself in front of an old abbey house with church attached. In front of one wing was a fountain unlike any I had ever seen before, and so in my dream I looked and wondered. It was in a garden, and to the left there was an avenue of poplar trees going down to a sheet of water, which I thought was the sea. With me, by my side, was a tall, fair, handsome boy of 17. I did not know who he was but thought it quite natural that he should be with me.
Presently there came out of the other wing of the house, an oldish lady, with a handsome face, smiling, bowing, and talking French to us. She was a dwarf, her figure crooked and distorted, and her arms frightfully long. She came and unlocked the door opposite the fountain and led us into and over the apartments. Behind one of the doors of the dining-room stood an old harpsichord, a key of which I happened to touch in passing. It made a jangle, upon which the old lady in a very excited manner begged me to desist and not do so again.
In my dream I felt as though this was my house.
Presently, a long hay-cart came rattling down the slope which led to the Abbey on the inland side, and in it were children of various ages, and with them an elderly man with a gentle, nice face. I had the feeling that they all belonged to me, but in what relation we stood to each other, I was puzzled to know. We were very busy arranging and fussing about, when suddenly I awoke. . . . .
I was 16 years old when I had this dream.
I had long ceased to remember this vision of my girlhood, when it so happened that I had to take my children to the South of France. I was then 43 years old. After passing a year in France we thought of going to Switzerland, and I took my fair, tall son of 17 with me to look for a suitable house. I was told of the Abbey of St. Sulpice on the Lake, and went there. The moment I saw the fountain in the garden
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the tall poplars, and the house, the dream of my youth flashed back upon my memory, and I said to my son:
“I will take this house, for I saw it years ago in a vision, and know it.”
Of course the boy thought it all “imagination.” So, to convince him, I told him that if it was the house of my dream, the lady to whom it belonged would come out of the other wing (as described in the first part of my narrative), and that I would take him through a dark stone entrance and up some stone stairs to a long ante-room. There we would turn to the left and go into a room, behind the door of which we would find an old harpsichord, that I would touch a key, and what would be the result. All this happened exactly as I knew it would, and as I had seen twenty-seven years before.
Shortly after this, we all came to live at Morges. The only conveyance we could find to hold us all, children and bundles, was a long hay-cart in which some straw was thrown to sit upon. Away we drove to St. Sulpice, and down we came in the rattling cart along the hill slope from the village to the Abbey, just as, so many years before, I had seen my husband and children arrive.
Again when I left Switzerland, I was looking out for a country house in Herefordshire, and I came to one I knew at once, as one of my “Homes” in dreamland, when between 16 and 17. I knew the dark oak staircase, &c., and my way about the house. In this vision I had seen the same people as in the Switzerland vision, only they were rather older, and I had seen in the garden my mother and a sister. All this happened exactly as I had seen it.
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.
I saw in my dream a likeness of myself, but quite grown up, standing on the first landing of the oak staircase dressed in soft India white muslin, watching a baby boy in white frock crawling up the stairs. I also saw an old high clock in the hall below the stairs. I was looking on at this picture, and wondered who this girl was, so like me, and yet too much like a mother, so I concluded it was my own mother I saw (who at 40 looked like a girl of 25). When I came to my father-in-law’s house with my little boy I was about 23, and I wore soft muslins in the hot summer days – the house I saw was exact.
And now that I am seventy years of age, those dreams are as fresh in my memory as a scene of yesterday.
E. C. H. C.
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Acquired Habits
In attempting to deal with problems which, only find their solution worked out to the full on planes and in terms incomprehensible to our ordinary senses, it would seem possible that illustrations drawn from the science of physiology should serve to explain these problems somewhat more fully than those illustrations which are drawn from physical science alone. Physiology is at least the science of life, and though, when pressed, we must admit that we know very little indeed of the main factors which lie behind the phenomena of life; and that, with all the means of research which we possess, we know nothing of even the physical forces in themselves, but only study their manifestations and correlations, yet we may, at all events, argue from the little we do know, and attempt to correct our conclusions by comparison with the analogies which we can draw from every science. The principle involved in the “as above, so below,” is shown to be true in all departments of science, and has formed a most valuable means of verifying the results obtained by pushing a theory to its legitimate conclusion. Thus by correcting the phenomena of vital force by those of physical, we may arrive at many more or less just conclusions. Therefore, it is probable that by proceeding a step further, and drawing analogies from physiology, we may form an idea of what, for want of a better term, may be called the life of morality, and the forces whereby it is governed. By the term moral, I do not mean to convey any idea of that which underlies what is ordinarily known as morality, but a very much wider idea than that, namely, the force which really lies at the base of and inspires all our motives of action. Of course these are indirectly also at the root of our physical and what may be called our animate life, in which we men are in contact with the life of animals; but at present we need not endeavour to make a distinction between man and the animals, which are endowed with the physical and animate life force, but in whom the moral life is entirely latent, save in the case of a very few of the higher species, such as dogs and elephants. Though, even in these cases, it may be argued with good show of reason that this “moral life” of the higher animals is the result of education.
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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what is known as the sympathetic system of nerves, with its closely meshed network of nerves and ganglia, which lies outside, but in front of, the vertebral column, the whole length of the body; this system is closely connected in its whole extent with the brain and spinal cord, and the branches therefrom, which are known as the cerebro-spinal system of nerves. Again to some extent the control of the nerves lies with the Will of any man, and the actions which result are termed “voluntary,” but a very large majority of the processes and functions of the animal body are what are called “Reflex.” These “Reflex” processes for the most part take place thus: – An impression is made on what are called the nerves of sensation; these conduct a stimulus to one of the nerve centres above mentioned, and from this centre the stimulus is reflected along a motor nerve, and the action or function ensues. Thus the sensation is “reflected” into motion independently of the consciousness of the individual. Perhaps the best example of a limited reflection is in the case of the eye, when, in response to the stimulus of light, the iris alone, of all the muscles in the body, moves.
Now all reflex actions are essentially involuntary, although they in great part admit of being controlled, modified, and prevented by the will. They, most of them, are directed for the preservation of the well-being of the body, and markedly show how the nerve centres combine and arrange in order the action of the muscles, so that they may unite for this common end. Among “Reflex” actions there is a large class called “Secondary,” which require for their first performance, and for many subsequent performances, an effort of the will more or less intense, but which, by constant repetition, are habitually and almost mechanically performed, and in many cases almost without the intervention of consciousness and volition: such are reading, writing, and walking. This capacity of the nervous system, which consists in “organising conscious actions into more or less unconscious ones,” is that which makes education and training possible. It is by “association” of the reflex actions frequently repeated in a definite order that these actions come to take on a species of “automatism.” To such an extent is this carried that we are all familiar with instances of persons, when in the somnambulic condition, writing and playing the piano in a state of complete unconsciousness to physical surroundings.
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
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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.
We may now consider the sympathetic system of nerves. This system of nerves at first sight appears to be anatomically too complex to be understood. In reality, however, it is much more simple in arrangement than the cerebro-spinal, and its complexity is due to the manner in which each part is linked to the neighbouring and distant parts and to the cerebro-spinal system as well. When dissected out it is found that the essential parts of this system consist of a ganglion, or nerve centre, and two nerves – afferent and efferent – leading to this centre, and from it to one of the organs. Thus the sympathetic system is made up of an enormous number of small systems, and the whole are united into the greatest complexity. But there is one essential difference between the two systems. In the case of the cerebro-spinal system, the majority of the actions taking place under its guidance are voluntary actions; in the case of the sympathetic system not only do the majority of actions take place without a voluntary effort, but they are never controlled by the mind save under the strong excitement or depressing influence of some passion; or secondarily, through some “voluntary movement” with which the involuntary region of the body is “associated.” But in this latter case the action is really involuntary. Thus, in exceptional instances only does the mind control the action of the sympathetic nerves, and then only under undue excitement or depression; while for the most part the various centres of the sympathetic system, and also of the spinal cord, are reflex centres, which, subject to the “inhibiting action” of the brain, or more highly-organised centre, possess an independent action of their own that, aided by custom, habit, and frequency of use, almost amounts to automatism.
In the consideration of automatism we find that there is a nervous region of very great importance situated at the top of the spinal cord and immediately below the brain, and which, roughly speaking, is just within the skull about an inch behind a line drawn horizontally through the lobe of the ear. This region is so important that it has been experimentally found that the entire brain and spinal cord with this sole exception may be removed and still the heart will continue to beat and the animal will go on breathing. But when this region is injured, death ensues at once. Now the most important of the functions of the Medulla Oblongata, as the region in question is called, is that of respiration, and this one function may serve as the type of automatic actions, although there is some dispute about it. Like all the functions which are necessary to life it is essentially involuntary, but its action is also, to some extent, under the control of the will, for otherwise
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man would be unable to speak or to sing. It is argued that the act is a reflex one owing to the stimulation of nervous fibres which are distributed to the lungs; on the other hand it is stated that respiration takes place by direct stimulation of the Medulla Oblongata by the increasingly venous condition of the blood. Probably both functions exist, but the nerves leading from the lungs to the “respiratory centre” may be cut or may be paralysed by chloroform, and still the complicated muscular movements which constitute respiration take place in an orderly manner. As said above, respiration can to some extent be controlled by the will, and the breath can be “held” for a varying length of time which increases with practice. But the need of breath eventually overcomes the strongest opposition, and even the most determined attempts to commit suicide in this manner have failed. Still there is no doubt that by practice persons have increased the time during which they can hold their breath, as in certain well-authenticated cases of suspended animation, which have occurred in various parts of the world and especially in India, and thus there is shown to be a power which may be exercised in control of the natural automatism of the body and which, so far as the bodily frame is concerned, is independent of it. Were this not he case the instances of sudden death which occur through shock, and without injury to any part of the body, would be impossible, for there is no reason why the functions of respiration and of the heart should be interfered with, and the body would go on breathing and the heart beating under the stimulus of the Medulla Oblongata.
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.
To those who have studied metaphysics the term “personality” is a very familiar one. In reference to the present subject it would seem to stand to the “higher self” in very much the same relation as the body does to the brain – or rather to the brain only as the organ of mind; that is to say that the personality is, on the moral plane referred to previously, the outer covering, more or less gross, of the real man within – the higher self. This latter is the gradually increasing product of ages and is added to by the “personality” only when it carries out the spiritual aspirations which arise beyond, but which are communicated to the
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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.
And this brings into prominence a curious fact in physiology and pathology that if either a nerve centre or nerve leading from that centre be stimulated without the impulse passing to and through that centre, the actions which result are tumultuous and disordered. This fact has a very important bearing by analogy on those actions which are dictated, reflexly or not, by the “personality” only, for, as regards the higher self or brain, they are found tumultuous and disorderly and are, as a rule, not “directed with a view to the welfare of the organism,” and more especially of other organisms. It would be impossible to enter on an elaborate analysis of what the personality really is – and as tedious as if one were in these pages to enter on a detailed description of the minute anatomy of the brain and spinal cord. Man is a compound, in his personality, of “desires, passions, interests, modes of thinking and feeling, opinions, prejudices, judgments of others, likings and dislikings, affections, and ambitions, public and private.” For the most part this personality constitutes the horizon of man, and identifies him with this narrowed circle of interests. In other words he becomes exceedingly “Selfish.” Of course the circle is very frequently enlarged, as in the case of family, of a society, of a church, or a state, and other individuals esteem men in proportion as their circle enlarges. Now the enlargement of the circle to and beyond these limits is a process of extreme difficulty, and especially when the circle is enlarged beyond these limits. But there is also another element which has to be eliminated – the thought of Self must not enter into the consideration at all. That is to say that the personality as a source of motive must be entirely eliminated and destroyed; and this is the process which occupies ages and is accompanied by such pain and suffering that it can only be faced by the aid of a consciousness of the higher self, and that this work is the only work worth doing. It is not very difficult to understand why this should be so difficult, and why it should take ages to accomplish, for we have to remember that it is the accentuation of personality against personality – the competition to live – which is at the base of all our modern education. In every age the strong man has kept his citadel against all comers until a stronger than he came, and the question is whether he can find a deeper and greater source of strength. To some extent that has been found, for “union is strength”; and the only problem has been amidst the clashing of personalities to make union possible. The parallel in physiology is seen in the difficulty, only obviated by long practice, experienced by divers in holding their breath. Murder will out, respiration will recommence and the educated personality reasserts itself, as
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the body insists upon the breath it is accustomed to have. But again it is possible for man to lay aside the limitations of his personality and merge his living interests with those of the world in which other personalities have an equal right and share. He can force himself to no longer feel separate from them, and to live in companionship with that which in them is beyond their personalities – their individualities, their Higher Selves. But this is a process which needs an enormous strength of will and an application to which most men are unequal. The ordinary senses have to be stilled and quieted before – if one may misapply a term – the sense of the higher self comes into play, and the divine companionship of the higher self is felt and realised. Thus then the analogy of physiology is maintained: the bodily functions are reflexly fulfilled, and by long education, in some cases, automatically, but are subject, in proportion as another education has trained the mind and will, to the brain. Equally so on the moral plane, the desires and tendencies of the personality act more or less reflexly and automatically without other control. But in proportion as the limitations of Self have been transcended, so also is the extent of the power increased which controls the personality. The brain in one case, the higher self in the other, being trained and educated to send down impulses sufficient to control the physiological needs of the animal mechanism, or the desires of the personality.
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
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in order that the higher self shall have the control, and the personality not allowed to exercise sway.
Finally, however, the real importance of the argument does not rest with the higher self, but with the spiritual life beyond; or, as “Light on the Path” states it, “the life beyond individuality.”
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.”
A. I. R.
Oft in the middle night |
| Roger Hall. |
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Mary Merivale's First Words to Her Disciples
Mary Merivale having become convinced that in renunciance of personal joy by the happy few, lies alone the possibility of redemption for the miserable many, has left her husband and home to follow in the old way, lightened by the new science, the footsteps of Buddha and Christ.
“The present ’tis we strive for, and to-day |
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Then spake one quickly, “tell me this I pray |
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And while we marvelled, on our heads she laid |
II.
One of the Socialists After Her Address Becomes Her Faithful Disciple.
Then passed she from us, but I followed still |
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Knows little of love’s lore save only this. . . . . |
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Of the dog-nature, proud man oft is fain |
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Nor fear to live where such foul deeds are done! |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
The Blossom and the Fruit
Mabel Collins · pp. 209-226
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Theosophy and Modern Socialism
But if it is true that the Socialist movement, in its practical effects, is confined for the present to the material domain, that its first victories would be in that domain, and that its present supporters for the most part do not look beyond it, I cannot concede that there is nothing in Socialism to command the attention of Theosophists from higher points of view. The movement to my mind is simply part of the great evolutionary current which is bringing back the true Golden Age, the age in which Humanity and Divinity, Love and Wisdom, will once more be united as they have never been within historical times. Economic Socialism I look upon simply as the necessary form which precedes, and foreshadows, the substance. The man cannot become a complete man until he has first become a complete human animal; the divine spark has no temple yet to occupy. Neither can society at large in any nation or world become a true spiritualised organism until it has first evolved the form necessary for the development of something like what Mr. Bax has termed a corporate consciousness. If the present capitalistic régime, with its seething warrens of human misery, will come to be regarded by posterity as Laurence Grönlund describes it, as the teething period of society, the next, or collectivist régime, will doubtless correspond with the school. Its individual members having been run for a generation or two into the same educational mould, and class distinctions and antipathies having died a natural death (their social and economic roots being destroyed), society will acquire the cohesion of a well-ordered family, and the next step, under communism, to complete fraternity and solidarity, will be a comparatively easy one. It will be for society the zenith of sensual, aesthetic, and other purely human pleasures, as youth is for the individual. But the potentialities of the higher life will already have been realised by many, and all will be growing ripe for self-revelation of the higher truths.[4] I look forward to a time when it will be just as exceptional to find an individual destitute of that auto-gnosis which may become the instrument of psychic regeneration and development, as it is now to find one born both deaf and blind, and thus incapable of intellectual development by educational processes. The social commonwealths of the future will act first as physical and intellectual, then
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as psychical and spiritual, forcing-houses for humanity. I do not mean to say that any evolution or revolution of the social structure will change the sum total of experiences, painful and pleasurable, for each individual, but that in the existence or existences which he passes under the coming régime, the liberties and opportunities for experience of all kinds being enormously multiplied, he will be ripened at a much faster rate; also that the difference between the average and the extremes of individual conditions will be very much reduced. If I am right in this forecast I may truly maintain that Socialism, although itself but part of the evolutionary current now prevailing, does and will act as the precursor of supra-evolutionary progress, and is calculated to “raise the intellectual and instinctive moral standard of the whole community to such an extent that all will, in the next generation after the Social Revolution, be amenable to the truths of Theosophy.”
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.
I do not assert that the above represents the general view taken by Socialist thinkers of the future evolution of Society and its individual components. Few care to look so far ahead; nor, indeed, would it be profitable or advisable for those who do to utter their ideas broadcast among mixed audiences, or to publish them in the militant Socialist organs. As Socialists, they address themselves to the mass of their average-thinking fellow-citizens, and find it a sufficiently hard task to impress the latter with these fundamental economic truths upon the acceptation of which the most necessary, immediate, work of the movement depends. But I do assert that the chief writers and expounders of the different schools of Modern Socialism agree in looking forward to future results far transcending the economic domain. No student of the question who has attended lectures of the educational class delivered by the leaders of the English Socialist groups, or who has acquainted
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himself with the higher views and aspirations published in the text books, and in English, French, or German papers and magazines,[5] will deny this. The economic revolution is, to the more serious thinkers in the movement, merely a stepping-stone to the physical, intellectual and moral regeneration of man and society.
An ideal of “Brotherhood” which “begins and ends in physical existence,” is certainly not a fair description of the Socialists’ ideal. Indeed, the very words employed carry the refutation of their intended application. When we are speaking of persons allied for some purely material and either bad or indifferently-moral object, such as the construction of a road, the consumption of a dinner, stock exchange “operations,” house-breaking, robbery, and swindling, political party victories, and the spoils of office, we may call them “bands,” “gangs,” “syndicates,” “groups,” or “parties,” &c., but we should not think of calling them “brotherhoods,” unless in the jocular and ironical sense. Socialism, on the contrary, like Theosophy and the higher religions, creates such bonds of spiritual intimacy between its disciples as demand warmer and closer terms, like “brotherhood,” “comradeship,” and “solidarity.” Socialism, when completely grasped, rises in the hearts of its disciples to the rank of a religion, and thus justifies the half-mystic naturalism of some of its poetry and oratory. Socialists may already be said to constitute a great Universal Church, minus dogmas and priestcraft – undesirable appendages which, let us hope, we may never be cursed with!
I cannot refrain from quoting here a few sentences from the end of the twelfth chapter of Grönlund’s “Co-operative Commonwealth,” which shows how near to the Theosophic knowledge even an agnostic
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Socialist can be carried in his speculations. Discussing the religion of the New Order, he says,
“The thought of being alive somewhere a thousand years hence is so pleasant, and life – bounded by the cradle and the grave – so futile, that mankind will probably cling to their belief in immortality, possibly reconciling it with their intelligence by setting up some distinction between personal identity and the memory of the transitory circumstances of our physical life, and holding that the former persists with alternate consciousness and oblivion, as in this life, whilst the latter vanishes. The religion of the future is likely, in our opinion, to be a form of belief in a Will of the Universe. Our own nature suggests; evolution illustrates it; and all existing forms of thought have in common the conception of a Supreme Will as Providence for humanity, though not for the individual, entering into vital relations with the individual only through humanity as the mediator, and commanding the interdependence of mankind. Religion may thus be elevated from a narrow personal relation between the individual and his maker into a social relation between humanity and its destiny.”
The attitude of Socialism towards the various religions existing in different countries, whether orthodox “State” religions, or unorthodox or “Dissenting,” is one of supreme tolerance. State subvention and protection to any form of religion would of course be withdrawn by the Social Commonwealth, but religious persecution of any kind would be equally conspicuous by its absence. Ecclesiastical corporations would probably not be allowed to occupy land or to pursue industries under any different conditions than those which were permitted to other corporations; but this would be the only form of restriction to which religious sects would be subjected. Thus Mormonism and unpopular and even charlatanesque creeds might be allowed greater liberty than in America or any other “civilized” State under the Old Order. The influence of the State under the New Order would be positive rather than negative or restrictive. “The Eternal No,” would not be heard so incessantly as it is now. The sphere of the State would be confined, so far as possible, to the administration (or rather regulation[6]) of the business of the country, and the education of the young. The latter would, no doubt, include a great deal more than it does at present; the physical, aesthetic and moral (in the sense of social) education of the children, would be provided for quite as carefully as the purely intellectual. At the same time, as the object of such education would be to produce, or rather assist Nature in producing, healthy, helpful and self-respecting men and women – good citizens of this world – and not to instil any doctrines as to past or future existences, or duties
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having special reference thereto, it would be purely secular in its character. The basis of morality would not be defined either as religious or as utilitarian. Morality itself, or, as some would prefer to term it, sociality, would be instilled into the minds and hearts of the children very much as in the “well-bred” families of to-day notions of honour and “gentlemanly” or “lady-like” conduct are instilled; notions and sentiments which probably exercise quite as important influences for good or evil on the morals of the present generation, among the “upper” or privileged classes, as any religious principles. Social honour, social solidarity, and finally human solidarity, would replace family honour, “clannishness,” and patriotism. Social life would replace in importance, without necessarily destroying, family life.
This social life of the co-operative commonwealth of the future will by no means entail the dull uniformity of habits and character which some, who have been frightened by the bugbear of equality, imagine. Artificial equality is, of course, neither possible nor desirable. The constituent elements of the new society, ethnological, religious, intellectual, and otherwise, will necessarily remain as varied and unequal – for a generation or so, at any rate – as they are now; but they will be better assorted, better synthesized and harmonized. Imperfect types, intellectual or psychical, and crude beliefs, will not be crushed out under the New Order; but they will simply die a natural death like bed-sores on a convalescent patient. The object of Socialists, as distinguished from Absolutists and pseudo-Socialists, like Bismarck and some of our legislators at home, is to give Nature a free hand, or rather, having studied her tendencies, to assist and co-operate with her; that of the Absolutists and Authoritarians is either to imprison and “suppress” her, or, by way of variety, to put her in harness and lash her forward along a road which she had no intention of taking. Some of these Absolutists call themselves Revolutionists, but the revolution which they would, prepare is one which Nature would resent and revenge herself upon by kicking over the traces in a bloody reaction. Such revolutionists are far from numerous in the ranks of modern Socialism; when found, they generally turn out to be agents provocateurs.
The genuine Social Revolutionist leaves the dangerous and immoral weapons of compulsion, provocation and suppression to the enemy – the weapons he advocates are political and economic liberty and education. Compulsion and suppression he would only apply to the idlers, the thieves, the violent, and the dissolute – those ill-favoured products of a chaotic and corrupt civilization. These he would coerce only so far as necessary for the safety and welfare of the rest. If the Social Revolution cannot be effected without violence, that will be, not because Socialists try to force the changes they wish to realize upon Society before it is ripe for them, but because the class or party in power, in its. own selfish determination to suppress them, takes the initiative in violence
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This leads me to say a few words about Mr. Harbottle’s objection that we Socialists have such “an innate hatred of domination,” coupled with the astounding assertion that “we are prepared to substitute for the existing domination of intelligence (the italics are mine), that of mere numbers.” The latter assertion I hardly care to reply seriously to. Anyone who knows how, even in the most democratic countries of the present régime, like France and America, the poor candidate is handicapped, however intelligent, will agree with me that the field of popular selection is virtually limited to such intelligence as is coupled with wealth. Now such intelligence is not necessarily of the highest order – often quite the contrary. Socialists, at any rate, mistrust it very much as a “dominating” force in politics. Moreover, Mr. Harbottle is perfectly correct in the first part of his statement – Socialists have “an innate hatred” of “domination” of any kind. The only authority which they agree to recognise is that of the freely-elected official or administrator during his term of office, or until dismissed. The present direct electoral methods, by which one man may be chosen by ten or twenty thousand to “represent” them in an assembly several hundred miles off, would not be followed. Bourgeois Parliamentarism will die with the transitional civilisation which has produced it. The Social Commonwealth will be both an aristocracy and a democracy in the best sense of those words – the people will select the best men and women for the time being, and according to their own collective judgment, to administer their business, and will pay them fairly for their work; but will take good care that they do not become their masters. Domination, indeed strictly speaking, will be impossible under any ideal Socialist régime, whether Collectivist or Anarchist. But when from this premise, viz., our hatred of domination, Mr. Harbottle argues that no Socialist could accept a “spiritual hierarchy,” he is quite beside the mark. A spiritual hierarchy, so long as it remains that, and becomes nothing less, cannot possibly become a domination, for it is only submitted to voluntarily, by persons who have made up their minds to the divine character of its authority; nor is this submission enforced by physical or spiritual threats. A papacy is, of course, quite a different thing, but I presume Mr. Harbottle does not suggest that Theosophists must subject themselves to such an institution. If so, I fear I am still far from becoming a perfect Theosophist. For the rest, as I have said already, citizens of the Social Commonwealth will be every bit as free to submit themselves to whatever spiritual control their consciences dictate, as in the freest of the “free countries” of capitalism.
Of all the movements of the present day to which thinking minds are being attracted in large numbers, Socialism is probably that which exercises the most educative and expansive effect on the character, both moral and intellectual. Of course I am placing Theosophy outside the reckoning; it is a study for which very few minds are at present
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matured. But Socialism, in breaking down the barriers of prejudice and of class or intellectual conventionalisms will, in this way, if in no other, prepare many for that further revolution in thought, and in the aspirations of the soul, which is implied by the term Theosophy. I maintain as I have suggested – without attempting to argue it out – that Socialism will be found by those who study it impartially to be part, if not the most important part for the present, of the general pantheistic movement, which will culminate in the regeneration (in the highest sense of the word) of humanity at large on this planet. I do not read “Light on the Path” in the exclusive and dogmatic sense in which Mr. Harbottle construes (as it seems to me) a certain passage in it, although there is no book that I have ever read which brings conviction of so much truth to me in so small a material compass. After all no faith can be higher than the truth, and if I have succeeded in this very imperfect and I fear ill-connected and correlated series of articles, in putting others in the way of getting at more of it than they would have done otherwise, regarding the relation of Modern Socialism to Theosophy, and in dispelling some errors regarding the former, I shall not have written them in vain.
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Missionary Fables
The annexed is an extract from a letter from an esteemed friend of mine in America, and I shall be glad if you will give it a corner in your journal, and thus show its readers the gross falsehoods which the missionaries publish in their country. – Yours fraternally,
“Last evening Miss D. went to hear a missionary, G. W. Leitch, from Ceylon. She came home quite indignant at some statements made – e. g., that high caste people were eager to sell their daughters for wives to white missionaries – that high caste people alone become converts (or mostly so) – that no serpent was killed because women were supposed to inhabit the lower animals when they died, unless they were docile and obedient wives (when they might be fortunate enough to be men in the next birth), so if a serpent was killed the murderer might be killing his mother. It is nonsensical; the ‘poor heathen’ are held up to us in all the horrors of every conceivable degradation ad nauseam.
“Leitch also made a statement that in the east cocoanuts grow plentifully and they would kill any one in falling on them. So God in his great goodness had arranged matters so that the cocoanuts would fall in the night in order that the lives of the people might be safe. Query – If God was so careful of the lives of his poor heathen could he not have given them a knowledge which would save them from all the darkness the missionaries pretend to rescue them from? Oh! consistency, thou art a jewel.”
[This is not at all an exaggerated instance of the absurd romancing in which returned missionaries are perpetually indulging in Europe and America. The truth would be much too tame a story to tell, so they are compelled to embellish it profusely to make it suit the taste of their patrons. If the real state of affairs in “heathen” countries were more widely known, and if the miserable failure of the foreign missions were once thoroughly realised in Europe, the guineas of the pious old women would not flow quite so rapidly into the missionary coffers. The missionaries call their deity a god of truth, though the history which they put before us does not always show him exactly in that light; but apparently his followers are allowed a good deal of latitude in the way of “travellers’ tales,” when the falsehood is told for a holy object! – Ed. Sarasavisandaresa.]
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Detachment
The Buddhist doctrine of detachment from all earthly desires as a necessary means to the attainment of the eternal state, is to many otherwise right-thinking minds, a great stumbling block. “What!” they argue with what seems to them incontrovertible force, “must all the kindly feelings and sweet relationship of life be left behind? Is the equanimity of the Yogi an advance on the Christian’s devoted attachment to his family and friends – the Yogi, who is described as regarding ‘with equal eyes, friends and enemies, kinsmen and aliens, yea good and evil men’? If the higher life you speak of with such awe-struck admiration, is only to be reached by such a path, it does not appeal to our feelings as a higher life at all! And looking at it even from a lower point of view, why were we placed in this world at all, and surrounded by all the good things we possess, if we were not to accept and enjoy them with loving and thankful hearts?”
The last question, it must be admitted, could not be put by anyone who had studied, even in a partial manner, the elementary truths put forward by the Occult Philosophy. It represents a blameless “religious” attitude of mind, but so restricted – if only in failing to recognise that there are millions to whom the postulated “possession of good things” is not applicable – that until the questioner attains a wider horizon, and realizes as a “burning question” the necessity of recognition of the homogeneity of life, and the really deep though doubtless unconscious selfishness of his “loving and thankful heart for the good things he possesses,” no words addressed to him would be likely to “carry home.”
But in this paper it is proposed to deal with those higher attractions which are truly recognised as the humanizing influences in life If it can be shewn that the major premiss is false, the disproof of the minor will follow as a logical necessity.
Humanizing influences they certainly are – the love which the child begins by feeling for his kin – the attractions towards responsive souls which come to us through life as the solitary drops of nectar in an alternately tasteless and bitter cup. It is these things which lift us above the mere life of the senses which we share with the animals, and which make us truly human. But if these things were destined for ever to satisfy the heart of man, he might rightly think that he had reached the limit of his tether. Doubtless, there are some to whom the earthly loves offer more or less perfect satisfaction – so far they have reached their goal – for them the trumpet has not sounded the advance – let them enjoy the earthly bliss by all means – they are the dwellers
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in the plains of content, and they may dwell there for many life-times, but some day they will feel impelled to scale the mountains, meantime there is no need to darken their lives by anticipation of the deep draughts of misery awaiting them in some future life, when their illusive bliss has worn itself out, and their souls have begun to develope eyes to see.
Nature is an infinitely slow teacher – if denied satisfaction on one side we turn to it on another – the man who has made a total wreck of himself so far as the world is concerned, may still find consolation in the sympathy of a loved one. It is the old story of trying to satisfy the eternal hunger “on the husks that the swine do eat,” and many a time do we return to the well-known food, before we finally recognise its unsatisfying nature. But the deep draughts of misery in the continued failure to achieve satisfaction, even from the sweet human love which is certainly the highest embodiment of earthly things, must eventually bear its fruit, and the soul will develope eyes to see.
So far we have only followed the progress of the advancing soul, we would now show that such progress must necessarily lead to the detachment from all earthly desires. This will best be done by the analysis of the process along the ray of one particular quality or virtue. While Perfection is a unity in which all noble qualities or virtues are merged in one, it must be admitted that the aspirant who attains cannot be deficient in any. Let us then take – say courage.
What man and still less what woman could say with truth that no earthly catastrophe could shake the firm equilibrium of their soul? that neither bodily torture, nor the evocation of the awful beings of the unseen universe, could ever assail their spirit with fear? But courage “in excelsis” will have to be attained by all who tread the upward path – by women who, rightly or wrongly, are generally considered to be of a more timorous nature – as well as by men.
Courage is supposed to find its type among the kingdoms of animal life, in the Lion. And the men who in these days bear off the palm, as being the brave ones of the race, are very closely allied by nature to this king of the beasts. But surely the more admirable courage is that from which the brutal element, which has a natural love of strife, is more or less eliminated – say the Philosopher of studious habits, to whom all strife is an abhorrence, but who has the will-power so developed that he can nerve himself to do his duty in the face of danger. It only requires a further extension of this thought, and we have the martyr who for an idea will embrace death. In his case, not only is the love of strife and its concomitant hatred of his enemies entirely eliminated, but in their place has arisen a Godlike beneficence towards all mankind – his enemies included – witness the crippled Epictetus speaking well of his master who had tortured and maimed him. Witness the martyred Stephen, who saw not the figures of his stoners but only the heavens opening
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above him, and whose dying words were “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.”
But can it be imagined that lives so lit with the flame of divine fire could be dominated by any of the attractions which we know under the name of earthly desires? Could they have reached the heights they did had not such desires and the satisfactions they lead to been laid aside as valueless?
Epictetus, with godlike fortitude, suffering neither good nor evil fortune to disturb the perfect serenity of his soul, and obtaining touch thereby of the one Eternal life which lies behind the senses and the brain-evolved thoughts of man, and Stephen in glowing language uttering his death-earning speech before the Jewish Synagogue, are alike examples of the power that comes when the things of this world – aye the sweetest loves in it – have failed to satisfy, and the soul has developed eyes to see the hidden glories of the unseen universe.
And it must be remembered that these lights of saintship (with the martyrdom which comes as episode to a few) are but steps in the progress. Steps not so very far removed from us because we can understand and appreciate the thoughts that lead there and the results that are the outcome; but the steps beyond are hidden from our view where the last shreds of the tattered Humanity are cast off, and the glorified soul blossoms with the attributes of Deity.
In following the soul’s advance it must always be borne in mind that no single mode of stating the question will formulate the whole truth, for in the interaction of the qualities of man’s nature, causes are effects and effects are causes. It has been shown above that in the development of true courage the earthly desires must have ceased to operate, but it may be stated with still greater force, and with equal truth, that until the man has begun to fix his thought on the Eternal, or in other words to detach himself from earthly desires, no spark of this true courage can shew itself. The brute instincts of man, whose natural field is physical strife, may produce prodigies of valour on the mundane plane which, however, one glimmer of consciousness on the psychic plane might convert into abject fear. But in the sinking of the self, and in the steadfast straining towards the Eternal Thought, we have a true basis for the construction of a true courage which shall go on conquering and to conquer, and which can forge a key to unlock the very gates of Hell.
When stated in this way it would indeed seem that this higher courage is different, not merely in degree but in kind, from the courage which man shares with the beasts, and that these combative instincts of the animal, which are at least noteworthy characteristics of the lower courage, are included in the earthly desires and passions, which must, at all events, be begun to be put aside, before the Path can be entered upon or even recognised.
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This view of courage will probably not meet with ready acceptance by numbers who worship the energetic animal courage of man. It is only a minority who have developed the capacity to think a subject out, and such is the hurry and superficiality of our life that few even of these take the trouble to do so. The majority accept with easy thoughtlessness, and repeat with glad familiarity, the prejudiced utterances of those around them. But truth lives not by the number of her votaries!
If we now turn to Love – that much abused word on this material earth – it must be acknowledged that our earthly loves only shine with the bright lustre they do, because they obtain some faint reflex of the heavenly glory, for it is in the development of our sympathetic nature that we reach the highest of the purely human characteristics, and are ready to take the next leap upwards towards the divine, and this leap must surely be in the direction of more diffused sympathy, until all are embraced within its fold.
It is a fallacy to suppose that love achieves greater concentration by being confined in its operation to one nation, or one family, or one individual. It is the exclusion of other nations, other families, and other individuals, which gives the apparent intensity, and this is accentuated in proportion as hate of those excluded enters the arena. True love is a ray of the Divine which must be all embracing in its attributes. Any curtailment of its sphere is not a concentration but a degradation – a ceasing to be what it ought to be in reality, until when the nadir is reached in the sordid likings and lusts of the ordinary man – the animal, human creature – the Divine ray is almost extinguished, and yet, strange to say, the same word love is used to designate these feelings!
The love and sympathy in which all shall be embraced is often represented under the term Universal Brotherhood. It has been the object aimed at by all high religions, but the term is liable to misinterpretations. Equality of physical or mental conditions is an impossibility in a world governed by the law of Karma, with its far reaching ramifications. This Brotherhood can only exist on the highest plane – the plane of pure spirit. Put in religious language it is union in God that has to be aimed at – the love and pity of the God within us that has to be achieved.
But it is a degradation of thought for one moment to associate the love here spoken of with any of the limited and selfish human loves we know. Family affection, friendship, patriotism, all must have been left below with the human physical heart and brain of the terrestrial man. On these serene heights no ties can be recognised save the tie that binds the one to the All.
Under the symbol of islands separated by the sea, Matthew Arnold pictures the isolation of the embodied soul – the following verses of the poem breath out the sigh for union.
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“But when the moon their hollows lights, |
The words addressed to the mixed multitude who thronged round the great moral teacher in Judea nearly nineteen centuries ago, “If thou lovest not thy brother whom thou hast seen, how canst thou love God whom thou hast not seen?” may with advantage still be used as a text in addressing the bigoted sectarians, and the sordid self-seekers of to-day; but other words are wanted for the hungerers after the spiritual manna, for the seekers of the hidden light. Let us take them from the same inspired lips. “If any man cometh unto me, and hateth not his own father and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.” With reservations as to the true interpretation of the word “hate” being what modern custom has made it, here is the key note struck again. Sacrifice must culminate in renunciation. Until the whole man, with his affections and desires has been crucified and laid in the tomb, the resurrection of the perfected man – the Christ – cannot take place. Then the island’s cry of isolation will be stilled, then the soul’s deep longing for union will be satisfied.
In this paper it has been attempted to shew from an ordinary worldly point of view, the reasonableness of the necessity for “detachment,” but to many minds, the terse statement of irreconcilable difference between the path of Karma, and the path of Liberation, given in the “Discourse of Buddha,” with which I propose to conclude, will appear to deal with the matter in a truer, and therefore a more convincing, way. The discourse is rendered in English verse by Edwin Arnold. It was an answer to a question put by a priest, “Master, which is life’s chief good?” It is a long quotation, but no short extract would give the full meaning. The following is the poem almost “in extenso.”
“Shadows are good when the high sun is flaming, |
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“The King’s gilt palace-roof shuts out the sunshine, |
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Men must love the truth before they thoroughly believe it.
Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
People frequently reject great truths, not so much for want of evidence as for want of an inclination to search for it.
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Finger-Posts in the Middle Ages
There is but ONE final Truth, and this Truth is – Eternal. There leads therefore but one way to it, and this way was, is, and ever will be, the same.
This way has in all ages stood free and open to him, who sought it earnestly – and in all ages the unerring guide has stood ready!
This is a fact well-known to the “True Theosophist.” In the Yajur Veda it is said: –
“. . . And whoever in this wise understands the parshi[7] which is in the sun, becometh great and shining as the sun; having crossed the ocean of ignorance he reaches the shore and becomes happy; and beside this way there is none other by which that shore can be reached.”
And in the same Veda it is further written: –
“This parshi which fills the whole world remains thus: – Within the heart which lies in the breast, it has its abode.”
Of the units of time which lie between the origin of the Vedas and the XVIIth Century, our “waking consciousness” (the illusionary product of our reminiscences drawn from the outer world of appearances – Sthula Sarira) can form no conception – it can feel of it only the dread of the incomprehensible.
And yet, from that time the Way has ever been shown in the same manner – and I could fill volumes with quotations proving this. But it may well be of great interest for enquirers in this domain, to learn how the Brothers of the Rosy Cross taught the finding of this Way.
I will recapitulate their Instructions word for word, because they treat of the individual phases and appearances through which the “Seeker” has to pass – which “He who knows” among my readers will at once recognise in spite of their allegorical garb and mediaeval modes of expression – and further, because this detailed exposition may give some “Light∴” to the “initiated” Freemason.
The Instructions date from the year 1675, and begin with a letter of warning against the effort to obtain wealth and power by easy ways. This letter states that the Brothers R. C. “impelled by the Spirit of God” have already in various languages pointed out the Way – that, however, they had been misunderstood by “the Masses,” who had fancied that they “desired to teach the art of making gold by alchemical means,” while the secret must be attained in quite another manner and thro’ the efforts of each individual,” and so on.
Then begins the practical teaching, the “Showing of the Way”: –
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“In medio terrae – or in the centre of the world – lies a mountain which is great and small, it is mild and soft and also excessively stony and hard, it is near to each one, but by the council of God it becomes invisible; in that mountain lie hidden the greatest treasures such as the whole world could not purchase.
“It is, however (through the Devil’s envy, who allway hindereth God’s honour and Man’s happiness), surrounded and guarded by many fierce animals and plundering birds, which make the Way dangerous – which already is very difficult. Therefore, and also because the time is not yet come, this Way could be neither sought nor found, which yet must be found by those who are worthy, but only through each man’s own labour and diligence.
“To this mountain ye shall go on a night when it is longest and darkest and ye shall make yourselves fit and ready thereto by heartfelt prayer – and ye shall ask of no man concerning the Way wherein the mountain is to be found or met with, but ye shall follow with confidence the Ductor (guide) who will be found with ye and will join himself to ye by the way, though ye shall not know him; he will bring you to the mountain when all is still and dark.
“But ye must be prepared with a manly and heroic spirit, so that ye recoil not in terror from before that which meets you: yet have ye no need therefore of a bodily sword or other weapons – pray only ever and earnestly – and repeat after Him the words which He will say unto you.
“Lions also, Dragons and other frightful creatures will arise furiously against ye, but have no fear, neither look ye back nor desire to return, for your leader (guide) who hath led ye thither will not suffer any harm to come to ye.
“But the treasure is not yet discovered, though of a truth it is near unto ye.
“Soon a great earthquake will follow the wind which will level utterly all that the wind had left over.
“But stand ye not back!
“After the earthquake will follow a fierce fire, which will utterly consume all earthly matter and lay bare the treasure, but ye will not yet be able to see it – but after all this and towards morning it will become right still and lovely, and soon ye will see the morning star arise and the red dawn break, and ye will perceive the great treasure.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
“Be ye joyful and comforted, and aye careful – rely not on yourselves, but upon your guide . . . . . doing nothing without him and without his knowledge; for he will be your guide, if ye desire it of him, and he will truly tell ye where our assembly is to be found and will teach you concerning our ordering, and will accompany ye until time shall
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fully reveal all things, and shall take away the kingdom from the Lion and alter the course of the world –
“O happy worthy Brothers in our united Unity – God preserve ye!”
Thus ran the Instructions: –
The reader will have found the connection with the quotation from the Veda; but if not, I will point out that the “Sun” therein referred to, as also the “Centro in medio terrae” of the Instructions, is to be understood in the sense of the microcosmos.
The “Theosophical Society” has taken up the thread again[8] at its original source, behind the summits covered with eternal snow and the moon-lit steppes of Thibet.
The “Seeker” who seizes this thread finds therewith the same Way to Eternal Truth – for “other than this there is no way.”! (Veda.)
The efforts after true Light begin to concentrate themselves in a new focus;[9] Work will unite with Knowledge, whose offspring will be Wisdom from the Source of the Ages, might, from the eternal Power – Theosophy.
But I, too, must lay the tribute of my veneration before that being who, glowing with lofty endeavour, holds high the torch and forms the Pharos for the trembling barks which, from out of the darkest night, steer towards the Light.
To her I give the greeting of the old Brothers R. C.
“God preserve thee in our united Unity!”
From a Lamrim Compendium
Tzon-kha-pa · pp. 242
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The Crucifixion of Man
“Prometheus is the impersonated representative of Idea, or of the same power as Jove, but contemplated as independent, and not immersed in the product, – as law minus the productive energy.”
“In abstracten wie im konkreten Monismus ist es Gott selbst, der als absolutes Subject in den eingeschränkten Subjecten das Weltleid trägt, wobei er sich dann auf den Satz berufen kann: Volenti non fit injuria.”
“I know that I hung on a wind-rocked tree, nine whole nights with a spear wounded, and to Odin offered, – myself to myself, – on that tree of which no one knows from what root it springs.”
Like Odin, the High One, I, Man –
Am offered up on the tree – |
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And Odin gazing sun-like
O’er earth and o’er sea |
| A. J. C. Lucerne, 1885. |
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Prometheus, the grandest “Idea” in Grecian Mythology, represents the “Nous Agonistes” – the divine part of the human soul – that firespark brought down by Prometheus from Heaven – and breathed into man – individualized in Man, which slowly – gradually – but surely, through and by means of agonizing conflicts with the lower Titanic earth nature, raises itself out of the lower material world into the ideal – invisible. The lower nature is represented by the tyrannic – arbitrary Zeus, the “Nomos” or law of the phenomenal world perceived by the senses, (Jupiter est quodcunque vides). Prometheus, the New or re-born Soul, baptized in fire = spirit, is that which is the opposite of Zeus – the invisible – the unseen – the noumenal – working in the ideal world, the delights of which it is not given to the mere animal human mind to conceive.
This promethean-soul of man come down from heaven can only be freed from the earth-chains and the Time-Vulture by the destruction of Zeus, (that is, his transformation – transfiguration into the higher form) the phenomenal world, and by its elevation to a higher power, that of the ideal, the only real.
Prometheus is moreover the revolt of the enlightened Soul against all false – popular – sacerdotal – established – hierarchical forms of religion, those religions which seek for personal salvation, founded on egoism, instead of general universal good and the salvation of all sentient beings.
Prometheus is the Grecian form of the Atman of the Vedanta – the true ego, set free from incarnations in the masks (personæ) of personality and the torture wheel of Necessity and Fate, and admitted into its rest and home in the universal – immanent Cosmic Spirit, escaped from the sorrows of the world of Creation. Prometheus is the ideal “Nomos” or Law in the soul itself, the “Conscious law – the King of Kings,” the God “seated in the heaven of the heart.”
In the Agonies of this “Nous Agonistes” – the birth agonies of the race and of each individual there must ever be that Crucifixion of the ideal man represented by Odin – Prometheus – Christ; but after the Cross comes the transfiguration, in which these words of Prometheus are fulfilled,
“By myriad pangs and woes |
Schelling (1st Vol. p. 81) has a fine passage as to the myths of Prometheus and Pandora.
“Here (the myth of Pandora) the aspirations of Mankind for higher things are represented as the actual cause of human misery. In the words of Hesiod, ‘Epimetheus, befooled by the charms of Pandora, accepted her destructive gifts – gifts of the Immortals – and thereby brought misery and destruction to the human race.’ And Prometheus, who desired to raise the race, formed by himself to a resemblance to the Gods, suffers, chained to the rock, all the sufferings of man since
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he cherished in his bosom the desire of a higher freedom and knowledge. Here, on his rock, he represents, in his own person, the whole human race. The Vulture who gnaws his liver, which ever grows again, is an image of that eternal uneasiness and restless desire for higher things, which so tortures all mortals.’”
In the account of the Crucifixion of Jesus, he is represented as receiving five wounds; may not these wounds have an esoteric-symbolical meaning? Man’s senses by which he perceives the phenomenal world are five, and may not these wounds on the cross ending in the death of the person (mask of the higher man), signify the death of all low, earthly desires having their origin in these five senses, and the consequent coming to life in a purer and higher sphere now totally inconceivable to us, all our concepts being derived from those earth senses? Nailing the feet takes away the power of moving towards any object of earth desire, as that of the hands, the organs of acquisition – now, too, generally of greed – derives us of the power of seizing the objects of our acquisitiveness; the wound in the side kills the heart, that is all the desires of earth, and wakens us into the Nirvana of Buddhism.
The cross itself, to which the whole man was attached, is a well-known phallic emblem, representing the strongest form of human-earth sensuality; and that is a very symbol on which to crucify the man to death. (Vide Editors’ Note 1, at the end of this article.)
It is remarkable that in this legend Prometheus is represented as crowned with the Agnus-Castus plant (lugos), the leaves of which formed the Crown of the Victors in the “Agonia” of the Olympic games; Christ in his Victorious Agony was crowned with the thorny akanthus. This Agnus-Castus plant was used also in the fete of the Thesmophoria, in honour of Demeter – the law – “nomos” – bringer, whose priestesses slept on its leaves as encouraging chaste desires. In Christian times this custom survived among Nuns, who used to drink a water distilled from its leaves, and Monks used knives with handles made of its wood with the same intention of encouraging chastity.
Chaucer, in his beautiful poem, “The Flower and the Leaf,” makes the Queen of the ladies of the leaf – those consecrated to spiritual love – carry branches of Agnus-Castus in her hand, and singing:
“Suse le foyle, devers moi – |
Her heart was asleep to earth, but entranced in Heaven.
If it should be thought impious to attribute the expression of sorrow to the divine Being, it may be remarked that the Kabbala records an old tradition relating to the Schechinah (the female – mother – brooding element in God) in which she utters the following complaint for the evil in the world, and for the separation of the primal united dual elements in humanity.
“Woe to me, I have driven away my children, and woe unto the children that they have been driven from the table of their Father.”
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And did not Jesus, the Christ – the divine Man – an incarnation of the Spirit and type of the next phase of human evolution, cry out in the bitterness of his agony, “Father, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Vide Editors’ Notes that follow, Note 2.)
Inspired Mr. Pulsford, in his work “Morgenröthe,” which contains so many intimations of the new epoch of the coming Golden Age, says: –
“God having clothed Himself with the sorrows of creation, it must come to pass that the whole creation shall be filled and clothed with His glory. None of the present anomalies of creation will survive under this glory. It is not enough to say He suffers with us; we are taught rather to say that ‘we suffer with Him.’[10] He is suffering at any rate, so long as any creature suffers. To bear the sufferings of all that suffer is a Love-necessity with Him. He cannot deliver Himself from bearing griefs and carrying sorrows, so long as there are any to be borne or carried by his sons and daughters. The First Cause must be present in all effects; not as one looking on, but as One within, bearing all.”
“The vanity, strife and misery of disordered nature have long afflicted us; but the glory of God’s perfect goodness is about to be revealed in the New order of Man, and of Nature.”
“Like Prometheus bound to a rock the impersonal Spirit is chained to a personality until the consciousness of his herculean power awakes in him, and bursting his chain he becomes again free.”
“Der aetherische Hauch der Götter, der Funk des Prometheus ist, nach den ältesten Mythen, Princip des höhern Lebens im Menschen.”
That is: –
“The ethereal breath of the Gods – the promethean fire spark is, according to the most ancient myths, the principle of the higher life in men.”
[Editors’ notes on ‘The Crucifixion of Man’]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 247-250
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Reviews
The Battle of Belief
This is the heading of Mr. Gladstone’s paper in the Nineteenth Century Review of this month, which he devotes to criticising and attempting to refute the arguments of Mrs. Humphry Ward on Christianity in her new book called “Robert Elsmere,” and which has made such a sensation in the world and in the Church that it has already reached a fourth edition. Mr. Gladstone admits that the aim of Mrs. Ward (in her hero Robert Elsmere, a noble clergyman) is to preserve intact the moral and spiritual results of Christianity.
But Mr. Gladstone maintains that that is not enough alone, without the Homoousian dogma, or creed is also accepted, which requires the World to believe that Jesus is truly God.
The battle between Mr. Gladstone and Robert Elsmere is one of Authority versus Reason: Romanism, versus Protestantism: Orthodoxy, versus Heterodoxy: The Church, versus The Scriptures: The Letter, versus The Spirit. Mr. Gladstone comes forward as the Advocate for the supremacy of Authority, Romanism, of Orthodoxy, of the Church and of the Letter, in opposition to Robert Elsmere who advocates the supremacy of Reason, Protestantism, Heterodoxy, the Scriptures and the Spirit.
But the proper arena for such a gigantic battle as this, which affects the belief of all men in Europe and America equally alike, is the pulpit of the Church. For the issue which is raised by both parties is the same, viz., the great question which Pilate asked of Jesus, in the Judgment Hall of Jerusalem, “What is truth?” which the world is still waiting to hear answered.
The parties on both sides profess to be anxious for the glory of God alone, and for the triumph of what is good, pure, and true.
And Cardinal Wiseman has said that in the history of religions there are two great principles in action which combat for supremacy, “Private Judgment and Authority.” And in this awful duel an arena should be afforded by the Church for the combatants. As it is necessary for the very life of “the Church” that this warfare should be carried on.
Mr. Gladstone has come forward as the Champion of Authority in the Nineteenth Century Review, but we are not all able to obtain admission into that Review. Yet, as an ordained minister of the Church of England, to preach the truth of Christ Crucified, I ought to have a right to be heard in the pulpits of the National Church.
And as the brother, in Christ, of the Arch-heretic St. Paul, I ask the rulers of the Church for a pulpit in which to plead as the advocate of Reason, and (what is called) Heterodoxy, but which I (with St. Paul) maintain to be Christianity and Protestantism, as opposed to Romanism.
“Is there not a Cause?” (1 Samuel xvii., 29.)
Manor House, Petersham, S.W.
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The Mystery of a Turkish Bath
This is one of that class of shilling volumes which have become of late so popular under the name of “Thrillers.” But the tale told here by Rita stands out in several respects from among the general mass of such books. To begin with, the English, if conversational, is still good, and neither the characters of the story nor their surroundings are exaggerated or overdrawn.
It is said that Occultism is fashionable at present. This seems strange; for “Theosophy” – that form of “Occultism” best known to Londoners, was the fashion three seasons ago, and was supposed to have died a natural death before aestheticism departed this life and was wept over by its devotees. But, apparently, Occultism and Theosophy have many lives, or else they never died at all; for once more they are in vogue, and everybody talks about those mysteries of the unseen world of which they are, as a rule, profoundly ignorant. It is a proof of this present taste for all the wonderful things supposed to be included under the word occult, that the popular novelists, each in turn, display to us what they apprehend of them.
It must be admitted that the hot room of a Turkish Bath would seem at first sight a strange place for the opening of a story in which the mystical and Theosophical play the principal part. Strange to say too “Rita’s” knowledge of her subject is accurate as far as it goes, and none of her personages commit any of those absurd blunders or indulge in the ridiculous language which for most writers represents the “Occult.” That “Rita” should give to her public an insight into these matters is an excellent augury. Not only is her power over her readers sufficient to claim attention, but also she has really studied and thought before putting pen to paper. She will, therefore, do real good by her work, as she will not only fascinate those who appreciate her story-telling faculty, but educate them.
The interest and curiosity of the reader are aroused by the very first page, and one feels sure that the “Bath scenes,” must have been studied from life. Of course there is a slight tone of persiflage running through these pages, but it would really be very hard to decide whether it is the world in general and its self-conceited ignorance that the author is laughing at, or whether it is the Mystics and Theosophists whom that same world is pleased to set down as “mad.’
There is an element of humour too in the tale which saves it from extravagance and leaves a pleasant flavour in the reader’s mind.
It would not be fair to the author to reveal her plot, and this precludes any discussion of several interesting questions connected with the story. The novelette is cordially recommended to any one who wants to wile away a pleasant hour. Moreover the reader will be certainly a degree wiser when rising from its perusal than before, for he cannot fail to understand a little better what sort of thing this much abused “Theosophy” is.
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Roses and Thorns
of the “Frithiof Saga.”
The interesting part of Mr. Heckethorn’s volume is the poem called “The Antidote,” which treats of the mystic philosophy of Jacob Boehme. Of the
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rest of the book the less said the better; for the versification is halting and unmusical, and completely fails to do justice to the thought.
Thus, even though out of all systems of philosophy,
“Which do perplex the seeker after truth,” |
the author gives preference to the theosophy of Jacob Boehme – one of the greatest theosophists of past centuries, indeed – this fact only makes us the more regret that the author has chosen to write in verse. For he says: –
“I once thought very highly of gymnosophy, |
Passing then straight to Jacob Boehme and leaving aside all questions of poetry and expression, it is interesting to note the effect which the study of that great Seer has produced on the author’s mind.
Mr. Heckethorn identifies Boehme’s “Three First Properties of Nature” with the “Three Mothers” of Goethe’s Faust. He is quite right, but might have added that the idea, and even its form, are much older than Boehme. Hermes speaks of the Tres Matres – Light, Heat, and Electricity[11] – who showed to him the mysterious progress of work in Nature; and the “Three Mothers” were much talked about by the oldest Rosicrucians, who certainly did not derive their knowledge from Boehme.
Many a student of Nature’s mysteries would echo the author’s words: –
“How much might quickly be achieved by Science, |
He would cordially agree, too, with the following: –
“For bodies never die but in appearance, |
Further on, the writer expounds tersely enough the “seven” principles much talked of in mystic literature, which Boehme gives in a form worth quoting.
The First, Second and Third “properties” are Matter, Form, and Life, the Fourth is Light, or the Soul, then: –
“As property the third from painful glow, |
The author has evidently read and, what is more, understood Boehme, which is a rare thing in this age of beclouded materialism, and bespeaks a degree of mental truthfulness not to be met with in every drawing-room.
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Correspondence
A Puzzle in "Esoteric Buddhism"
Since the two Editors repeatedly assert their willingness in their great impartiality to publish even “personal remarks” upon themselves (Vide Luc. No. 6, p. 432), I avail myself of the opportunity. Having read “Esoteric Buddhism” with much interest and general approval of the main drift of its teachings, I am anxious, with your kind permission, to formulate an objection to some points in Mr. Sinnetts’ view of Evolution which have completely staggered my friends and myself. They appear to upset once and for all the explanation of the origin of man propounded by that popular author. Mr. Sinnett has, however, so uniformly expressed his willingness to answer honest criticism that I may, perhaps, hope for his assistance in solving this difficulty. Meanwhile, despite my favourable bias towards Theosophy, I must, perforce, express my conviction that one aspect of the Esoteric Doctrine – supposing of course that Mr. Sinnett is to be regarded as absolutely authoritative on the point – is opposed to Science. The point is one of fundamental importance as will be readily recognised by all – except, perhaps, by some too . . . . well, too admiring Theosophists.
In “Esoteric Buddhism” we are confronted with a general acceptance of Darwinism. Physical Man, in particular, is said to have been evolved from ape ancestors.
“Man, says the Darwinian, was once an ape. Quite true. But the ape known(??) to the Darwinian will not change from generation to generation till the tail disappears and the hands turn into feet and so on . . . if we go back far enough we come to a period at which there were no human forms ready developed on earth. When spiritual monads, travelling on the earliest or lowest human level, were thus beginning to come round (the Planetary chain to this globe) their onward pressure in a world containing none but animal forms provoked the improvement of the highest of these into the required form – the much talked of missing link.”
And again: –
“The mineral kingdom will no more develop the vegetable kingdom . . . until it receives an impulse from without than the Earth was able to develop man from the ape till it received an impulse from without.”
The theory here broached is to the effect that the development of the ape into man was brought about by the incarnation of Human Egos from the last planet in the septenary chain of globes. I may here remark that in referring to our supposed animal progenitors as the apes “known” to the Darwinian, Mr. Sinnett exceeds in audacity the boldest Evolutionist. For this hypothetical creature is not known at all, being conspicuous by its absence from any deposits yet explored. This, however, is a minor point. The real indictment to which I have been leading up is to follow.
We are told that occultists divide the term of Human existence on this planet into seven great Race Periods. At the present time the 5th of these races, the Aryan, is in the ascendant, while the 4th is still represented by teeming
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populaces. The 3rd is almost extinct. Now on page 64 of “Esoteric Buddhism” we are told regarding the 4th Race men that: –
“In the Eocene Age even in its very first part, the great cycle of the 4th Race Men, the Atlanteans had already reached its highest point.”
Here, then, is a distinct landmark in the Esoteric Chronology pointed out to us. Summarizing these data we find ourselves confronted with the following propositions:
(1.) Humanity was developed physically from apes.
(2.) The 4th Race reached its prime at the commencement of the Eocene Age of Geology.
(3.) The three first Races (1st, 2nd, and 3rd) must therefore have antedated the Eocene Age by an enormous extent of time, even if we allow a much shorter period for their development than for the 4th and 5th. The 1st race, in fact, must have preceded the Tertiary Period by several millions of years.
(4.) This pre-Tertiary 1st Race was therefore derived from a still earlier ape stock.
At this point the fabric of theory collapses. Is it necessary to say that Science has been unable to find a trace of an anthropoid ape previous even to the relatively late Miocene Age? Now the Eocene precede the Miocene rocks, and the 1st Race, as already shown, must have antedated even the era of the Eocene; it must have stretched far back into that dim and distant past when the chalk cliffs of the Secondary period were deposited! How then can Mr. Sinnett claim his view of Human Evolution as merely “complementary” to Darwin’s, when he binds himself to a chronology compared with the duration of which the Evolutionist one sinks into insignificance? Palaeontologists unanimously refuse to admit the existence of the higher apes previous to the Tertiary Period, and Darwin would have smiled at the notion. As a matter of fact, only the very lowest mammalians had made their appearance before the Eocene strata were formed. This is the view of the Science to which Mr. Sinnett invites us to bow with due reverence. Apparently he has been unconsciously nursing a viper in his bosom, for the same Science now “turns and strikes him.” I ask, How then was the 1st race evolved from apes aeons of years before such apes existed? If Mr. Sinnett will kindly return a satisfactory answer to this query, he will have largely contributed to relieve the intellectual difficulties in the way of –
April 20th, Aberdeen.
[Editors’ note on ‘A Puzzle in Esoteric Buddhism’ by An Agnostic Student of Theosophy]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 255-257
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Practical Occultism
“In a very interesting article in last month’s number entitled ‘Practical Occultism’ it is stated that from the moment a ‘Master’ begins to teach a ‘chela’ he takes on himself all the sins of that chela in connection with the occult sciences until the moment when initiation makes the chela a master and responsible in his turn.
“For the Western mind, steeped as it has been for generations in ‘Individualism,’ it is very difficult to recognise the justice and consequently the truth of this statement, and it is very much to be desired that some further explanation should be given for a fact which some few may feel intuitively but for which they are quite unable to give any logical reason.”
[Editors’ reply to “Practical Occultism” by S. E.]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 257-258
[Why do Animals Suffer?]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 258-259
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Logical Deductions
Dr. Hartmann uses very poor logic in his “Logical Deductions,” (see Lucifer, page 93, issue of April 15th.) He says “a cause can exist without producing an effect”; I am no logician, but that is a “self-evident” absurdity. Until it has produced an effect, it is not a cause. If he argues in that way, it would be equally true to say that an effect can exist without a cause, for the cause may have ceased to exist as soon as the effect is produced.
Alfred Wilson.
[Editors’ reply to ‘Logical Deductions’ by Alfred Wilson]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 259
259
Is There No Hope?
I think, after reading the conditions necessary for Occult study given in the April number of Lucifer, that it would be as well for the readers of this magazine to give up all hopes of becoming Occultists. In Britain, except inside a monastery, I hardly think it possible that such conditions could ever be realised. In my future capacity of medical doctor (if the gods are so benign)
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the eighth condition would be quite exclusive; this is most unfortunate, as it seems to me that the study of Occultism is peculiarly essential for a successful practice of the medical profession.[12]
I have the following question to ask you, and will be glad to be favoured with a reply through the medium of Lucifer. Is it possible to study Occultism in Britain?
Before concluding, I feel compelled to inform you that, I admire your magazine as a scientific production, and that I really and truly classify it along with the “Imitation of Christ” among my text books of religion.
David Crichton.
Marischall College, Aberdeen.
[Editors’ Reply. – This is a too pessimistic view to entertain. One may study with profit the Occult Sciences without rushing into the higher Occultism. In the case of our correspondent especially, and in his future capacity of medical doctor, “the Occult knowledge of simples and minerals, and the curative powers of certain things in Nature, is far more important and useful than metaphysical and psychological Occultism or Theophany. And this he can do better by studying and trying to understand Paracelsus and the two Van Helmonts, than by assimilating Patanjali and the methods of Taraka Raja Yoga.
It is possible to study “Occultism” (the Occult sciences or arts is more correct) in Britain, as on any other point of the globe; though owing to the tremendously adverse conditions created by the intense selfishness that prevails in the country, and a magnetism which is repellant to a free manifestation of Spirituality – solitude is the best condition for study. See Editorial in this issue.]
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Who Are the Eurasians?
As you expressly invite correspondence with regard to subjects connected with our work, Theosophy, I beg to ask of you Who are the Eurasians mentioned at p. 147 of Lucifer for April, and what are their tenets or practices? as I never heard of these before and have been consulting all my books on Hindoo religions, but cannot find any notice of them, at least under the name of Eurasians.
G. Ouseley, f.t.s.
[Editors’ note on ‘Who Are the Eurasians?’ by G. Ouseley]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 260
No. 10 – June 1888
Theosophy or Jesuitism?
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 261-272
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Scene: The Garden of a Temple
Mark, a man of the world.
The Wise One.
Servia: The problem of life appears to me to be that one can never attain the right condition for learning its lesson. One is always learning, but one has never learned.
Mark: Why not say rather that new experiences crowd out the old ones before one has time to digest their various morals or lessons?
Servia: In each life it is as in this garden. Certain flowers only are permitted by nature to grow. Therefore they should be able to come to full fruition as they do in this garden.
Mark: Then they are busied in sowing seed and have no time to consider the lesson involved in flowering properly. And after all, is there any lesson in it?
The Wise One: No, except to those who wish to become more than flowers and are weary of for ever sowing seed only to become flowers again. This temple is good, and well-built; but who would for ever build temples? The lesson of the temple is the object for which it is built.
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Leylet en Nuktah
Note. – The night of the 17th June (i.e., the 11th of the Copt, or Christian-Egyptian month, “Bauneh”) is, to this day, known amongst the populace as Laylet-en-Nuktah (“The Night of the Drop”). The time-honoured old legend relates – and it is a creed upheld by many Egyptians to the present day – that a wonderful, mysterious drop falls during this night upon the breast of the Nile, whose waters immediately respond and rise, until at length the great river overflows its banks. This drop was believed by the ancient Egyptians to be a tear shed by the Great Mother, Isis.
(Dedicated, by permission, to Gerald Massey.)
O Isis! Mother of the trickling rills |
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And corn-fields waving in the air |
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And ling’reth languid in his bed. |
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The sons of Islam, the Copt and the Jew |
| Nizida. |
The Romantic Story of Genghis Khan, the Conqueror of Asia
C. Pfoundes · pp. 277-280
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The Woman in the Stone Tower
The summer of 1885 had been very quiet and dull for me. I was young, but much alone, having no companions apart from my music and painting, to which I devoted myself with an artist’s love. I seldom went for a walk, and allowed myself no recreation, except an hour every evening which I spent at the most popular church in the town of F – , where I reside. It was an endless source of delight to sit there and listen to the sympathetic harmonies swelling from the beautiful organ, as the gifted master’s firm fingers pressed the trembling notes.
The summer sped away and autumn came. I dreaded the coming winter, with its dreary evenings and melancholy winds. Had I a companion, I thought, life would be brighter; but the friends of my childhood belonged to a foreign land, and were scattered, like autumn leaves, I knew not where.
Full of these melancholy thoughts one night, I fell asleep and dreamed. The dream was so vivid, and the characters who played their parts in it so real, that it seemed more like a vision than the fanciful and absurd panoramas which flit across the brain, when sleep draws her curtain over weary eyes.
I dreamed that I saw myself clad in a long, loose, grey robe. I wore a close white cap upon my head, over which was thrown a veil, the colour of my dress. Suspended from a silk rope, encircling my waist, hung several keys, a curious seal, and a pair of scissors. Upon my breast rested a large black wooden cross. In fact, I was transformed into a Sister of Mercy. After waiting some little time, deliberating in my mind where I should go, I saw an arched doorway; the door, which was oaken and studded with huge nails, was closed, but it yielded to my touch; so I opened it, and found myself in a low square stone room. Upon my right I saw a holy-water stoup, and above it a crucifix. I merely noticed these things in passing, and walked on; I turned down a short passage at right angles with the entrance, at the end of which was a flight of winding, stone stairs. I began to ascend. It was evidently a tower of considerable height. Upon my right at regular intervals I passed low-arched doorways where fearful, pitiful, starved creatures, sinstained and wretched, shrank within their gloomy, cavernous cells, as I passed like a spirit up the winding shadowy steps.
At last I gained the top, and found myself on a square stone flagging; immediately in front of me there was a blank stone wall, and on either side a doorway. I entered the room upon my left; it was small and all of stone, with but one barred window at the end, through which the last
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rays of a dying sun were stealing; they faintly lit up the worn features of a woman who was lying upon a rude straw bed in one corner.
I silently knelt down beside her, and gazed into her beautiful face; it was deadly white, and in contrast to this, there shone out a pair of melancholy brown eyes. Her hair was slightly tinged with gold, and fell carelessly over her forehead; her eyebrows were level, but curved artistically into the line of the nose; this feature inclined to the Roman type; her lips were made for smiles that, alas, had vanished.
It was all very pitiful; her delicate face so woe-stricken, and her poverty so apparent; yet I shed no tears. I only opened a small book which I carried, and softly read out the “Office for the Dying,” then I arose, and at last spoke.
“You have but an hour to live, and I must leave you.”
She did not answer, and I left, as silently as I came; down the stone stairway, and past those gloomy cells, where the terrible figures fell back as I approached, like silent, mournful spectres of some lost world.
I gained the foot of the stairs and glided along the passage to the doorway; a beggar stood without and solicited alms. I had nothing, but at that moment I discovered that bread had been placed in my hands. I gave it to him and went my way through a long garden. I remember seeing nothing more, except a long, low shed built against the garden wall; this shed was divided into two compartments, one much smaller than the other, and filled with gardening and other implements.
This was the dream, and for days it haunted me. I could always see that spiral stairway and those fleeting figures retreating into the gloom. I always felt those sad, mysterious eyes, gazing into my very soul, and pleading to me from that gifted, eloquent face. Was it but a dream, or was it more? I thought it prophetic, and time proved it to be so, as you shall hear.
I was sitting in my usual seat at church one evening, some few weeks after the dream; across the aisle sat a young lady dressed in black, her small, slender figure first riveting my attention. She was simply dressed, but every fold lingered about her graceful form with ease and elegance. Her face was most beautiful, a delicately chiselled profile, perfect in every detail. I could not see the colour of her eyes, and was just trying to discover, when the choir came in; we stood up as usual, and the service proceeded. I could feel that the young lady opposite was studying me attentively, so I dared not look at her for some time, but when I did, I discovered that her eyes were brown, the colour I admire most, and that their glance was soft as a gazelle’s and swift as an Indian’s. I felt that her face was familiar, and yet I could not bring to mind where I had seen it. When I arose to leave she did the same, and walked beside me down the aisle and out through the doorway.
For successive evenings she continued her church-going. I used to watch eagerly for that small, graceful figure, and that melancholy
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beautiful face. She charmed and fascinated me, I always found myself turning around and looking at her, but, when I did so, I invariably caught her dark eyes fixed on me, and was forced to turn quickly round again. I used to think about her a great deal, and wished to speak to her, but I was naturally timid, and disliked addressing strangers first; I also felt it impossible to go up to her and say, as I really wished to:
“Your face is familiar to me, and yet I know you are a stranger. I like you immensely, may we be friends!”
And yet I knew that she would have given anything to have spoken to me. On the following Sunday, after morning service, we walked down the aisle together as usual, and at the door she turned to me and asked if the eight o’clock daily communion was choral; it was the first time I had heard her speak, her voice was well-modulated and sweet, her manner charming. I was not surprised that she chose me out of all the congregation to ask this common-place question. I answered in the negative, and then turned from her on my way home.
On the Thursday as we came out we grew more friendly, she asked me how long the church had been built, and spoke of the excellent music, the well-trained choir, and the broad views of the incumbent. I answered enthusiastically that he was indeed a very clever composer, and possessed an original and advanced mind. She asked whether I played, I answered:
“Yes, but I spend most of my odd time in painting.”
“Indeed!” she exclaimed. “You are an artist then?”
“In a small way,” I answered. “I am very fond of it, but I lead a busy life, and cannot devote myself to it as I wish.”
She seemed much interested, and walked on with me.
“And what do you do all day, how do you fill in your time?”
I laughed as I answered: “That is not difficult. I have an invalid mother, and I am housekeeper; I write, read, sew, paint, study music, and do a little of everything.
“Have you painted much?”
“O, yes, I have several pictures at home, but I find it very difficult to get good models.”
“I suppose so; you paint from life the human face and figure?”
“Certainly, that is art in its loftiest form!”
She gave a short sigh, and then exclaimed:
“How I should like to see your pictures!”
“Should you?” I asked. “Then cannot you come and see them? They are not very good, I suppose, but you might be interested.”
“How I should like to see them,” she repeated. But we leave to-morrow on our way to London. We have been abroad four years, and are only taking a little rest here. Our train leaves at noon.”
I certainly felt disappointed that I was about to lose this charming acquaintance just as I had found her, but I asked:
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“Cannot you come early to see me? Any time would do.”
She thought a moment and then answered:
“Yes, I will. I can ask the servant to call me early. I should so like to come. May I ask your name?”
I gave it to her with my address.
We continued our walk, each quite heedless of where the other was going, until we found ourselves again at the church door. We had taken a circuitous route which had brought us again to the place from where we had started.
We stopped at the beginning of the road which led me home, and I pointed out the direction she was to take to find our house; then we shook hands and parted, after warmly expressing our pleasure at having formed this strange friendship.
The next morning I arose very early, but, alas, the rain came down in torrents! It rained as if it never intended to stop again, and I waited in vain for my friend. She did not come. I remained in until long past the time she had named for her visit, and then, as I had an engagement, I put on my outdoor garments and went out. She had told me where she was staying, and I felt compelled to go and find her. I did so. She saw me from her window and came to the door herself. She took me by both hands and led me into a dining-room at the back of the house, where she said we could talk undisturbed.
We conversed for over an hour upon various topics, and were equally delighted to find how our tastes and ideas agreed. Then we spoke of our homes and our lives, and she seemed to relapse into a sadness which I had not remarked before.
I felt a strange something coming over me as she stood pensively beside the window looking out upon the gardens beyond. Her face seemed strangely familiar. At last it dawned upon me. She was the woman of my dream whom I had seen lying upon the straw pallet in the gloomy tower!
I do not know why it was, but I never mentioned my dream to her. We went on talking for some time, and then I left. She kissed me affectionately and accompanied me to the door, after having promised to write to me the following day. I returned home and resumed my duties, with a strange feeling that I had lost something and found something. On Sunday morning I received a characteristic letter from her. So few people write perfect letters, but hers were such, and seemed to me a key to her mind, being fluent, cultivated, and full of lofty thought. We corresponded freely, and every one of these charming epistles was quite an event in my lonely life.
At last she wrote that she, with her family, were about to return to the Continent. I was therefore anxious to see her, and bid her good-bye, and as my father very much wished to take me to the Exhibition, we decided to run up to London for a day, and see her at the same time.
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We did so. She received us most kindly, and pressed us to stay to luncheon. I had a long talk with her and we parted, she promising to continue her correspondence with me.
She was strangely beautiful that day during the luncheon hour. When the conversation was general she was cheerful and brilliant, but when we were in her room alone, she relapsed into the melancholy pale beauty of the stone tower.
We parted. I received a short but kind note from her a few days after to the effect that they started for Paris at once; and that was the last I have ever heard of my strange, sweet friend.
I used to wait anxiously and sorrowfully for a letter, but month after month rolled away and none came. I knew that some sad mystery enveloped her, which I could not fathom. I could not relapse into my former solitary mode of life, so I went about more and endeavoured to shake off the loneliness which her silence caused me.
At this period of my life, I became acquainted with a very clever and charming woman who was a clairvoyante. We often used to sit together, as we do now; and she would describe vividly the scenes of my childhood, which, as I have mentioned, were spent in a foreign land. One evening, as we sat thus, she turned to me saying:
“How strange! You have turned into a Sister of Mercy, my dear, and I see you climbing up a winding stone stairway.”
I was startled, and answered: “Indeed! What more do you see?”
She went on describing the holy-water stoup, the arched doorways, and the cells, inhabited by evil spirits, as she termed them. She also told me about the bare stone room in the tower, and the beautiful sad woman on the straw pallet. She spoke, too, of the garden outside with a shed against the wall, which was divided into two compartments, one much smaller than the other, and filled with gardening and other implements. . . .
Thus ends my curious, but true narrative. Shall I ever see my mysterious friend again? I think so. There are links that bind sympathetic souls together which no distance or time can sever, and those links bind us.
My story is perhaps disappointing, because it has no satisfactory conclusion, but it may take years for the dream to be fulfilled, if it ever is; and as everything I have related is perfectly true and unembellished, I prefer to leave it so, and trust that the melancholy drama of my vision has been played in some previous earth-life when she and I were friends. It was but a faint awakening of a memory that is struggling for recollection, not an event to come and overshadow our lives with the fearful mysterious tragedy of my dream.
The Blossom and the Fruit
Mabel Collins · pp. 286-294
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Editorial Notices
Complaints having been addressed to the Editors with reference to certain paragraphs in Mr. George Redway’s Literary Circular, bound up with last month’s Lucifer, the Editors take this opportunity of stating that they are in no sense responsible for the contents of these circulars, as they are bound up with the magazine by the publisher, without being submitted to them. Any complaints, therefore, should be addressed to the publisher.
An important error was made by the printers, and overlooked by the proof reader, in the May Number of Lucifer, on page 249. It is in the first Hebrew line, where we ought to read, שבחתני (s-b-th-ni, unvowelled) as it stood in manuscript. Unfortunately the first letter shin (ש) was replaced by two letters, ayin (ע) and vau (ו), which makes nonsense of the word. Such errors may be sometimes unavoidable, but they are very annoying to the editors and perplexing to the readers.
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The following lines have been sent by the Editors of LUCIFER to their colleague and Brother, the Editor of the New York Path: –
In the May number of your valuable journal, on page 60, we read: – “With much deference we venture to invite the attention of Lucifer to the grave etymological objections to its definition of pentacle as a six-pointed star.”
The attention of our benevolent corrector is invited to “Webster’s Complete Dictionary of the English Language. . . . thoroughly revised and improved by Chauncey A. Goodrich, D.D., LL.D. . . . late Professor of Yale College, and Noah Porter, D.D., Professor of Moral Philosophy and Metaphysics in Yale College. . . . assisted by Dr. C. A. F. Mahn, of Berlin, and others. New edition of 1880, etc., etc. London.”
At the word “Pentacle,” we read as follows: – “Pentacle. . . a figure composed of two equilateral triangles, intersecting so as to form a six-pointed star, used in ornamental art and also with superstitious import, by the astrologers, etc.”
This (Fairholt’s) definition is preceded by saying that pentacle is a word from the Greek πέντε, five – which every schoolboy knows. But pente or five has nothing to do with the word pentacle, which Eliphas Levi, as do all Frenchmen and Kabalists, spells pantacle (with an a and not with an e); and which is more correct than the English and less puzzling. For, with as much “deference” as shown by the Path to Lucifer, Lucifer ventures to point out to the Path that according to old Kabalistic phraseology, a pantacle is “any magic figure intended to produce results.”
Therefore, if anyone is to be taken to task for overlooking “the grave etymological objections to the definition of pentacle as a six-pointed star” it is the great Professors who have just revised Webster’s Dictionary, and not Lucifer. Our corrector has evidently confused pentagon with pentacle – “Errare humanum est.”
Editors of Lucifer.
London, June, 1888.
The Sraddha
Andrew T. Sibbald · pp. 296-302
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Mary Merivale having left her husband, as explained before in Parts I. and II., after a time he follows her, and finds traces of her teaching as he journeys on seeking her. Thro’ cities passed I where folks crowd together, |
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“For how,” she said, “shall man arise and hearken, |
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“A woman’s innocent eyes alone can fathom |
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“He worships who hath raised a fallen brother, |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
Indian Proverbs
Charles Johnston · pp. 306
The Bewitched Curiosities; or the Pawned Pledges and The Spirits
C. Pfoundes · pp. 307-310
Karmic Visions
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 311-322
Louis Dramard
Benoit Malon · pp. 323-329
[Letter to Camille Lemaitre]
Louis Dramard · pp. 326-327
[Editorial postscript to the tribute to Louis Dramard by Benoît Malon]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 329
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Reviews
Herr Paulus
It has been said by some writer that those people are the happiest who retain longest their illusions. As youth slips away our beautiful fancies and ideals are apt to vanish also. Heroes descend from their heights and become ordinary human beings; poets, statesmen, generals and priests develop attributes quite open to the criticism of those who come in contact with them in daily life. Mr. Besant, in writing Herr Paulus, has destroyed for us one more illusion, not the one however he probably intended to annihilate.
He obviously wished to make clear to the public the already known fact that there are in the world impostors. This we recognised even before reading the book.
The illusion that has passed away in the dreary task of getting through these three volumes is the belief in Mr. Besant himself. The book is so disingenuous, the want of knowledge of the matters dealt with so glaringly obvious, that all confidence in the author as a writer who makes himself thoroughly master of the facts and theories he expounds is shattered. From this point of view the book for many readers may be described as a “shocker.”
To take a generous view of the book we must suppose it was written in the hope of effacing the foolish and injurious belief that so many people nurture in regard to what used to be called the supernatural.
The plan adopted by the author for bringing home to his readers the rottenness of the structure on which they build their hopes is one by no means original in conception and is in its development rather illogical.
Mesmerists and mediums, no matter how genuine their power, are sometimes also cheats and liars. Mr. Besant goes even farther than this, and implies that every one who is in any way connected with occult research must be, if not an active impostor, at all events a conscious hypocrite. Mesmerism as a fact in nature is admitted, the genuine exercise of the force is made to appear charlatanry.
The central figure and hero of the book is represented as being at the same time a real mesmerist whose powers might have thrown Mesmer himself into the shade, a conjuror equal to the very best known artists of the day, and a trickster. The mesmeric power (which the reader is assured is genuine) thus backed up is made to produce wonders and miracles which, we may mention en passant, neither mesmerism, conjuring nor imposition, separately or in combination could possibly have brought about. The sceptic of the novel, who sets himself to watch, find out and expose Herr Paulus, asserts his firm belief in mesmerism, and says, in speaking of the so-called miracles that are performed in his presence,
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that, admitting the man to be a mesmerist, everything he does may be explained with the aid of trickery and sleight of hand.
In the same way it may be supposed that the phenomena of spiritualism, including slate writing and the passing of matter through matter, can easily be explained, provided there is present a real medium, who is also a conjuror and impostor.
On the strength of this happy idea the sceptic arranges upon the roof of the house a remarkable and impossible apparatus, which he dignifies by the name of camera obscura. It should be mentioned that the sceptic is by way of being a student and devotee of physical science. This young man may have a perfect knowledge, theoretical and practical, of the system of mirrors and lenses necessary to the reproduction of a picture which does not lie immediately in front of the camera. If so, Mr. Besant, in describing this apparatus, either fails to express his meaning, or else he betrays in this instance, as in so many others, the ugly fact that he has contented himself with using the vaguest and most untrustworthy sources of information in order to give credibility to the incidents of the story, without taking any trouble to ascertain whether they were, or were not, reliable.
One of the most curious facts in connection with mesmerism is the influence that the operator has over his sensitive. He can not only render the physical body impervious to pain, but what is much more important he has entire control of his mind and soul, which, for the time, are in absolute subjection to the mesmerist’s will. This power Herr Paulus, according to Mr. Besant’s description, has in a very complete degree, and yet eventually he is made to confess, and even to believe himself a thorough-going impostor, because he mixed up trickery with his real power. This was, of course, an ignoble and dishonest part for any man to play, and cannot be too strongly condemned. At the same time, it should be remembered that mesmerism, no matter how much degraded, when adopted and made use of by charlatans, remains a standing and unexplained fact. It cannot be much longer disregarded by science, neither can it be disproved by such means as these adopted by Mr. Besant.
It would be just as logical to cast ridicule and discredit on any branch of physical science when such are occasionally used to aid an illusion on the stage as to infer that the phenomena of spiritualism or mesmerism are all false because mediums sometimes cheat, and charlatans live upon the credulity of the majority, who it has been very well said are mostly fools. This is exactly what the author does in Herr Paulus. He accepts or implies that there is a basis of truth underlying the superstructure of imposition in occultism. At the same time he concerns himself only with that superstructure, using it to cast ridicule and disgrace upon the foundation of truth, the existence of which he does not deny. The disingenuousness of the book is not unfortunately the worst of its numerous faults. Its leading characteristic for people who have any grasp or comprehension of the questions raised, will be the singular absence of accurate information displayed in every department of the subjects which are brought upon the scene. Mr. Besant apparently knows no more of conjuring, its possibilities and limitations, than he does of mesmerism; and he seems to be as far from understanding the principle or capabilities of the working powers of
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a camera obscura as he is of realising or dimly perceiving the first rudiments of occult philosophy. Students of the latter believe that all pain, misery, sin and wickedness are the result of ignorance. The characters depicted in this book are excellent illustrations of this idea. Moreover, the novel itself is a standing testimony to the same theory, for if the writer of it had had a small amount of that wisdom that deters men from folly, he would never have sent Herr Paulus into the world. Apart from its incorrectness it is too dull as a story to add to Mr. Besant’s reputation as a clever novelist, while it is more than likely to efface in many minds belief in the bona fides of some of the best of his former books.
We cannot help contrasting with the tone adopted by Mr. Besant that of another opponent of Theosophy and Occultism, Sir Monier Williams,[19] Boden Professor of Sanskrit at Oxford. In an address read before the “Victoria Institute,” on June 4th, 1888, under the title of “Mystical Buddhism, in connexion with the Yoga Philosophy of the Hindus,” he says:
“It is worth noting that many believers in Asiatic occultism hold that a hitherto unsuspected force exists in Nature, called Odic force (is this to be connected with Psychic force?), and that it is by this that the levitation of entranced persons is effected. Some are said to have the power of lightening their bodies by swallowing large draughts of air. The President of the Theosophical Society, Colonel Olcott, alleges that he himself, in common with many other observers, has seen a person raised in the air by a mere effort of will. . . .
“. . . It is contended, that ‘since we have attained, in the last half century, the theory of evolution, the antiquity of Man, the far greater antiquity of the world itself, the correlation of physical forces, the conservation of energy, spectrum analysis, photography, the locomotive engine, electric telegraph, spectroscope, electric light, and the telephone, who shall dare to fix a limit to the capacity of Man?’[20] Few will be disposed to deny altogether the truth of such a contention, however much they may dissent from Colonel Olcott’s theosophical and neo-Buddhist views. . . .
“Nevertheless, it (Asiatic occultism) seems to me to be a subject which ought not to be brushed aside by our scientists as unworthy of consideration. It furnishes, in my opinion, a highly interesting topic of enquiry, especially in its bearing on the so-called ‘Spiritualism,’ ‘neo-Buddhism,’ and ‘Theosophy,’ of the present day. The practices connected with mesmerism, animal magnetism, clairvoyance, thought-reading, &c., have their counterparts in the Yoga system prevalent in India more than 2,000 years ago. ‘The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done; and there is no new thing under the sun.’”
It thus appears that Sir M. Williams takes a broader view of these subjects than does Mr. Besant, whose book, however, can only mislead people whose knowledge of occultism is as shallow as his own.
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Sheykh Hassan, the Spiritualist[21]
Mr. Hillam presents to us a very peculiar book. It bears very evident mark that the author is more at home among the facts which he endeavours to weave into the form of a narrative than he is in the literary labour of book-making. The result is that he has written a story full of most interesting information, but which is told in such a dry manner that the reader has brought home to him the creaking of the machinery by which the puppets are moved. But this only adds, in a way, to the intrinsic value of the story. One feels that the author records recollections and facts, scorning to supplement them with additions of mere fiction.
We are introduced by the narrator to three Sheykhs-in-chief. Sheykh Moosa is shown as the learned chief of a Theological college, so far as learning and knowledge of legend and scripture are concerned, he is regarded as a master. But he is honest enough to confess that there is such a thing as “the ’Ilm E’ Rohanee,” the knowledge of the spiritual power, but that he himself knows nothing of it. Then there is Sheykh Kasem, who is apparently only an ordinary specimen of a “medium,” such as many of the “Darweesh” often are. However, he, unlike many of the “mediums” in the West, although he invariably pockets the money necessary to purchase incense and other things for the ceremonies, is unable at all times to produce his “wonders.” Finally we come to Sheykh Hassan, and his character must be judged by the reader who follows the story.
This Sheykh Hassan finally consents, on the introduction of Sheykh Moosa, to show to the narrator some of the powers of the Rohanee; but before he can be present at the “adjuration,” he has to undergo a three days’ preparation. This consists of meditation on self-control, and the acquisition and preservation of this last during that period.
The test to which he is subjected is that, at the midnight hour of the three days, there comes upon him the thrill of dread which comes upon all at their first introduction to the consciousness of the unseen world. To this is added the perception of Beings who endeavour to daunt the aspirant by threats and warnings. These, however, he has sufficient courage to disregard, and by invocation “of the All-knowing,” the vision is dispelled. Sheykh Hassan, on learning that he has succeeded in this first test of his self-control, then proceeds to inform his pupil as to the nature of “the ’Ilm E’ Rohanee.” This explanation also gives the rationale of the method of testing, and reason why the aspirant is tested.
“The ’Ilm E’ Rohanee,” said Sheykh Hassan, “is the knowledge and possession of a spiritual power, by which the person endowed with it is able to see and to understand some of the mysteries of the unseen world. He is also able, by its power, to have a real and personal communication with the spirits in this existing, though hidden world, such spirits who are created beings and who have a real individual existence, spirits both good and evil, and who are entirely distinct from the souls of departed human beings. . . .”
“The Rohanee, or the Spiritual, is in no way connected with the art called
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E’ Sehr, magic or witchcraft, which is of an evil form, and is, in many cases, a pretended power, but which certain people claim to have, and for sordid purposes profess to use, in order to heal the sick, or find treasures, or to raise the spirits of the departed. All this is false, and is used to deceive the superstitious and the ignorant.”
“The ’Ilm, or Knowledge, of the Rohanee, is composed of two divisions. – the Ilwee, or Heavenly; the Suflee, or the Earthly. The Ilwee confers the privilege of personal communication with those angels and good spirits who have the care of human beings, both living and departed, entrusted to them. . . .”
“The Suflee, or earthly, gives the power of communication with, and a certain amount of control over, some of these evil spirits who, through rebellion, have separated themselves from the good angels, and having placed themselves under the leadership of the chief rebel Iblees” . . . . “have been driven from the abodes of bliss, and have made their sojourn in this world
“These spirits have through the subtlety of their chief, acquired a degree of power over man and over the earth which he inhabits; and these evil ones . . . . have knowledge of mysteries, which knowledge those who possess the power of the Rohanee desire to obtain.”
“The object of the Ilm is to acquaint the one who seeks it with the hidden and spiritual life, to acquaint him, and him alone, with the secrets of the past, to reveal to him the events of the future, the mysteries of things that were before the creation of the world, the mysteries of things that shall be after it has passed away; to allow the soul to begin its education while still unseparated from the body; to explain the real individual and distinct life of the soul during its union with the body, and of the life that awaits it after its severance therefrom, and of the unending life after it has again been united to the body; to teach him to understand that it is the soul which lives and grows, but its existence is unbounded, unhampered by time and space. It is the knowledge that gradually, even while it grows and develops, raises the veil from before one’s view, that removes the scales from the eyes, and that opens a vista into the hidden mysteries of the past as well as the future. . . . .”
“Part of the knowledge of these secrets must be obtained from these outcast beings, and is thus called Suflee – Earthly. These spirits regard the world as their own, and desire, though that wish is, and ever will be, defeated, to keep mankind in subjection to themselves alone, and to hold back the knowledge of the higher and hidden life; they, therefore resist all attempts that men may make to obtain this knowledge, for by it a person who receives it acquires power over these fallen spirits, and they are afraid that by the spreading and development of the knowledge their influence over mankind would diminish and ultimately cease altogether.”
Then Sheykh Hassan stated that the only person who obtained the knowledge and was permitted to reveal it was Solomon the son of David. But that Solomon had not finished both books of his revelation and that they were carried off at the time of his death by the evil spirits, a belief and tradition common to Mussulman Mystics and Jewish Kabalists.
“The great object, then, of anyone who has, by knowledge of the Rohanee, a power over these spirits, is to learn the contents of these books.”
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Sheykh Hassan considered that he would, after obtaining the revelation of the Suflee, be able to “rise to a higher and more extensive knowledge, through the other branch of the ’Ilm of the Rohanee, the Ilwee, or the Heavenly.” Also that the power could only be obtained by those who
“have dedicated their lives to its search and acquirement, and who have been predestined by the Highest Will to obtain it. To a person so privileged to receive the power of the Rohanee, its possession must be his most constant desire and most ardent hope; and by long years of meditation and prayer, by untiring watchfulness and fasting, the body must be forgotten, the earthly subdued; his thoughts must be firmly fixed on the Almighty Power, which he must never cease to invoke. His whole being must be ever imbued with the constant wish, the burning longing, the merging of his entire self into that intense feeling of desire and hope; and this not for one day, or week, or month, but for many long years both by day and by night. Then – and if such be the Written Will, such the predestination – the great Name by which the Power is obtained will be revealed to him. No voice, no sound is heard, but it is shown in characters which leave their imprint on his very soul. . . . . .”
The views of Sheykh Hassan “the Spiritualist” are expressed clearly in a direction very much opposed to the views of modern “spiritualists.”
Readers of Lucifer who will trouble to compare the articles on “Practical Occultism,” and on “Occultism versus The Occult Arts,” will at once appreciate the good points of the foregoing quotations, and will see also that there is a good deal of the Occult Arts in them. In the description of the Adjurations, this is more plainly brought forward, and the reader is made to see that the rites of the ’Ilm E Rohanee as put forward in this book can only be compared to the Indian Tantrika ceremonies, with the exception that the purposes of the ’Ilm are beneficial while those of the Tantrika are usually the reverse.
The story of Hassan’s life is given to enable the reader to observe that Hassan did not make a voluntary sacrifice of his “earthly” life, but was forced by the loss of what he had to realise that it was gone from him. He did not give it up but lost it in a mysterious way. Consequently, when he finally succeeded in summoning the guardian of the past, that guardian ruined Hassan’s power of self-control by presenting before him the semblance of the manner in which he had been stripped of all that he had valued on earth. He failed in the trial and then loses his life in a manner which seems to be only a slight and rather “forced” variation on Lytton’s “Strange Story.” The aspirant for Occultism would do well to ponder on Hassan’s words as stated on p. 162, for they contain much that will be valuable not only to him but to all men. The description of the Khilweh or monastery in the desert and of the two years’ terrible probation and tortures and five years’ training as ghastly afterwards, the whole constituting seven years’ probation, will be found of interest to those who desire to learn something of the trials of chelaship. Finally, though we cannot agree with the use of such terms as “the Highest will” and “predestination” “Solomon” &c., we know that these take a prominent place in Mohammedan esotericism, but that the Sufis do not use them. The result is, that we have presented before us a most interesting book, which, unlike many of those so-called “occult” literature of the present day, contains more than a mere flavour of truth, but of real occultism. We recommend it thoroughly to our readers, and especially to Theosophists.
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“New Light on Old Truths.”
This little volume is written by two authors who call themselves “Ministers and Servants of the New Dispensation,” in one of whom we recognise a clergyman of the Church of England not unknown to us. Its purpose is contained in the sentence on page 6.
“Select from each church and from all nations and all ages the things that are good, and beautiful, and true, and when thou hast formed them into one, instil them into the minds of the people for their use.”
No one interested in Theosophy can deny that this is a high aim and one worthy of adoption.
In the course of about 140 pages but few of these truths can be touched upon; but we may safely recommend this book to our readers as an attempt to throw light upon many of the mysteries of Christian dogma. The authors say:
“Abbé Roca and others have spoken in the Roman Church, and that with no uncertain sound, and the initiates among the higher clergy may have the knowledge which yet they will proclaim; but who in the English or other Protestant Churches have dared to teach the esoteric and hidden doctrines of the Catholic faith?”
We have then an exposition of the tenet which is a cardinal point in the New Dispensation Creed, the Motherhood conjoined with the Fatherhood, in the heavens above as in the earth beneath.
The Protestant Church refuses to allow of any Divine Mother, but the Roman Church has preserved this doctrine of antiquity, though in a distorted form, and it is now finding its way into most of the mystic writings of the times. We are in “New Light,” referred for its corroboration to the Talmudical writings, in which such benedictions as this occur, “The Great Jehovah blessed is He! and his Shechinah, blessed is She – even the holy Duality in Unity on the throne of Their Glory,” &c., &c. But it is only within the last few years that this mystery of all times has been insisted upon as a necessary factor in all religion and ethics; the woman clothed with the Sun, being the type of the divinity of woman, and of the spirit of pure Love which must rule co-equally with the spirit of wisdom, typified in man, when the world shall be overcome by the Universal Brotherhood for which we are all yearning.
I. O. and M. A. deal with many other questions of great importance to man in this, his earth life, such as those of re-incarnation and Karma, and adduce interesting indications of belief in these doctrines from the Old and New Testaments. In this connection an extremely poetical Vision is narrated, wherein the Universe appeared as a great crystal globe filled with an ethereal fluid containing countless lesser globes of the colour of a rose. “Each lesser globe seemed to pale in turn and disappear for a season, and then to re-appear increased in its capacity, and receptiveness, and the larger became centres to the many smaller which were about them.”
We strongly advise our readers to obtain this little book, and follow for themselves the clue which it gives to many of the rites of Christian Churches; and, in conclusion, can only give one more quotation which should recommend the work to all Theosophists.
“There is an ascent of the Soul and a descent of the Spirit. As the Soul rises higher and higher into the Spirit she becomes Divine, and filled with the fulness of God, and as the Spirit of God descends deeper and deeper into the Soul, He ‘becomes man.’ He, or she, who has the Spirit in all its fulness, whose Soul has ascended highest into the Spirit, and into whose Soul the Spirit has descended most deeply, the same is a Christ of God.”
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Correspondence
A Protest
As a subscriber to the Theosophical Publication Society, I have lately received their Pamphlet No. 6, the first paper in which is an able and interesting exposition of the doctrine of Re-incarnation, signed “T. B. Harbottle.” It contains, however, one statement with regard to the teaching of the Christian churches so astonishing, and, as far as the Catholic Church is concerned, so incorrect, that unless some abler pen than mine should be first in the lists, I must beg your permission to break a lance with the (otherwise) learned occultist; and though Mr. Harbottle’s paper appears separately, I take it that Lucifer is the Arena in which theosophical questions such as these may be fought out.
I will begin by quoting certain passages from Mr. Harbottle’s paper, page 6.
“Protestantism offers no scheme of punishment for those who are partly bad; no reward for that which is good in those who are partly evil” . . . “What is necessary, according to the teachings of Protestantism, is repentance and faith . . . With these, a man is released from the necessity of fighting his lower nature. . . The Church of Rome has preserved, in her doctrine of purgatory, a punishment for the evil done by those who are not wholly bad, and so far her teaching is somewhat more philosophical and logical than that of Protestantism; but she teaches, also, that faith is the first requisite. . . In neither section of Christianity, indeed, is there any recognition of the necessity of that self-conquest which is the basis of the Theosophical system of ethics. Both believe in a divine grace which, descending into the heart of man, takes as it were the battle out of his hands and relieves him from responsibility and possibility of failure.” (The italics are mine.)
With regard to what may be the “teachings of Protestantism,” I do not intend to deal, because Protestantism being a congeries of innumerable sects with very various teachings, it is impossible to speak of each separately, and I should be certain to fall foul of some. But as a member of the Roman Catholic Church, which is the “Mother and Mistress”[22] of all Christian Churches and from which they are all derived, in a greater or less degree, I can speak with certainty, because all her children are taught the same doctrine, and are trained, up to a certain point, in the same practice.
Now, what is the earliest teaching given to the young, and to converts? That “we must renounce the devil (evil of every kind) and all his works”; that “we must follow the rule of life taught by Jesus Christ,” that we must love one another, “never allowing ourselves any thought, word or deed to the injury of anyone,” that we must “forgive our enemies, from our hearts”; that we must deny ourselves “by giving up our own will, and by going against our own
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humours, inclinations, and passions”; that “we must take up our cross by submitting with patience to the labours and sufferings of this life, embracing them willingly for the love of God”; and that “we must watch and fight against all temptations.”
All these quotations are extracted from the Catechism taught to every child. Now these are not theoretic teachings merely, but are enforced from an early age in the confessional, that “powerful engine” as our enemies call it; and they are right, for confession, and the right preparation for it, if a man is sincere, teach him to know more of himself and of what he really is, than anything else I know of. The Catechism teaches moreover, that no absolution is effectual unless joined to contrition, namely, “a hearty sorrow for sins, with a firm purpose of amendment.” and to “satisfaction,” namely, making reparation for injury done, and doing any penance imposed.
Now if anyone sees in all this “no recognition of the necessity of self-conquest,” and thinks that the battle is taken out of a man’s hands, and that he is relieved from “responsibility,” he must be wilfully blind or woefully perverse.
Apart from the confessional, there are the “powerful engines” of the pulpit, of the personal influence of the priest in house-to-house visitation, in the Offices for the sick and dying, in Confraternities for men, for women, for families; of the ministrations of nursing sisters, of Little Sisters of the Poor, of the Brothers of St. Vincent de Paul, of the Christian Brothers, and other educational bodies. Each and all of these represent the hand of the strong held out to protect the weak, to raise the fallen, to help if it be but one soul to bear the burden of life, and to fight the battle of sin, and sorrow and suffering.
How often are we reminded of the words of St. Augustine: “God made us without ourselves, but He will not save us without ourselves!” and it is a Catholic poet who says:
“And does the road lead up hill all the way? |
The fight can never be given up; one by one the passions must be subdued, trodden down, or rooted out; and those who find the attractions and temptations of this wicked world too strong for them, or even too interrupting for the pursuit and cultivation of the Spiritual life, are fain to retire into the seclusion of the monastery; and they make the “Great Renunciation” not in order – as the unknowing often assert – that they may lead lives of idleness and luxury, but that, face to face with themselves and with the Eternal, they may rise upon the “Stepping-stones of their dead selves to higher things.”
Mr. Harbottle will, I am sure, forgive me if I appear to have classed him among the “unknowing” ones. That is far from my thought; but in this vast field in which we are fellow-students, and may even, I hope, be fellow-workers, each can point out to another some corner yet untilled, the fruit of which is necessary to complete the whole fabric of philosophy. And if Theosophists desire to set forth the truths underlying all religions, they must first take care to have a correct knowledge of those religions, and not to misrepresent teachings the facts concerning which can be easily verified.
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In my humble opinion, our object should be to heal breaches, not to increase their number; and by fairness and charity to bring nearer the great Day of Reconciliation, desired by all true lovers of Truth and of mankind.
[Editors’ note on ‘A Protest’ by Discipula]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 339
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What Reincarnates?
With reference to the recent discussion as to how much of the personality, if any, accompanies the divine individuality in its passage from death to birth, the Bhagavad Gita speaks with no uncertain sound. The following is Mr. Subba Row’s reading of the 8th verse in chapter 15.
“When the lord Jiva quits one body and enters another, he carries with him the mind and the senses, as the wind carries the fragrance of flowers from their source.”
However necessary a fresh revelation may have been to bring before the Western mind in a definite form the truths we recognise under the name of the Occult Philosophy – and much that has been written on the subject, notably, the little book called “Light on the Path,” may be regarded as such a new revelation – yet nothing can take the place of the older scriptures, and among these none stand on such a supreme height as Bhagavad Gita, containing, as it does, in its instruction on the Sacred Science, the very essence of all the Vedas.
It may sometimes speak in mystic language not always fully interpretable by the Western scholar, but where it states a thing definitely, it may be said to settle the question – and the above would seem to be a case in point. There is not much room for difference of opinion as to what is meant by the mind and the senses. To the writer it seems that not only the “Manas,” but the Kamarupa is included in the totality of the entity that reincarnates (see Editors’ note), and this only bears out the logical conception that there are no great leaps in nature, and that the man or woman takes up at each re-birth the threads of his or her character – alteration of sex should there be such notwithstanding – pretty much where he or she left off. The occult law which teaches that before a man can attain knowledge he must have passed through all places, foul and clean alike, will thus have to be accounted for by the gradual alterations of character during each lifetime.
[Editorial reply to Pilgrim on reincarnation]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 340
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Indian Proverbs
Of this world’s poison-tree, there are two honey-sweet fruit; the enjoyment of the divine essence of poetry, and the friendship of the noble.
All good fortune belongs to him of contented mind; is not the whole earth leather-covered for him who wears shoes?
No. 11 – July 1888
Forlorn Hope
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 341-346
To Theosophists and Readers of Lucifer
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 347
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Across Ceylon
Ceylon is the jewel-pendant of the Indian Empire – a glowing luxurious garden teeming with natural beauties in infinite variety, where the fierce heat of India is softened by “purple spheres of sea,” and the climate, an almost unchanging continuity of the richest imaginable midsummer. P. and O. passengers staying for a day or two, or for a few hours only, at Galle or Colombo, on their way to or from Australia or the Indian ports of the Bay of Bengal, will gather from even such passing glimpses of Ceylon, bright memories of its tropical glory that can never afterwards fade entirely away. The abundant vigour of the vegetation, the glowing oriental magnificence of the landscape, rolling up inland into great mountains and everywhere glossy with shining verdure and scented with tropical forest, the natural splendour of the whole country must always leave an impression on imaginative minds, that no lapse of time or variety of other scenes can efface. But the passing European traveller or tourist will generally associate Ceylon with ideas of languor and enervating enjoyment. Nor will many residents reproach the island in their recollections with any worse attributes than those that may have been associated with their own ennui. They may have a large experience of its Anglicised aspects without realizing much of the inner life of the natives, or of the wild interior. Their travels may never take them out of reach of the imported luxuries of European homes, and they may little realise the very different impressions of Ceylon that they would accumulate if they struck away from the railway lines and the easy comforts of plantation homesteads, in search of a path through unfrequented districts.
My own acquaintance with Ceylon, does not extend much beyond the beautiful Wackwalle Bungalow – a tourists’ restaurant near Galle, which commands a view of a valley so surpassing in its loveliness that it realises, better than any other scenery I have ever encountered, the popular conception of the Garden of Eden. But the Wackwalle view has often been described, and it is not my present purpose to dwell upon its charms, for I have a friend in Ceylon who lives there for purposes unconnected with the satisfaction of epicurean tastes; and the contrast to be observed between recent experiences of his and the Ceylonese excursions likely to be familiar to readers who have visited the island under ordinary conditions, has flashed upon my own mind so forcibly that I cannot feel free to leave a narrative he has recently sent me buried in the obscurity of private correspondence.
It is only necessary to premise that my friend, a devoted Theosophist,
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lives habitually in Ceylon (for reasons wholly unconnected with personal interests and ambitions), and is engaged in benevolent work for the advantage of the native population. A few months ago, being then at Colombo, he found himself required, in fulfilment of what he conceived to be a Theosophical duty, to repair to Madras with all possible speed. With a native companion he had arranged to leave Colombo on the 21st of December by the steamer Almora. But on the evening of the 19th, he heard that that vessel had been delayed in the Red Sea, and would not arrive till the 27th, so he and his friend had to find some other means of transit. I continue the story in his own words:
“On the morning of the 20th I went round to every steamer office in Colombo trying to find something – anything, even a cargo boat – that would put us ashore in India in time, but nothing of the kind was to be had. I had heard that there were little native brigs running between Colombo and India, so I went to see about them also, but I found that their captains were all afraid to put out in consequence of the bad weather. Several had started the night before and had to return, getting back into the harbour with great difficulty and some serious damage. As the weather still continued unfavourable on the morning of the 21st, and it therefore seemed unlikely that any of these little boats would leave that day, I determined to try what is called the land route – that is to travel by land to the north of Ceylon, and make my way somehow or other across the narrowest part of Palka Strait. No one seemed to know much about this land route – I could not find that any of my friends had ever travelled by it; but I knew there was a land route, and it seemed the only way open to us.
“Accordingly, we left Colombo by the 7.30 train on the morning of the 21st, and reached Kandy at 11 o’clock, and Matale, the northern limit of the railway at present, at noon. From that point what little traffic there is is carried on by an arrangement called a coach, though it is very different from our English coaches. Here commenced our difficulties, for the agent at the coach office informed us that because of the heaviness of the roads the proprietor had ordered him not to allow more than two passengers to travel on any one day, and that those two places were already engaged several days in advance. I explained the circumstances of our case, and showed how urgent it was that we should get on quickly. I even offered extra payment, but in vain; the agent could not make any exception to his employer’s rule. I then enquired where the proprietor was to be found, and was told that he lived about eight miles along the road. I suggested that we might at least go in the coach as far as that; that could not do the horses much harm; and I would undertake to persuade the proprietor to relax his rule. With much difficulty I induced the agent to agree to this, but he protested all the while that we were foredoomed to failure. He was quite sure his master
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would not let us go on. I thought differently, and I was right; a little judicious management of the proprietor soon procured for us the requisite permission for us to travel as far as Anuradhapura,[23] the limit of his jurisdiction. As I have already described the journey to that town, I need not say much about it here.
“My present experience differed from the earlier one only in two ways – first, that owing to the heaviness of the road, we were nine hours late, and, secondly, that in several places there were considerable inundations. Twice the road was so entirely washed away that we had to get out and wade for half-a-mile over sharp stones through a rapid current over knee deep, the empty coach following as best it might. At last, about three miles from Anuradhapura, we found a bridge washed away, and our road barred by a furious torrent, half-a-mile wide, of unknown depth. We had no boat, and my companion could not swim. I thought of making a raft, but soon gave up the idea, perceiving that the swiftness of the current would render it utterly unmanageable. The best thing to do seemed to be to skirt the torrent and try to strike the north road at some point higher up; so we abandoned the coach and walked to Mihintale, eight miles off, through rain of truly tropical vigour. It was after dark when we reached there, but still we managed to hire a bullock cart to take us to Madavachchi, a village on the Jaffna road. We arrived there at daybreak only to find that as there was no booking-office, we could not obtain coach tickets there. Immediately we engaged another bullock-cart and pushed on to Vavoniyavilankulam.
“We were by this time in the part of the island where nothing is spoken but Tamil, a language of which neither I nor my companion knew ten words, so we were rather uncertain as to what the people meant; but at any rate they would issue us no tickets and would say nothing at all about the coach. In consequence of the inundations everything was thrown out of order, and we had no idea at what time
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the coach would come, so we dared not leave the road for a moment, but had to sit out there in the pouring rain till eight o’clock at night when it arrived.
“Imagine a platform of rough boards about three feet by four, set on wheels and covered by a sort of bamboo roof about four feet above it. Then suppose this machine loaded with mail-bags, tin boxes, and miscellaneous luggage, on the top of which were somehow crouched (for there was no room either to sit or to lie) two forlorn human beings – everything inside and out being thoroughly, hopelessly, soakingly wet – and perhaps you may succeed in forming an imperfect picture of Her Majesty’s Jaffna mail coach as it drew up that night at Vavoniyavilankulam.
“The coach driver having, as we afterwards discovered, received the same order as the agent at Matale, opposed our attempt to get in, and of course the miserable passengers already in possession viewed the prospect of still further crowding with anything but joy. Remember that we did not understand the language and had no means whatever of explaining the urgency of the case, or inducing anybody to listen to reason. What could we do? Nothing, I think, but what we did; and that was to push aside all opposition, throw in our bags, climb upon them ourselves and simply sit there, trying to look unconscious of the torrent of vigorous vituperation that was being poured upon us. After a few minutes the driver took away the oxen from the coach and was evidently refusing to proceed; however, we judged we could probably tire him out at that game, because, as he had mail bags on board, he would not dare to delay much; so we pursued a policy of masterly inactivity. The driver retired into a hut and stayed there half-an-hour; still we were immovable. Presently he reappeared and began to adjure us once more, but this time in a much more respectful tone, and – seeing, I suppose, that sulkiness was of no use – one of our unfortunate fellow passengers now discovered that he could speak a little English and proceeded to act as interpreter.
“Through him the driver represented that he could not possibly take us. The roads were very bad, the coach would break down, the oxen would be unable to draw it, and above all, his orders to take only two passengers were precise and he was afraid of the consequences if he disobeyed. I rejoined on my side that business compelled me to go, that I was willing to take all responsibility as to coach and cattle, that I would myself see the proprietor and exonerate the driver; and, in fact, that I was simply going on in spite of everything. Well, it all seemed useless, but at last the man incautiously remarked that if there had been only one of us, perhaps the thing might have been possible. I at once pinned him down to that admission, and told him that if he would take my friend and the luggage, I would cheerfully walk. We were not much more than 100 miles from Jaffna, and I knew I could
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get over the ground quite as fast as the coach on such a road as that, so I felt quite safe in making the proposal. In this manner, then we eventually started – I walking, or rather wading, behind and the other three passengers riding. There were more inundations, and the road was a mere apology for one for some distance; but after about twenty miles we got to drier ground, and I was able to ride; though riding in that vehicle was certainly more uncomfortable than walking. Presently dawn came, and all that weary day we jogged on in incessant heavy rain through unbroken and more or less inundated jungle, seeing no houses and no human beings except at the little isolated huts where, at regular intervals, we changed cattle. Recollect that not for one moment was any approach to rest or comfort possible, that we were soaked to the very bones, and that we could get no food of any description – indeed nothing whatever had passed our lips for two entire days and nights – and you will begin to realise our condition when, after four nights without sleep, without even a chance to take our wet coats off, we reached an obscure seaport named Kayto on the morning of Christmas day.
“We had arrived at Jaffna, I should have said, just at midnight, and learning that there were no vessels leaving there for India had at once engaged a bullock cart to go on to Kayto. Here there was only about forty miles of sea between us and India, but still our evil fortune did not desert us. There were twenty-six native boats (of 16 or 18 tons) ready to start, but the weather was so bad, and the wind so unfavourable, that the crews were all afraid to go. We offered double fare, but it was useless. The natives are not good sailors at the best of times, and nothing would tempt them to risk their ricketty craft in such weather. Here at last was an obstacle that all our perseverance could not surmount. There was nothing for it but to wait, so we went up to what is called the “rest house” – of course there are no such things as hotels in these places – and managed to get some curry and rice cooked, the first meal we had sat down to since leaving Colombo. While it was cooking we took off our wet clothes – also for the first time since leaving Colombo – had a most refreshing bath, and put on, not dry ones, for nothing was dry, but comparatively clean ones. Then we took our food and enjoyed it, and after that, as it was evening (our enquiries and bargainings had taken time), we went straight off to bed. Of course our bedding, like everything else, was soaked through and through, but we were tired enough to sleep in the bed of a river. We just dropped down and lay like logs for fourteen hours or so.
“In most countries such an adventure would end in a rheumatic fever, but in this glorious climate, after all this and much more, we are both as flourishing as ever. To cut the story short, on the following day the weather improved slightly and we found a Mahomedan captain who was willing to start. About five o’clock p.m. we got under weigh. The sea
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was rough and we had to beat up against the wind, but still we got on pretty fairly until the middle of the night, when we were suddenly struck by a squall. It looked very grand as it came up; there seemed to be a huge pyramid of inky black cloud on the horizon, and then all in a moment it leaped upon us, and we were in the midst of a raging storm. A magnificent effect for a painter, but I don’t want to see it again under exactly the same conditions. The helmsman was half asleep and all the other fellows entirely so, so I was absolutely the first man to see the thing. For a moment I scarcely realised what it was, but as soon as I did I raised a shout that speedily roused the whole crew, and we got the great lateen sail in only just in time. In half a minute more our fate would have been sealed and you would not have received this letter. How far that squall drove us I do not know; fortunately it did not last very long, and soon after noon the next day we made the Indian coast at a village called Adirampatnam, of which I had never heard before.
“There again we had difficulties, for the captain, with true oriental cunning, tried to cheat us because we did not know the language. He had been paid to put us free on shore, but now he wanted to shuffle out of that and make us pay again for boat hire. This he tried to induce us to do by abusing us in what must have been highly unparliamentary Tamil, while we in idiomatic English assured him that we had not the slightest intention of paying a single cent. He and the coast boatmen kept us in the boat for some time, refusing to land us. Then they tried to retain some of our luggage, and surrounded and threatened us with big sticks and long knives; but as usual our dogged perseverance and our evident readiness to fight any odds if forced into a quarrel won the day for us, and we were permitted to depart unmolested after some two hours of danger. There are no Europeans in that part of the country and the natives are peculiarly wild and savage. Indeed, they have a very bad reputation as most ferocious robbers, as we afterwards heard. After some wandering about among this dangerous race – none of whom would carry our luggage or help us in any way – we encountered the customs superintendent (who could speak English) and tried to arrange at once to get some conveyance to the nearest railway station thirty-three miles off. It appeared however that there were still some difficulties, for he informed us that we must not think of starting in the afternoon. The roads, he said, were terrible, and if we were still on the way when night fell we should undoubtedly be at once murdered or our bullocks and goods stolen, even if we managed to avoid the leopards and panthers with which the jungle swarmed. I was rather sceptical about all this, but as the natives evidently believed it, we could not get a cart at any price, and perhaps it was best so, for, on enquiry afterwards at Madras, our friends quite confirmed all these stories. So we got another meal and part of a night’s rest, and set out just before dawn for Mannergudi. That twenty-three miles was an experience, and
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not at all a desirable one. There really was nothing that deserved the name of a road, but rather a sort of track through the fields, and most of the time the cart was about up to the axle in soft mud, while we had to wade behind and give it an occasional push. The people looked the most savage ruffians imaginable, and there was no food to be had but a little fruit Mannergudi, however, seemed to be more civilized; there we were able to buy bread and get a queer conveyance called a jhutka, drawn by the remains of a pony, to take us ten miles further on to the railway station at Nidamangalam. We got there at last and had to wait four hours on an open platform, sitting on our luggage, which we dared not leave for an instant. We had another four hours to wait at Tangore junction, and so at last, at three o’clock in the morning, we got on board the mail train for Madras, which city we reached safely after fifteen hours travelling. This was on the evening of the 29th, so our journey had taken us nine days, during which time we had slept only twice and eaten only two meals, living the rest of the time on one loaf of bread, some bananas and a few little native buns. Nearly all the time we were wet through, and we constantly had to take pretty severe exercise of various kinds, and this is leaving the danger and anxiety out of account. On the whole I do not think I shall try the land route from Colombo to Madras in the rainy season again if I can help it.”
A. P. S.
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Countess Constance Wachtmeister being the secretary for the Western Section of the Theosophical Society, and receiving many letters from people who deplore their inability to purchase Theosophical literature, has deemed it advisable to form a circulating library which will contain not only theosophical books, but also works of any kind which would tend to elevate, educate or develop the mind, and thus prepare it for the reception of theosophical teachings. As this is a somewhat serious undertaking, she takes this opportunity of making an earnest appeal for contributions of money in support of this work, and also for donations of suitable books, feeling sure that this lending library will commend itself to the cordial support of all theosophists and lovers of truth.
All replies should be addressed to her at 7, Duke Street, Adelphi, W C.
Star-Angel Worship in the Roman Catholic Church
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 355-365
"L'Isis"
F. K. Gaboriau; A. Froment · pp. 365
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What is Theosophy?
[Published with the approval of the Gnostic Theosophical Society.]
Theosophy is derived from two Greek words, Theos, meaning God, and Sophia, meaning wisdom. Theosophia or Theosophy is the wisdom of God, or Divine wisdom. Theosophy is at once a science and a religion.
It is the science that embraces the phenomena, laws and principles of all sciences. The religion that contains the absolute truths underlying the creeds of all religions of all ages and peoples since the making of the world. It is as old as the sun; as young as the dawn. It evolves from the microcosm and explains the macrocosm. While mortal in manifestation, it is immortal in essence. “It is the light shining in the darkness and the darkness comprehendeth it not.” Its truth was hidden behind the veil of Isis, was closed within the sacred Lotus of the Buddha was guarded in the temples of Greece and Rome, was carved upon the golden sun of Montezuma, and was crucified upon the cross with Jesus Christ. Theosophia – Divine daughter of God! – calls aloud to all the world in this New Cycle, and proclaims in her very name her glorious origin and certain destiny!
The ancient Initiates or adepts were the discoverers and conservators of all the sciences of ancient times, and also the guardians and teachers of all the religions of the past. To the Initiate there never was and never can be any conflict between true science and true religion. But the ancient adept gave neither his knowledge of nature, nor of the gods to the people. There was an esoteric science, and an esoteric religion jealously guarded by the few, for the few who proved themselves worthy. Only after long years of study, of pure and holy living, and of the most terrible and painful ordeals was the seeker for divine wisdom admitted to the inner sanctuary. Few are they who can be trusted with the awful powers that come from occult knowledge of the Anima Bruta, till they have risen to the comprehension of the sublime mysteries of the Anima Divina. To gain admission to the higher secrets of the adepts is as difficult to-day as it was in the times of Pythagoras or of Christ, though the time for revealing many secrets hidden for thousands of years is now at hand. . . . . . .
The mystic grasps not only the immutable and relentless laws of the material world, but also the equally unvarying, inexorable and higher laws of the spiritual universe. The adept, both ancient and modern, reads the most occult pages in the book of nature, commands forces utterly unknown to modern science, scans the hearts of men and demons and holds converse with the Gods. The most learned cosmopolitan is
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at best but a citizen of the world; the adept is a citizen of the universe, and can live alike in the world of causes, and the world of effects, in the here and in the hereafter. And do we mean to say that all Theosophists know the secrets of all sciences, and have the key to every mystery of the soul? No! a thousand times no! As well might one say that every philosopher is a Newton or a La Place, every naturalist a Darwin or Haeckel, every musician a Mozart or Beethoven. But our claims seem startling enough to some. They are so high, wide and deep, that Science scorns, Religion repudiates and Ignorance ignores them, But Theosophists heed none of these things. They live in time as though it were eternity, and are as sure of eternity as they are of time. Though they may have caught but the faintest echo of the divine harmony, that echo enwraps the soul in-abiding calm. A great western mystic beautifully defines “reason as the eye of the mind and intuition as the eye of the soul.” The Theosophist walks the paths of truth with both these windows of his being wide open, and turned to the source of all light; and knows himself a son of God returning to his Father! And also knows that in that long journey, he shall gather all knowledge, both of earth and heaven, and attain to all the joys and powers, both of men and angels! He believes in absolute love and absolute wisdom, because he knows the laws of absolute justice that rule the universe. There can be no such thing as perfect love without perfect justice. The Gnostic alone, of all men, can tell you why “It is easier for heaven and earth to pass away than for one jot or tittle of the law to fail.” Because he knows the law he gathers his strength for the evil days that soon must fall upon mankind, because the power now held by the classes is used to oppose and suppress the rights of the masses. As every adept can read in the astral light, he knows the future when he wills. Thus, soon you will hear voices, here and there throughout the world, giving warning of the terrible calamities now swiftly sweeping from the Unseen, to overwhelm those who doubt and oppose the justice of the living God. The mystic loves all Christs and believes in all, but for him there is no saviour outside of himself. He knows the meaning of the beautiful mystery of the atonement; but the world does not know it; neither does the Church show that she knows it in the husky doctrine that reaches the masses from the Vatican.
Slowly the master entered the silent hall where his disciples walked and pondered the mysteries.
“Hast studied well the symbols, and dost thou know at last the truth,” said the master.
“In part I know, and always I seek,” replied the novitiate.
“Ponder well and strengthen thee, for we go a long journey and much may be revealed to thee.” . . . .
“Come!” said the master, and the student rose and followed. Soon
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they were in the dense gloom of a tropical forest; the towering trees enwrapped in the snaky folds of clasping vines, whose twisting fingers drew ever closer the dark roof leaves. Before them rose the dim outlines of that massive and mysterious temple, lost for ages in the heart of Yucatan. The master pushed away the heavy vines that covered deep carvings of many strange symbols, engraved upon the deathless stone before the Aztec rose or the Montezumas reigned.
“Behold the temple of the living God!” said the master.
And as the student knelt a tongue of flame leaped from cross to wheel, from wheel to serpent, and he cried aloud: “They knew! – thousands and thousands of years ago they knew, and here are all the mysteries, oh! Buddha our Lord!”
“Come!” said the master, and the student rose and followed. It was night. Round them stretched in awful majesty the ruins of ancient Karnac. Terrible in grandeur loomed those giant columns, striking black shadows across the splendour of the Egyptian moon. A flock of flamingoes whirled slowly in the air above, moving towards the gliding Nile. Then from the deepest shadow came a voice: “I am Hermes Trismegistus. If that which thou seekest thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without thee. All is living – life is one, and God is Life.”
When silence fell, a faint flame gleamed upon a broken column, and as the student bowed in awe, he saw the symbols carved deep, imperishable. The tongue of flame swept from winged globe to winged wheel; the triangles, interlaced, were enclosed in a serpent of fire; and his heart melted within him. And he cried again. “Here they knew him!” Here he was adored! Oh! Christ ineffable, oh! mystery Divine!
“Come!” said the master, and the student arose and followed. Suddenly thick darkness held them like a pall. They could hear the sullen surge of waves that sweep stealthily in caverns. Startled bats brushed them as they moved and the damp stones proved the sea was near this entrance to the cave of Elephanta. They were approaching the oldest mystery of India. The master gently took the cold hand of his disciple as the darkness slowly lifted, and in the dimness glowered that monstrous statue – gigantic, horrible; that dual creature of stone, half man, half woman – the mystery of the ages! And as they looked, a tongue of flame shone upon the wall and there they saw the symbol most sacred – worshipped by Aryan, Egyptian, Aztec, Jew and Christian. And the master cried aloud: “Behold the temple of the Living Truth!” “The same yesterday, to-day and for ever!” As he cried the flame crept from the wall and glowed over his heart, and his disciple turned and beheld his master illumined from within, and fell upon his knees and worshipped him, crying, “’Tis He! ’Tis He! He is here. His temple is within thee!” The disciple wept with joy, and bowed his head upon his breast and lo! the flame leaped from within his own heart, and he cried with a mighty voice. “’Tis He, ’Tis He! Behold, we are the temple of the Living God!”
Susie E. Hibbert, 2nd Degree, F.T.S.
Religio-Philosophical Journal, June 9th, 1888.
Evolution and Natural Selection
E. Douglas Fawcett · pp. 369-376
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The T. P. S.
The Theosophical Publication Society’s pamphlet “No. 9,” is a very interesting account by Mrs. Bloomfield Moore of Mr. Keely’s theories and discoveries. Few persons, especially in America, have not heard of “Keely’s Motor,” with its secret force behind it, and this pamphlet, entitled “Keely’s Secrets,” throws as much light as the nature of that force and its applications (including medicine) as has been deemed advisable at the present moment. No one is better qualified to speak on the subject than Mrs. Moore (of course with the exception of Mr. Keely himself). The pamphlet is likely to attract wide attention; its price is 6d. and it is sold at 7 Duke Street, or mailed on receipt of price in stamps.
The Blossom and the Fruit
Mabel Collins · pp. 377-389
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“Heil den unbekannten Höhern Wesen |
| Goethe. |
“Méditez, c’est le grand devoir mysterieux, |
| Victor Hugo. |
Under the magic catalpa tree Such odours sink deep in the dreaming heart, Sunk in the deep, ecstatic trance What flowers bring’st thou from the heavenly land, But where is the Adumbâra flower, I lived in a tent beneath the tree At last one morn I heard quite near |
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Then that trembling voice passed through and through, Time passed away and my heart felt low, One eve, the Moon, ’twas a harvest moon, A step came near and I said, Lo! now, My Love then entered and we were blest, |
| A.J.C 1885. |
The original apologue of which this is an amplified paraphrase, was lately given to the world by the late Anna Kingsford in one of her interesting theosophic letters in “Light.”
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Commentary by Sâdî of Shîrâz
The Sufi who wrote this poem evidently belongs to that school of mysticism (which is true philosophy – the philosophy not of the porch but of the sanctuary, behind the veil, the Holy of Holies), which teaches what is called, in modern, western philosophy, the system of Identity – one being and no second – in short, Pantheistic Spiritualism or Idealism, the “Religion of Spirit,” as it is named by Von Hartmann, or Panentheism as a French writer prefers – “all things in God.”
The fundamental idea of this philosophy is the complete absorption through knowledge and meditation of all personal wills into the universal Cosmic Will in Soul, in which all things “live and move and have their being.” The low initial earth Ego, or personal self, must
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abdicate in favour of the only true Ego – the Âtman of the Vedanta – the Holy Ghost or Spirit of the Christians – the Macrocosmic Will, the source of all life and all other temporary wills, and must cease to have any objective or subjective aims or ends other than the aims and ends of the Makrocosm. Freedom is necessary for perfection – freedom from the causal chain of Necessity – and man can only acquire this freedom by getting rid of his imagined, illusive substantiality, and his egotistic-eudämonic self-happiness seeking, and by knowing himself to be in God and God in himself. Thus he becomes truly a teleological instrument of God – a God-Ego for universal ends. The absolute God only is unconditioned, and as such, free; and so long as man remains separate from God he cannot be free – only by conscious unity with God – seeking and finding himself in God can he acquire true freedom.
It is only by this belief that harmony, peace, and calm can enter into, and possess the passion-driven, personal souls of men. There is a formula in Sanskrit to express the whole compass of this philosophy and religion – the celebrated Tat-tvam-asi = That is thou; that is, the souls of all incorporated lives are in their essences that one soul – portions of the universe soul and no other.
The universe is the gradual, progressive manifestation of this Spirit its objectivation in consciousness during the time dreams of personality: when the sleeping soul shall have been enlightened by this knowledge, and have acted up to it, and when it awakes in death from the planetary dream life, then it knows and feels this divine identity, and in such becomes blest in the divine freedom and love.
Verse 1. – This Sufi, sitting under the life-tree of creation, speaks of the sweetness of heliotrope flowers. Flowers in mystical correspondences always mean the affections, and here there is an allusion to the symbolism of that flower: the heliotrope turns to the sun (helios), and thence acquires its entrancing perfume; the Sun is ever the emblem of God, being the central fount of life and light. All planetary life or force is his life and force, and no other; it comes from him and returns to him at the end of the Kalpa, or world epoch, the grand pralaya or destruction, and new birth of our little solar system or cosmic world. The divine affections must enter the soul as the heliotrope odours enter the sense.
It is an old belief that the perfected souls pass from the planets into the Sun-garden – the true Heaven; and one of the Vedic hymns prays for admission “into the sphere of the sun, where all desires of the heart are satisfied.” The unfulfilled desires of the enlightened soul are intuitive prophecies of the future – perhaps, too, recollections of the past. This Sun-garden can only be God, as it is only in Him that all wills and desires become one will and one desire.
There is an allusion to bees; they and honey are celebrated in old beliefs. Honey symbolized truth, and in the “Wisdom of the Egyptians”
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was sacred to Thoth, the Spiritual God, the prototype of the Holy Ghost. Honey and eggs were eaten on his fête-day, the 19th day of the 1st month of the ancient year, and the day of the “full moon,” with these sacramental words, “How sweet a thing is truth.” This doctrine of the appropriate food for the children of Thoth, is the truth indeed, inasmuch as the only sweetness to be found in earth-life comes from the absolute surrender of our wills to the will of the Universal Spirit, Thoth, or by whatever other name the Babel-speaking race of men have named the Ineffable, Absolute, unconditioned Being, immanent in all.
The word rosary reminds us of a curious instance of an ignorant mistake in translation. The Buddhistic Sanskrit word for the muttering of prayers, and dropping a bead at the end of each prayer (a practice copied by the Christians from the Buddhists), was a word almost the same as the word for a rose, and from this resemblance came into use by a mistake our word rosary – Rosen-Kranz! Doubtless many other western religious or church dogmas beliefs and practices have arisen from similar mistaken meanings of the recondite, symbolical and mystical meanings of the various Bibles of the East, from the Vedic Hymns to the New Testament.
Verse 3. – Clairvoyance was well known to the ancient Buddhists, and was called by them deva-tchakchus=divine sight.
The five, so-called, supernatural powers of the Buddhists – the Abhidagna[24], are 1st, Clairvoyance; 2nd, Clairaudience; 3rd, Knowledge of the thoughts of others; 4th, Remembrance of prior existences; 5th, Supernatural power over Nature and the elements. See “Lotus de la bonne loi.”
The “Thee” which is disclosed by this inner sight is the Âtman of the Vedantists – the true self, which can only be discovered when union with the Kosmic spirit has been effected, or, in Christian phraseology, when the natural man has been reborn, regenerated, as it is said in the Bible, “God dwelleth in him and he in God.” “I in thee and thou in me.”
In the “Autobiography of Saint Theresia,” whose abnormal or supersensual faculties were extraordinarily developed, occurs this passage, shewing how all mystics, no matter of what religion, find the same truths, no doubt differently arrayed and named according to the peculiar mythology and psychology in which each was brought up.
In the course of the Saint’s reflections upon what she calls the “Prayer of Union” with God, and after having taken the sacrament, she fell into the trance state, and what occurred she describes as follows:
“Then the Lord spoke the following words to me: My daughter! the soul annihilates itself, loses itself completely in order to sink itself altogether in me. It is no more the soul that lives, but it is I who from that moment live in it, and because it is not competent to understand what it
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hears or conceives, it hears and conceives all in an inexplicable way.” – (18th Chapter).
The Lord here was her own higher Self or Ego, the Âtman of the Vedanta, or that portion of God which was individualized in her.
A Persian Sufi says, “How long, O my God, art thou pleased that I should thus remain between the myself and the Thyself? Take away from me the myself that I may be absorbed into Thyself.” The personal earth-ego be lost in the Âtman of the Vedanta.
Verse 5. – The Âdumbâra flower is very often mentioned in Indian writings, it is a species of fig which flowers rarely, and the flowers are so small and hidden, that they almost escape observation; it here probably symbolizes the mysterious condition of the soul (not a place) called Nirvana. This condition (not annihilation) can only arise in the soul through the mystical death of the eudaimonic egoistic self.
In the “Lotus of the good law” it is said, “He who illumines the world is as difficult to meet with as is the flower of the Âdumbâra.” The most difficult of all things is to root out Eudämonism or Self-happiness seeking, and the substitution for it of universal aims; it is no wonder that all mysticism recognizes as the necessary means for this process a supernatural intervention or new birth – it is nevertheless a natural evolution of the soul into a higher sphere.
Verse 6. – The tent referred to is the body; that tent is struck and the tent pole broken at every death, until the time of freedom from new births upon planets has been attained.
There is an argument in favour of the doctrine of Reincarnation which seems to have been overlooked. According to the modern metaphysical and philosophical theory of matter and Spirit, viz., the identity or monistic theory, in which both are one force viewed from two aspects, objectively and subjectively, it is evident that the body, or every organism is the effect in consciousness of the objectivation or manifestation of the will taken in its widest sense as the will of a race or the desires based on the primal will or desire to live. This view, so clearly explained by Schopenhauer, lies at the root of the doctrine of evolution, that is of the change of organism so as to suit the changing environment: a change effected by the will, conscious or unconscious. The present human organism has been produced by a very low will indeed, a will and nature undeveloped except as to its mere animal impulses for life and reproduction: fortunately evolution applies to the will as it does to everything else. The idea (in the Platonic sense of the word) or plan of the present human being, like that of his lower progenitors, evidently was to live – to continue to exist – somehow or other; but at all events to continue to exist and to reproduce, no matter how low a life, or at what egoistic expense to other organisms. That is the basic idea of humanity and of human society up to the present epoch, but nevertheless accompanied with a divine unselfish ideality which we call the moral
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and religious tendencies, which are in a continual state of civil war with the prior and lower tendencies of man as a sensuous being. There are signs upon the mountain tops of time of the dawn of a higher evolution approaching for man, which will produce a higher and subtler and purer organism, and a change of sensuous feeling and desires, in fact a will reborn of the divine will.
So long however as the formative soul with its objectivated organism remains on this low egoistic plane, and dies in that state, the necessity for a new planetary birth is evident, for that birth is nothing else but the soul anew manifesting itself as it is, and this can only take place in a low environment. The soul as long as it remains in that low state could not make use of, or enjoy a higher organism, or a more idealized world, and must therefore incarnate itself anew into an evil world like the present earth, so that by enduring again the ills necessarily accompanying planetary life, it may be gradually developed into a higher, more spiritualized, and better condition. Planetary life is the outcome of this low undeveloped condition of the souls of all things living on the planets. But when the soul shall have attained a higher condition, then its manifestation or incarnation must take place in the midst of an altogether higher environment than now exists, so far as we know, on any planet.
It is probable however that what Goethe says is true, and indeed almost all antiquity held the same opinion even far down into the middle ages, viz., that what we call Spirit never exists in any conditioned being separate from some kind of matter, but that this matter being itself the mere objectivation of the will in contemporary consciousness shall be gradually purified, what we call spiritualized or idealized. This process in evolution is symbolized by the transfiguration of Christ, and by the doctrine of the Spiritual body of the Bible writers, and the soma augoeides of the Neoplatonists.
As the will is, so is the organism; or as the same idea is expressed in the Bible, “where the treasure is, there will the heart (Will) be.” If the treasures (will, desires) are valueless, the organism to attain them and the environment out of which both arose, must also be in reality valueless, and useful only as a means to gradual evolution.
The subtler and stronger forces of Nature, electricity, magnetism and radiant matter, enable us to form some idea of the nature of the transfigured body, the “soma augoeides” of the future. It is curious that the ancient Egyptians in describing the body of the “justified” after death always describe it as “shining” or radiant; they had anticipated Mr. Crooke’s discovery of radiant matter.
Mr. L. Oliphant (in “Sympneumata,” page 18,) gives the following account of death and the formation of the new body.
“During this time (the decline of life) the atoms of its now superfluous organization are loosened and attenuated till often their separation from one another, and
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their return to the region of forms which is subhuman, occurs so gently that it is painless. The gradual death which men call old age is the gradual growth of the finer matter of the man, which, during vast cycles of past history, has been always obliged to withdraw itself, in this final extraction from its coverings, away from the earth. Full human evolution was not a terrestrial possibility, thus death prevailed.”
In the Appendix to Burnouf’s translation of the curious Buddhist book, “Saddharma Pundarika”=the “White Lotus of the good law,” there is a translation of the celebrated “Sâmānā Phala Sutta,” which contains a very curious account of the formation of this new body, in which a Buddhist having attained to an advanced stage of perfection, is described as forming this new body thus=
“then having touched his body with his perfected mind – purified in a perfect manner – he remains tranquil and seated, and there is not in all his body a single point (molecule) which has not come into contact with his perfected mind, purified in a perfect manner.” – See “Lotus de la Bonne Loi,” page 475.
The Âtman unites with the new molecular structure, and thus creates the higher pneumatic body. The “Saddharma Pundarika” is evidently a later Buddhist work, subsequent to the 4th century of our era.
The tree beneath which the tent is placed is the material universe, the great mystical tree of life, so celebrated in various mythologies, and by which formation the all-pervading life or Spirit manifests itself, and according to one philosophic theory, becomes self-conscious.
It is remarkable that in many modern scientific works – as in Haeckel’s “History of Creation,” – the material universe in its evolution is represented and figured by a tree. In the Norse mythology it is the great tree Iggdrasil (the tree of the creation by Odin, from which name comes our Anglo-Saxon “God”), the roots of which are always being gnawed by the earth serpent Nidhogg (Evil); that relative or comparative evil involved, as a matter of fact, in the upward path from imperfection towards perfection.
It may also be viewed as the Bôdhi tree, or tree of knowledge, under which all the Buddhas (symbols of the human spirit perfected and glorified) sat and meditated until they entered into the final rest of Nirvana, “which is calm,” as stated in the “Lotus of the good Law.”
The tent, if occupied by a soul ever thirsting for its own egoistic happiness, is too small for the World-Soul to dwell in; for that Soul has only world aims and interests, and requires, in order to enter it at all that it should fill the whole space.
One of the most remarkable statements as to reincarnation and its cessation when the soul state called Nirvana shall have been attained, is to be found in the Dhammapada (153 and 154 verses) being the words uttered by Buddha at the moment of attaining Buddhahood,
“Without ceasing shall I run through a course of many births, looking for the maker of this tabernacle – and painful is birth again and again. But
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now, maker of the tabernacle thou hast been seen; thou shalt not make up this tabernacle again. All the rafters are broken, thy ridge-pole is sundered; the mind being sundered has attained to the extinction of all desires.”
Verse 10. – The Harvest Moon symbolises the time of spiritual reaping of the harvest of the works done in the body, in several the incarnations. It means Karma. When that final harvest of Karma has been reaped and garnered, then, if the process has been progressive and not retrograde, the time of final union with the universal soul is near at hand.
Goethe (Faust, 2nd part, act I.), alludes to this reaping of the harvest of earth life in the profound and harmonious lines, sung by the choir of spirits to the sleeping and dreaming Faust, which describe the Dawn in its dual sense, physical and spiritual, according to the law of correspondence:
“Schon verloschen sind die Stunden |
All the metrical translations of Faust known to the writer fail to bring out the transcendental meaning of the inspired poet, and in many instances even Goethe himself was unconscious of these meanings, his inspiration coming from the sphere of the unconscious; and Goethe also professed total ignorance of several poems which he had written in that state of poetic creation out of higher spheres, it is therefore better to translate this remarkable passage literally.
Now the hours have passed away from consciousness, |
This harvest of deeds sown in earth-life, the Buddhistic “Karma” is to be reaped after the dawn of the New day, beginning after the short and refreshing sleep of death.
It is curious that Göthe in the second line gives the oft-repeated description of that state of the soul called Nirvana, “where there is neither pain nor pleasure, all desires having ceased.”
In the third line he seems to have foretold a modern theory of cure,
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that disease is curable by the mind itself (spirit operating upon matter, a weaker force, but both of the same essence) operating by what has been named “statuvolence,” that is willing persistently and with faith in the power of Spirit the desired state of health, and that state will follow.
Verse 12. – The dual-life is earth-life, which is aggregative not simple, and everywhere pervaded by duality – opposites – what Judge Grove calls “beneficent antagonisms.” As one illustration, we have here on earth everywhere the dualism of misery and happiness, for as we are constituted, now and here, we could not arrive at the concept of happiness without the concept of its opposite unhappiness. These dual miseries causing inharmoniousness of life pervade that small spot of creation known to us and poison it, and to get rid of them is the aim of religious salvation. Another great dualism which must be got rid of is that of Matter and Spirit, as two different and opposing or separate things. This dualism must merge in Monism the doctrine of one force or Will differentiated, and from one point of view considered in animal consciousness, objectively, as matter, and in the other point of view, subjectively, as mind. As to the force itself, and what it is in itself, we know nothing, we only know its manifestations phenomenally. It is perhaps what we call God – the All in All.
Matter and the external objective universe seems to us now as evil and coarse, but that is in truth because the earth-wills whose manifestation it is, are evil and coarse; and just as all the wills on the earth improve by becoming unselfish, then matter too and the external universe with its organisms shall change in correspondence with the nobler wills and become higher and better.
The getting rid of this idea concept, and feeling of duality is the buddhistic “doaya-doyapravritta” “not occupied with dualities.” This is that sphere described by the great transcendental poet Emerson:
“Where unlike things are like |
A. J. C.
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The Reading Desk
[Translator’s Note. – The original has been expanded, and includes some explanations that the native reader would not require, being familiar with the constantly introduced allusions these stories invariably contain.]
The Spirit of the Reading Desk addressed the assembled spirits of the pawnbroker’s pledges thus:
“My first owner was a gentleman of aristocratic birth, but of small income, whose tastes, or, indeed, personal qualities, did not induce him to follow the then most popular profession of arms; he was more skilled in argument than in fencing or horsemanship. So he entered zealously into the study of literature.
“Classical literature[25] was but little known outside a limited circle of studious courtiers; but the recent re-introduction of Buddhism (A.D. 542), and the favour it was received with by the Imperial family gave a new impetus to scholarship.
“Desiring to learn more of this doctrine, so altogether different from the ancient spiritual highway, and the Chinese Philosophy and Ethics, a voyage to China, and, if possible, to India, was planned.
“The disturbed condition of the Middle Kingdom, the hostile feeling against Japanese on the sea coast, and other reasons, made it advisable that the route should be through Corea, the North, and towards Tibet; the intercourse between Corea and Japan being much more friendly.
“Departing a young man, he returned by the southern route, an old, old person; but oh, so very learned!
“No one remembered him; all the friends of his youth had passed away; he was a stranger in his own home.
“In course of time, he had me made, under his own personal superintendence. I was to be something most original.
“My stand contains, as you may still perceive, seven drawers, each of which represents the successive celestial cycles of the human spirit. The carved work supporting the top being representative of precipitous hills and profoundly deep chasms, amongst which dwell the souls of those who have attained to a state of higher felicity than ordinary mortals. The five elements are represented by the earthenware lozenges, the metal mountings, the wood of the structure and the fire, and employed in the fabrication of the earthenware and metal. The seven jewels are also used in my mounting, and the carvings on the top are typical of the seven most precious treasures.
“Look at the interior decoration of my drawers and you will still be
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able to trace emblems of the virtues, vices, properties and faculties of mankind. Indeed, whilst I am extremely typical of the mountain Shumi (Meru), I contain the epitome of the Sacred Doctrine, visible to those gifted with the higher vision.
“Each drawer was made to contain one volume, but I will disclose to you a secret; although these sacred texts have long ago disappeared, within the innermost recesses I still retain one most precious of all, the Secret Doctrine, written in the ancient, sacred, arcane symbols, whilst the others were but Sanskrit, which their owner had learned during his stay in India.
“I should like to relate to you, friends, the wonderful adventures of the master, as indeed he was, as well as my owner, during his long years of absence; these I learned in time by hearing them related to some of the great personages who soon became his pupils.
“Having visited the monastery on the Ten dai hills, Todo Mirokoshi (China) where the great teacher Chi-sha-dai-shi gave instruction to the worthy – my master was capable of estimating the capacity of his pupils, and he apportioned their studies accordingly. So, when the abstruse problems were beyond their comprehension, and they ceased to concentrate their extra mental vigour on their studies, he varied the tasks by recitals of his adventures.
“There were certain episodes, however, that it was long before he revealed; and then alone in the hearing of his most trusty and well-tried pupils.
“Finding in India that the true doctrine had become perverted, he had roamed far and wide, amongst the hills and valleys of the north, till he reached the river of the golden sand. Here he met some pilgrims, from the south-east, searching like himself for teachers of the true doctrine. With fresh information, renewed hope, and revived zeal, they travelled on and on for months, amidst the stupendous towering mountains, and the solemn deep and gloomy gorges.
“When at last, reduced to the greatest straits, almost driven to the last extremities, they were accosted, just as the shades of night were drawing over the hungry shelterless group, by a venerable personage, who demanded whence they came, and whither they were going.
“Hardly pausing to hear their reply he directed them, in commanding accents, to follow him, which of course they gladly obeyed. Losing all consciousness they felt nothing till they were rudely aroused by the clanging of a bell, and behold it was daylight.
“Rubbing their eyes and wonderingly yet guardedly looking about them they discovered themselves to be lying together on a bed of dried leaves and grass, beneath the shelter of an overhanging cliff; before them was a fire, and both cooking utensils and food. A voice then ordered them to eat and fear not.
“Presently the bell rang out its deep notes, again, re-echoing through
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the deep valleys from cliff to precipice, and presently the soft murmur of voices, chanting in harmonious unison floated on the zephyrs of the morning air. Their guide of the evening soon made his appearance, and the travellers were shortly afterwards separated, never to meet again in this terrestrial existence. The master learned that some were sent back to whence they came, and others elected to remain. But he determined to study, and return with the glad tidings to his native land, if he proved worthy, was accepted and instructed. As it appears, they had been miraculously preserved from a horrible fate by the great spirit teachers of the Secret Cultus.
“Often indeed had he heard of the Senorin (Genii) of Kompira Tengu and other beings endowed with superhuman knowledge, and supernatural powers, but here was he, a searcher after true knowledge rewarded for his long and arduous search, many trials and dangers, actually now one of their pupils.
“With such teachers, studies progressed rapidly. Sanskrit and other documents were mastered, and knowledge acquired. Amidst the profound stillness of the pure mountain air there were no mundane distractions, and my master began to give up his hopes of return.
“His teacher, however, now reminded him of his duty from time to time, and incited him to greater efforts, and the wonderful store of knowledge grew rapidly to perfection.
“At last the return journey had to be made, and one evening, lying down to rest, he awoke to find himself in the island [26] of the northern doctrine, seated before a shrine.
“On his head he had the cap of the Initiate; thrown around him, the robes of the highest order, and by his side a parcel of Sanskrit and other sacred texts, his bowl, staff, and chaplet. Here he became familiar with the northern ritual and forms, obtained some valuable writings, and calling upon his masters to aid him, he was speedily transferred across the ocean to the extreme south-east of the great continent to Ceylon, where he studied the southern more materialistic ritual; from thence he found means to travel homewards. Buddhism now, for a time, was not a persecuted religion, and eventually my master’s long journey came to an end. Then I was constructed and made the repository of his literary treasures.
“Soon my master’s fame spread far and wide, his pupils became disciples, and erected a temple wherein he might dwell and teach his numerous and ever-increasing congregations the great truths. It was but for the few, and those alone, that hidden things were revealed. Long was the probation demanded, severe the tests exacted.
“My master having thus established a nucleus, under trustworthy guidance, handed me over to his most valued pupil, and he disappeared mysteriously, but not to the surprise of his immediate followers, who
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knew whither he had gone. Several of the pupils journeyed afar, and more than one again returned after long, long years.”
One of the audience here claimed the privilege of asking what the doctrines were that the master taught.
The Spirit responded to the enquiry in the following manner:
“My master had studied the teachings of the great scholars Confucius and Mencius, the doctrines of Lao tze (Tanist), and of the Aryans (Indians), also of the great Lord Buddha (Shakya), as taught both in the north and in the south. The masters had initiated him into knowledge of all things, now, then, heretofore, hereafter; with the transcendent capacity of intuition he could judge of all things, good and evil; having, therefore, become approximated closely to the greatest spiritual instructors.
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Blest hour of eve, when man, his labour o’er, |
| – Adamanta. |
The Sraddha
Andrew T. Sibbald · pp. 403-407
Notes from my Japanese Scrap-Books
C. Pfoundes · pp. 408-409
Indian Proverbs
Charles Johnston · pp. 409
Christian Science
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 410-414
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Correspondence
Is This Right?
. . . . In the T. P. S. publications we know that the views of individuals are given. But it does not seem right that basic principles should be misstated and pass through the T. P. S’s. hands unquestioned, when they may mislead earnest students. Mr. Harbottle says (page 7 of No. 6,) that “it cannot be supposed . . . . it will always be possible for the Karma to find precisely the right field for the working out of its effects, etc.” That “there must be a certain amount of injustice done” (and he says it is so in nearly every case of rebirth) and “this injustice meets with compensation in Devachan.” So the perfect law – itself pure justice – is shown working with hitches and flaws, and compensating its errors!!! That a portion of Karma may lie over through several lives, he does not seem to remember. Now I myself have seen correspondents, eager seekers, who though plain people and semi-educated, see such flaws at once, and are needlessly puzzled at their coming through an official source, so to say, like the T. P. S. Minor occult points – visible to the advanced only – are unimportant. But should such glaring errors regarding the basic truths be so printed? . . .
Answer
T.B. Harbottle · pp. 415-416
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[Editors’ note on ‘Is This Right?’ by J. C. V. P.]
[Editors’ Note. – For one acquainted with the doctrine of Karma, and after this explanation, the objection taken by our American correspondent seems to rest on a misconception of Mr. Harbottle’s meaning in his article. But no more can the correspondent be taken to task for it. Removed several pages from the said justifying paragraph, and standing by itself, the sentence under criticism did seem to imply and warrant such a construction. One can never be too cautious and too explicit, when writing upon such abstruse subjects. As the defendant has risen and explained, however, the short debate may be closed. Both plaintiff and defendant now stand accused: one of judging too hastily and on appearance; the other, of having written too loosely, and without due caution, upon a subject of the utmost importance. Both, therefore, may be left to their respective Karma.]
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Astrological
May I be allowed to ask through the columns of Lucifer a few questions on astrology?
1. We are told that Saturn and Mars are malefic. Are they malefic in their nature or only in their effects?
2. We find that ♄ 120° from the ☉ is a Benefic and when 90° is a malefic, will your astrologer explain how, why and where the malefic influence begins and vice versa?
3. What is planetary influence and how does it act on man? – Yours truly,
Rose Mount, Keighley, April.
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[Reply to Magus on astrology]
1. I do not consider any planet essentially malefic. Dirt has been wittily defined as “matter in the wrong place.” So a planet becomes really malefic only when badly placed or aspected. Nevertheless, there is this important difference between the so-called malefics and benefics, that certain positions and aspects which are good with the latter are evil with the former; hence the benefics produce the most good.
2. This is determined by the orbs of the planets, which are given, with slight variations, in the text-books. The more exact the aspect, the more powerful the effects: but when the planets are distant from the exact aspects half the sum of their conjoint orbs, the influence of that aspect is said to commence or end, according as the aspect is applying or separating. I believe, however, that this only applies to the stronger aspects: and that for the weaker ones, much smaller orbs of action must be taken.
3. Certain occult planetary influences which, for want of a more scientific term we may call magnetic, converge upon the notice at the moment of birth; these influences determine the tendencies of the future years of life. But it should never be forgotten that astrology does not teach fatalism, and that we can overcome to a great extent the evil tendencies, and develop the good. “The wise man rules his stars, the fool obeys them.”
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What is God?
I wish to thank you for reply to my former communication. I find I agree to an extent with your thought, but not wholly. With your permission I will open out my thought on this great subject a little more, if useful.
I have no conception of Infinite and Boundless as positive existence. The Eternal or Absolute Void may be said to be Infinite and Boundless, but this Void is nothing, and of which nothing can be predicated; so that Infinite or Boundless and Absolute in this respect are non-existent.[27] You seem to identify Deity with the Original Nothing, the absolute Negation. But such
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Deity has nothing to do with what we call the Something or the Real, and existence is quite independent of it.[28] If Deity or God is the same as Absolute Nothing, and all things came from Him or It, then something has come from nothing, which, philosophy declares, cannot be.[29] The real, as opposed to the unreal, can alone produce that which is real, whatever kind of reality it be, divine, spiritual or natural. In plain words nothing can produce nothing. Something only can produce itself in varied differentiations.[30] Nothing is the Infinite. The Something (universal reality or the all) in the Finite; but (if you like) Infinite in this sense that, being all-inclusive, it is bounded by nothing beyond it. If Deity has originated form, size, number and motion as attributes of the concrete – spiritual or nature [31] – how could He (allow me to use this pronoun) so have done unless these in some way are in Himself. As He has originated all conditions, He surely possesses in Himself the original of these conditions; and though He is not conditioned by anything beyond or greater than himself, yet He is Himself the sum total of conditions. That is, He is the all of conditions.[32] As I take it, Deity is the All of the Universe in its first, original or originating form, and what we call the evolved universe is Deity in his last or ultimate form. It is as if Deity out-breathed Himself forth into vastitude, then in-breathed Himself back into minutude.[33] He is thus the all of substance as to Being, and the all of Form and of motions as to Truth. It is an alternation of states, the one the state of concentration, the other the state of diffusion or expansion. The Alpha and Omega, making true the saying, “the first shall be the last, and the last shall be the first.” The Microcosm becomes the Macrocosm (?!) and this again resolves itself back into the Microcosmic form and state. The going forth of Deity from the self to the not-self and back again to the self constitutes in the motions the Age of ages or Eternity, and is the all of Truth, the all of cosmic and universal history.[34]
Of course the evolved, universal form, being a result, as to state, is not absolute or personal Deity, but only his image or reflection; the shadow of the real as it were, an administration of the Original Being. I may here be expressing the same as you mean, when you call phenomena Maya or illusion, not being absolutely permanent. Yes, yet phenomena are real as appearances.
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The Mayavic World is real while it is Mayavic, just as a snowflake is until it melts.
I have said that the All, as the little Universe evolves itself into the form and state of the vast universe; but in the process it exhausts its potencies, and at this stage the evolution begins to cease, and involution begins; and Deity the little is recuperated by re-absorbing the substances and forms of the Mayavic Universe, which thus in the process of ages ceases to be, returning to the Nirvanic state of Deific concentrated. Now – a Vedantist would say – Brahm sleeps on the lotus, and will awake anew to create another Mayavic Universe.[35]
These imperfect attempts at statement are but general, and do exclude all that can be conceived and known of the manifold planes and ranks of intelligent beings that exist in the manifold universe. You seem to think I am very materialistic in thought. But mystical thought that denies form to Spirit and thus to Deity, is no proof of superiority or spirituality of intelligence.[36]
You will perceive the point toward which my line of thought strains. The beings on the highest ranges of the Universe are far more glorious in form than those on the lower ranges. Those on the terrestrial globes, such as ourselves, are the most shadowy, as to our outer forms. He who centres the myriadal hosts of His children, must be the most and all-glorious.[37] But surely this is because He must be the most concentrated in substance and the most complex in his form, inconceivably so. The human forms of the Elohim are as floating shadows compared to Him. His form, as to organization and shape, is the Human, the dual human.(!) The infinitesimal cells in His body are the germ points of Solar Systems, to be realized during the ages in the Mayavic expanses. [38]
Each plane of existence is organic, and the most refined is the most dense and vital and potential. All Spirits are human forms, all the Elohim (if you like) – male and female – or two in one – are human forms. In fact, existence is form, Life is form, Intelligence, Love and the human affections are based upon and held in the continent of the human organization, and all lesser or fragmentary formations of mineral, vegetable, animal or sphered world, are its production. It is the one Truth, the eternal, the uncreated and unimagined,
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the continent of universal particulars, The All Father-Mother in whom we and all things live and move and have our being. – Respectfully yours,
April 30th, 1888.
[Editors’ note on ‘What is God?’ by J. Hunter]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 420
No. 12 – August 1888
The Theosophical Society; its Mission and its Future
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 421-433
433
Indian Proverbs
Like moonbeams trembling on water, truly such is the life of mortals. Knowing this, let duty be performed.
The soul is a river whose holy source is self-control, whose water is truth, whose bank is righteousness, whose waves are compassion; bathe there, oh, son of Pandu, for not with water is the soul washed pure.
The mind of a king being severed, like a bracelet of crystal, who is the master to unite it?
Of a gift to be received or given, of an act to be done, time drinks up the flavour, unless it be quickly performed.
When the weak-minded is deprived of wealth, his actions are destroyed, like rivulets dried up in the hot season.
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To Lovers of "Lucifer"
As this is the last number of the first year of Lucifer’s existence, the Editors wish to tender their thanks to their supporters, and think it right to call attention to the following facts: –
1. The publishing business of Lucifer is solely in the hands of the “Theosophical Publishing Company Limited” and all business is conducted at the office of the Company, No. 7, Duke Street, Adelphi, W.C.
2. It has been found necessary to increase the subscription price of the Magazine to 15/- per annum and the price of single numbers to 1/6, dating from the September issue. This is to permit of a permanent increase of eight pages in the size of the Magazine, and to afford a sound financial basis for its future conduct.
3. Although the price is increased, the Proprietors assure their supporters that any profit arising from the sale of the Magazine will be devoted to spreading the knowledge of Theosophy.
Consequently the Editors request those who are interested in the subjects of which Lucifer treats to assist them, by subscribing directly through the Office to the Magazine, and by making it known as widely as possible among their friends and acquaintances.
All communications and subscriptions should be addressed to
7, Duke Street,
Adelphi.
London, W.C.
The Sraddha
Andrew T. Sibbald · pp. 435-441
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He found a diamond gleaming where it lay |
| Mary R. Shippey. |
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Waves of Sympathy
Many years ago there were two sisters in much sympathy with each other, although of widely different characters. The elder was clever, with a strong, firm mind in a healthy, bright body.
The younger was not clever, neither did she read or learn, and she was fragile. She clung to and looked up to her elder sister.
They were very happy in those girlish days, and as an instance of the sympathy in these widely differing characters, they found the same joys in nature and music. The 1st of May was their favourite day, and they would mount their horses in the very early morning and ride off to the hills, bringing home garlands of lovely, white, wild flowers with which to deck themselves and their rooms. They used to spend the day singing together, their voices being different, like themselves, the elder a rich contralto and the other a high soprano. This 1st of May and its lovely May blossoms had an influence on the life of the younger sister.
As time went on, the elder married and went to a far country, and in another year the younger married too, and settled in England. Some years later their mother and a younger sister went to stay with the one far away, who was living during the summer in the country; and the sister in England often pictured to herself the happy party amongst the trees. At this time, not being well, she had to lie in bed one day, when she had the following vision dream.
She found herself looking on at a scene in a room which had the appearance of a bachelor officer’s apartment.
She noted well all the furniture. On one side was a sofa, and on it the figure of a very tall man, for his legs hung down over the end. The upper part of his body and head were covered with what appeared to be a dark shawl, which she thought she recognised as one belonging to her sister.
Immediately she knew that the husband was lying there dead. Then quickly appeared in the room her mother, with hands over her face, weeping, and the little sister looking on with a frightened expression. Her elder sister, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, was speaking excitedly to the mother. The sister in England heard all that was said (but she cannot write it), and then she knew the shock had been too much for her loved sister.
She awoke and wrote this down. Her husband told her not to be superstitious – it was “only one of your dreams.”
In those days it took a week to get a letter in England from that
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country. The week ended and the letter came. The husband was dead and the day and hour were the same as those of the dream.
The elder sister had all her life when in sorrow or joy thought at once of the sister in England, and when startled would call out her name So it is easily explained why the “wave” ever rushed towards her sister-soul in the midst of every great agony.
When they all came to England the mother said the description was correct (except about the shawl). It had been sudden death in a room where they were to meet that day coming up from the country.
But it was not a shawl she saw over the body; it must have been a dark shadow which her imagination conjured into her sister’s shawl, and intuition telling her that the form she saw was her brother-in-law.
As she learned after, the poor form had been removed before her sister came in. Therefore she must have first seen it on the sofa and the scene with her mother and sisters after.
This shifting of scenes is usual in all her visions – a whole series of pictures passing before her inner sight both in waking and sleeping visions like dissolving views, and bringing the full event to her mind.
This happened 40 years ago, but the scene is still vivid in her memory.
Many years later, when she was getting oldish, a younger brother had gone to live in the East and had taken with him one of her sons, quite a youth. This son was not demonstrative, but had a deep nature, extremely daring and quite foolhardy as to danger. In his uncle’s house he had rooms on the flat roof from whence there was egress into the street, and on one occasion a robber had got into his room and robbed him. These rooms were shut off from the rest of the house and he wondered whether a robber could manage, by letting himself down on to the ledges of the windows of a gallery below, to get into the house. These windows were generally left open. His mother had never been in that country nor had she any idea what her brother’s house was like.
One night she had a dream. She found herself in a large Eastern house and felt it her duty to go into a gallery to open a window. She did not know the house or which way to go, but went on as if led. The moon was shining and she saw the windows shut as she passed along; but to her horror she came, towards the end of the gallery, to one behind which she saw the face of her son, outside. It spoke his thought, and seemed to say: “Oh mother! what a fool I am to give you this agony – nothing can save me!”
She opened quickly the window and dragged her son in; he had been hanging by the tips of his fingers to the window ledge and was just going to drop – and if he had, he would have been dashed to pieces in the courtyard below.
The dream ended with the son clasped tight to his mother’s bosom.
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She wrote the next day to him to ask if all was well, but it took a month to receive an answer; and so she thought it was a foolish dream. Yet she could not forget it.
Three years later that brother came to see her in England. He had been as a son to her, and had lived with her when a boy and gone to school from her house; he had sympathy with his sister and did not think her superstitious.
She told him of her dream, and gave him the date, and found that all had happened on that moonlight night as she had seen it. He had gone after midnight alone along the gallery and there saw his nephew’s face as in the dream, and had dragged him in just in time to save his life. The nephew begged he would not distress his mother by telling her what a fool he had been in risking his life for such an experiment.
This may be explained that the brother being in sympathy with his sister, the mother of the boy, felt the pang for her when reading the expression on his face at the window. And so the wave of thought from brother and son had flowed sympathetically on to her and produced the vision.
E. C. H. C.
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As one who, born and bred in brooding night |
| M. Martin Ryan. |
The Blossom and the Fruit
Mabel Collins · pp. 445-461
461
The Aryan Branch of The Theosophical Society
The Aryan Theosophists of New York have opened a day headquarters at 117, Nassau Street (Room 46), N. Y. City, which is open to F. T. S. and enquirers.
It is full of Indian pictures, will have a large album of members from all parts, books, theosophical magazines and so on. This is a good idea, and in other cities the example should be followed.
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I. The Dream.
A wingless Love men feigned, when Time was young; |
And earth grew songless: hot tears dimmed the white |
Then one smote on his harp, whose broken strings |
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Yet to our souls a fairer Love is wed, |
| Evelyn Pyne. |
463_2
The Vampire Tree; or, The Suicide's Old Pine
Not very far from the present British Legation, on the western side of the Citadel, there is a bridge that crosses the moat, very deep and wide at this place, leading from one of the principal streets of that quarter of the city to a highway running round the inner edge of the moat, at the rear of the Imperial pleasure grounds.
At the Citadel end of the bridge there is a magnificent specimen of the Japanese Pine, the branches of which stretch out far over the moat.
Remarkable amongst numberless other fine trees, giants of the forest, this tree has an especially striking aspect – gaunt and weird-like, the huge limbs are contorted into grotesque shapes, suggestive of monster reptile-like forms.
Whatever its aspect in the daytime, by moonlight it becomes intensely suggestive, and the moaning of the passing breeze, in that exposed situation, through its leaves, is a mournful wailing accompaniment to the movement of its branches, and the play of moonlight and shadow.
The tree has an evil reputation, well known to residents in the neighbourhood, and no one aware of its story will venture to pass it in the dark alone; nay, men fear it even when carrying lighted lanterns.
Suicide by hanging is not uncommon, amongst the poorer classes especially; disappointment in love, pecuniary loss, and other causes, as with ourselves, producing the state of mind that results in this awful crime of self murder.
Now this tree is the scene, and the gallows, of many such tragedies; it has happened that lovers have died together here, by the same means.
One of the branches hangs over the stone-faced ramparts of the moat,
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in such a way that it is not difficult for the unfortunates contemplating the rash act to tie the fatal noose, usually a girdle, and then throw themselves off the bank, when they will swing high above the steep slope of the moat, which will be very many feet below.
Can it be wondered that the tree and the neighbourhood should have a fearful notoriety, and be avoided by not only timid women and craven-hearted men, but even by the more robust. There are legends, too, of crimes having been committed under the shadow of this awful tree, and that the ghosts of the victims hover round the spot.
The sensation hunter might have noticed the large number of incense offerings and other votive relics – although discouraged of late, and always discountenanced by the authorities. Indeed, it was seriously contemplated to cut down the tree; but only some of the limbs and branches were sacrificed, some strong feeling of opposition having been exhibited in influential quarters.
It is firmly believed by well-informed persons, acquainted with the locality and its history, that this was the remains of the site of an ancient shrine, the construction of the moat having swept away the greater part of the area occupied, and that this shrine was erected in a spot dedicated to the ancient cultus. It is one of the more elevated parts of this section of the higher levels of the great city, and traditions relate some memorable battles in the vicinity.
The current belief is that the ghoulish spirits inhabiting the tree live upon the “life” of the victims that die beneath its branches – that is the “life principle” that escapes when death seizes the human body.
The native occultist treats the matter in a very serious spirit, and this furnishes us with a clue to the opposition raised when it was suggested that the tree be cut down.
The wholesale felling of trees grown on “sacred” spots is strongly opposed, for reasons that we cannot now enter upon.
This is not a solitary instance of a tree endowed with some diabolical power, and visiting the spot more than once, after hearing the story, one can hardly wonder or be at all surprised whilst viewing the scene of so many domestic tragic acts.
The imagination need not be much strained to fancy the gaunt arms, octopus-like, beckoning to their victims, entwining themselves around, and drawing into a horrid embrace the hapless mortals who ventured within reach. The moaning of the wind, too, recalls the wailings of grief of the desperate, heart-broken, wretches who died in this now dreadful spot.
“Japan is a very wonder land, indeed, the Folk Lore and local traditions are full of the marvellous. A nation of occultists, suppressed by modern civilization.
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Atlantis
After establishing his famous code of laws, Solon,[39] the renowned Athenian legislator, left his native country for ten years. At Saïs, in the Nile delta, he was honourably received by the priests of Neïth,[40] for both Athens and Saïs were under the protection of the same goddess. In conversing with the learned guardians of the temple on the antiquities of their respective countries, he discovered that there were records in the sacred edifice of events which had happened nine thousand years previously and in which the inhabitants of his own country had played a conspicuous part. Solon had spoken of the deluge of Deucalion and Pyrrha, giving the orthodox Greek chronology of the time; on which an aged priest exclaimed: “O Solon, Solon, you Greeks are always children and aged Greek there is none!” And then he proceeded to explain to the astonished Athenian the astronomical meaning of the myth of Phaëthon, and how that there are successive cataclysms of fire and water, destroying whole nations, and that a noble race had once inhabited the land of Attica, whose deeds and institutions were said to have been the most excellent of all, and how they conquered the inhabitants of the Atlantean island, and both themselves and their enemies were destroyed by terrible earthquakes and deluges. On his return to Athens, Solon composed an epic poem embodying the information he had gleaned from the Saïtic records, but political troubles prevented the entire accomplishment of his undertaking. Now Dropides his fellow kinsman, was his most intimate friend and fully acquainted with the whole story; this Dropides was father of Critias the elder, who had many times delighted his young grandson, the Critias of the dialogue and afterwards the most notorious of the thirty tyrants, with a recital of these wonderful chronicles.
Among the many glorious deeds of the noble autochthones of Attica, was their victory over a mighty hostile power from the Atlantic Ocean, which had pushed its conquests over all Europe and Asia. Facing the Pillars of Hercules[41] was an island larger than Africa and Asia [42] put together. Besides this main island, there were many other smaller ones, so that it was easy to cross from one to another as far as the further continent. [43] And this continent was indeed a continent and the sea, the real sea, in comparison to which “The Sea” [44] of the Greeks was but a bay with a narrow mouth.
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In the Atlantic island a powerful confederation of kings was formed, who subdued the island itself and many of the smaller islands and also parts of the further continent. They also reduced Africa within the Straits as far as Egypt, and Europe as far as Tyrrhenia.[45] Further aggression, however, was stopped by the heroic action of the then inhabitants of Attica, who, taking the lead of the oppressed states, finally secured liberty to all who dwelt within the Pillars of Hercules. Subsequently both races were destroyed by mighty cataclysms, which brought destruction in a single day and night, the natural features of the Attic land were entirely changed and the Atlantic island sank bodily beneath the waves.
Such is the general sketch of this terrible episode in ancient history, given by Critias in the Timæus, and so interested were his audience, that they requested some fuller account of these famous and highly civilized nations of antiquity. To his Grecian hearers the primæval polity and history of their own race were naturally the greater interest. As, however, the Atlantean conflict was the climax of the narrative, Critias proceeds to give an account of their history and institutions. And thus he begins with their mythical traditions: –
In the centre of the Atlantic island was a fair and beautiful plain. In the centre of this plain and fifty stades[46] from its confines, was a low range of hills. There dwelt an earth-born couple,[47] Evenor and Leucippe, who had an only daughter Clito; after the death of her parents, the god Poseidon, to whom the island had been assigned, became enamoured of the maiden. To make his love a safe dwelling-place, he surrounded the hills with alternate belts or zones of land and water, two of land and three of sea, each in its entire circumference equally distant from the centre. He also caused a hot and cold spring to flow in the centre island and made every kind of food to grow abundantly. Ten male children were born to the god in five twin-births. When they had grown to manhood, he divided the island into ten parts, giving one to each. And to the first born of the eldest pair he gave his mother’s dwelling and allotment, for it was the largest and best, and made him king over his brethren and the others governors of land, giving them dominion over many people and great territories. And the eldest he named Atlas, and from him the whole island and sea were called Atlantic. So they and their descendants dwelt for many generations, holding extensive sway over the sea of islands, and extending their power as far as Egypt and Tyrrhenia. By far the most renowned however, was the race of Atlas, the kings ever handing down the succession to their eldest sons, and being possessed of such wealth as no
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dynasty ever yet obtained or will easily procure hereafter. Now this wealth was both drawn from foreign tributary countries and from Atlantis itself, which was very rich in minerals, especially its mines of orichalcum, now a mere name, but then the most precious of all metals save gold. The country also was exceedingly rich in timber and pasturage. Moreover there were vast numbers of elephants. Spices, gums and odorous plants of every description, flowers, fruit trees and vegetables of all kinds and many other luxurious products, this wonderful island, owing to its magnificent climate, brought forth, sacred, beautiful, wonderful and infinite in number. Nor were the inhabitants content with the natural advantages of their glorious island, but displayed a marvellous industry and skill in engineering and the constructive arts. For in the centre island they built a royal palace, each succeeding king trying to surpass his predecessor in adorning and adding to the building, so that it struck all beholders with the greatest admiration. Now the formation of the zones or belts round the ancient abode of the god was very regular, the circumference of each zone being equally distant from the common centre; and the outermost zones of sea and of land were each three stades[48] broad, and the next pair of two stades each, the succeeding zone of sea being of one stade, while the central seat itself had a diameter of five stades. And they bridged [49] over the water zones, making a way from and to the palace, and dug a great canal [50] from the sea to the outermost zone of water, wide enough to admit the largest vessels.
They also made water-ways through the zones of land, wide enough for a trireme [51] to pass, and roofed them over, for the height of the land zones above the water was considerable. Moreover, they enclosed the island, zones and bridges with stone walls, placing towers and gates at the bridges. The stone they quarried from the face of the centre island and from both faces of the land zones, at the same time fashioning a line of docks on each bank of the water zones, leaving a natural roof of rock.
The stone was of three colours, white, black and red, so that many of the buildings presented a gay appearance. The whole circuit of the wall of the outer zone was covered with brass, which they used like plaster, of the inner zone with tin, and of the acropolis itself with orichalcum, which was of a glittering appearance. The palace within the acropolis was constructed as follows. In the centre was the sacred shrine of Poseidan and Clito, surrounded by a golden enclosure. Hard by stood the great temple of Poseidon,[52] of a different style of architecture to the Greek. The exterior was covered with silver, except the
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pediments and pinnacles, which were lined with gold. Within, the roof was a magnificent mosaic of gold, ivory and orichalcum, and all the walls, pillars and pavements were covered with orichalcum. The most remarkable object of the interior was a gigantic statue of the god, equal in height to the building, mounted on a chariot drawn by six winged horses, and round the car were a hundred Nereids riding on dolphins; there were also many other statues and numerous votive offerings of the citizens. Round the exterior were placed golden statues of the princes and princesses of the royal blood, and statues erected by the kings and also by private individuals both of the city and of subject states. There was also an altar of proportionate magnificence. And they had baths for summer and winter, supplied by the hot and cold springs, there being baths for the royal family, for men, for women, for horses and other animals. By a system of aqueducts, the water of the springs was carried to the two land zones and utilized for the irrigation of plantations and beautiful gardens. In these zones were many temples of other gods, gardens and gymnasia both for men and horses. Indeed, in the larger belt was a splendid race-course, extending throughout its entire length, a stade broad, and lined on either side with barracks for the household troops. Those, however, of them who were conspicuous for their loyalty, were lodged in the smaller zone, and the most faithful of all in the citadel itself. Moreover, the docks were filled with shipping and naval stores of every description. At fifty stades from the outer water belt or harbour in every direction, another wall was built, enclosing the whole city and meeting the great canal at the sea entrance. The space between this wall and the first water belt was thickly built over and inhabited by a dense population; and the canal and largest harbour were crowded with merchant shipping from all parts, and the din and tumult of their commerce continued all day long and the night through. Such is a general sketch of their wonderful city. Now as regards the rest of the country; it was very mountainous with exceedingly precipitous coasts, and the plain surrounding the city was itself surrounded by mountain chains, broken only at the sea entrance. And the plain was smooth and level and of an oblong shape, lying north and south, three thousand stades in one direction and two thousand in the other. And the mountains were said to be the grandest in the world for their number, size and beauty; they were inhabited moreover by many prosperous and wealthy villages, for there was an abundance of rivers and lakes, meadows and pasturage for all kinds of cattle and quantities of timber. They surrounded the plain by an enormous canal or dike, the size of which is almost incredible for a work of human undertaking.[53] By it the water from the mountains was conducted round the plain and flowed out to sea near the entrance of the great canal. Moreover,
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parallel dikes [54] were cut from the upper bounding canal to that on the sea side, one hundred stades distant from each other, and these were again joined by transverse water-ways. They also employed the canals for irrigation and so raised two crops in the year. And the plain was divided into sixty thousand wards or sections, each supplying a certain contingent of men to the army and navy; and the army consisted of war chariots and a kind of light car, holding two warriors, one of whom dismounted and fought and the other drove, men-at-arms, archers, slingers, stone-shooters, javelin-men and light-armed troops.[55] Such was the military system of the city. And the other nine cities of the confederation had slightly different systems, which it would be tedious to narrate.
Now as regards the polity of the Atlanteans, the kings exercised an autocracy over the people; but in their dealings with each other and for the common welfare, they followed the traditional law of their divine progenitor, which was also inscribed on a column of orichalcum by the first kings, and the column placed in the temple of the deity. Thither they assembled every alternate fifth and sixth year to decide any disputes that might have arisen between them. And these are the ceremonies they performed before proceeding to their decision. There were sacred bulls grazing in the precincts of the temple. And the ten kings, after first praying to the deity, armed only with staves and nooses, proceeded to capture one of the herd, and sacrificed him on the column over the inscription.
There was also an oath written on the column, invoking dire curses on those of them who infringed the statutes of their divine parent And filling the sacrificial chalice,[56] they cast in a clot of blood for each, and purifying the column, they burnt the rest with fire. Then, with golden cups, they dipped from the chalice and poured a libation on the fire of sacrifice; and swearing to do justice according to the laws on the column, and neither to rule nor suffer the rule of any of their number contrary to these ancestral laws, after invoking the prescribed curses both on themselves and their descendants, if untrue to their solemn pledge, they drank and deposited the cups in the temple. Then, having eaten the sacrificial meal and busied themselves with the other necessary offices, when evening grew on, clad in most beautiful dark blue robes they sat in darkness on the ground round the now cold embers of the sacrificial fire; and through the night they judged and were judged, but when morning came, they inscribed their decisions on a golden tablet and deposited it, with their robes, in the temple as a memorial. And the chief of these enactments were that the kings should never wage war one against the other, but should ever give mutual aid should any
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of the cities try to destroy the royal race; and the chief power was assigned to the Atlantic race; nor could any king put to death a kinsman, without first getting a majority of votes from his royal colleagues. For many generations, then, so long as the nature of their divine ancestry was strong within them, they remained obedient to these laws and well affected to their divine kinship. For they possessed true and altogether lofty ideas, and exercised mildness and practical wisdom, both in the ordinary vicissitudes of life and in their mutual relations; and looking above everything except virtue, they considered things present of small importance and contentedly bore their weight of riches as a burden; nor were they intoxicated with luxury, but clearly perceived that wealth and possessions are increased by mutual friendship and the practice of true virtue, whereas, by a too anxious pursuit of riches, both possessions themselves are corrupted and friendship likewise perishes therewith. And so it was that they reached the great prosperity that we have described.
But when their mortal natures began to dominate the divine within them, through their inability to bear present events, to those who can truly perceive, they began to display unbecoming conduct and to degenerate, destroying the fairest of their most valuable possessions. To those, however, who cannot perceive that true mode of life which leads to real happiness, they appeared most glorious and happy, though actually full of aggrandizement and unjust power. Zeus, however, the god of gods, who rules according to Law and can perceive such things, wishing to recall a once honourable race to the practice of virtue, assembled all the gods and said:
E. E. Θ.
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Time was when men believed their deities |
| Mary W. Gale. |
A Fragment
M.M Phelon · pp. 471-472
My Uncle's Strange Story
R. Harte · pp. 473-481
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Big drops are falling; |
| M. Mull. May 15, 1887. |
Our Christian XIXth Century Ethics
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 482-484
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Reviews
Reincarnation
Mr. Walker cannot be too heartily congratulated on the manner in which he has written his book. He has arranged his facts in a masterly way, and has devoted so much time and study to the subject that he is able to cite in his favour a large majority of those writers and thinkers who have distinguished their race at all the historical epochs of human progress. Of course in such a subject there must necessarily appear some gaps to the specialist, but, in spite of all that criticasters may urge, there is no doubt that Mr. Walker’s book forms the most admirable summary of the subject which has yet appeared.
The book is divided into various sections. In the first of these a definition is attempted. There is no uncertain sound in the words: “That man ever dwelt in the bodies of beasts, we deny as irrational, as such a retrogression would contradict the fundamental maxims of nature. That philosophy is a corruption of Reincarnation.”
“Granting the permanence of the human spirit amid every change, the doctrine of rebirth is the only one yielding a metaphysical explanation of the phenomena of life. It is already accepted on the physical plane as evolution, and holds a firm ethical value in applying the law of justice to human experience.”
Thus reincarnation simply resolves itself into the enunciation of a law that man lives and dies and lives again, and acts and takes rest on the plane of life as a whole just as he does in his life from day to day. The individual man clothes himself many times in different personalities.
Mr. Walker then proceeds to the arguments in favour of Reincarnation. He argues that the idea of immortality instinct in man, when assisted with the analogy of nature and by the conservation of energy and the correlation of forces, necessarily demands reincarnation as a fact. The Christian idea of special creation at birth involves a similar annihilation at death. Immortality then demands it. Analogy in the case of the life history of butterflies comes to the assistance of the theory and, when combined with the observations of embryology, leaves very little room for hesitation. Not so very long since even the evolution of the physical frame of man and animal was denied; but now that this evolution is a proven fact and we can see the traces of it as demonstrating re-incarnation under different forms in the embryo, it is high time that we should turn our attention to the evolution of the soul as well. Mr. Walker cites many instances from physiology and biology to assist his case and makes his position very firm indeed.
Physiology further shows an entire reconstitution of the physical frame every
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seven years, and the question naturally rises: “Why should not this ‘reincarnation’ be further extended?”
The old argument is brought in as to the acquisition of all experience being impossible in one life and supported by the facts of early death.
Further Mr. Walker puts forward the idea that reincarnation forms a complete answer to the old theological difficulty of “original sin.” And under his examination this proves to be the case. Further it explains many curious experiences. Of course the objection may be taken that these experiences admit of a different explanation; on the other hand reincarnation affords the simplest explanation to all, and it is well known as a law that the economy of nature demands the simplest and most direct course.
It is perhaps a pity that the scope of the book did not permit Mr. Walker to deal more fully with the solution which Reincarnation, in company with its twin law of Karma, affords to the problem of moral inequality, and “the injustice and evil which otherwise overwhelms us.” But the reader is given an outline which he can well fill up for himself. As Mr. Walker puts it, “the total experience of humanity forms a magnificent tapestry of perfect poetic justice.”
Mr. Walker states four main objections to the theory. Of these, though he rightly gives it the last place in validity, the uncongeniality of the doctrine is that which operates in the minds of most people. The arguments of loss of memory and the opposition of heredity are the most serious to meet. But they are so well considered and met, that it would be worth while to purchase the book if only for this section. The argument of memory is shown to be fallacious by the facts and analogies afforded by one life only. The cases of double identity, and other kindred instances, prove the existence of a “higher memory” which is not always available for the consciousness of sense perception. As regards the justice of suffering for deeds which we are not conscious of having committed, it is answered rightly that it is really only to those who always attempt to shift the blame off their own shoulders that the idea of an arbitrary guide of man’s destiny is acceptable. Nature never errs, and it is healthier for man to know that he only reaps the seed which he himself sows than to think that he can avoid payment by cheating himself of his dues. But to most minds the idea is repellant on account of the loss it involves of the consciousness of the persons dear to them. But it may be answered that love and sympathy usually have their basis, if they are real at all, in something beyond mere outward appearances. We are all pilgrims together and Mr. Walker adds: “our theory extends the journey in just proportion to the supernal destination.”
The quotations from “Western Prose Writers” afford the reader a glimpse extending over such a wide range that, if merely for the insight into the minds of great thinkers, the book is worth reading. A part is devoted to the work of Mr. William R. Alger, who, though a clergyman, devoted 20 years of his life to the study and was so firmly convinced of its truth that the pagan idea of reincarnation became immoveably fixed in his mind as a fact proven to him indisputably.
Mr. Walker quotes largely from the poets. On the ground that they “are the seers of the race” who merely transmit, often unconsciously to themselves,
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the truths which are “beyond the limits of reason” it is surely a phalanx of considerable strength to marshal 12 American poets, 17 British, six Continental, and seven Platonic, in favour of the theory.
Quotations from ancient prose writers and poets, from present-day Eastern writers, from the esoteric Oriental philosophies – all are cited by Mr. Walker in favour of the theory.
One fact is worth repeating here. The effect of this theory on the conduct of life is such that travellers in many parts of China. . . . . Central India and Ceylon agree that the daily life of Buddhism is so like the realization of Christianity as to give strong support to the theory of the Indian origin of our religion. It would be a matter of curiosity to know what Eastern travellers would remark as to the theory and practice of Christianity in so-called “Christian countries.”
To conclude in Mr. Walker’s words:
“Reincarnation unites all the family of man into a universal brotherhood more effectively than the prevailing humanity. It promotes the solidarity of mankind by destroying the barriers that conceit and circumstances have raised between individuals, groups, nations, and races. All alike are favoured with poetic justice. . . . . . There are no special gifts. Physical blessings, mental talents, and moral successes are the laborious result of long merit. Sorrows, defects, and failures proceed from negligence.”
Mr. Walker concludes with the conviction “that all the best teachers of mankind – religion, philosophy, science and poetry – urge the soul to
Be worthy of death; and so learn to live |
The book is closed by a copious bibliography on the subject, which is immensely valuable. We can heartily recommend the book to all students of Theosophy and the facts of Nature, for we think Mr. Walker, even with the Mr. narrow limits of his book, has proved his case.
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Emendations of Hamlet
Mr. Mull’s book is undoubtedly one of the greatest additions to Shakespearean study which recent years have seen.
It is characterised by the most thorough scholarship, the most cautious and yet daring criticism, combined with a genius for perceiving intuitionally the true reading of corrupt passages, only perhaps equalled by Porson.
Many of the author’s emendations carry with them the instant conviction of self-evident truths, leaving a feeling of wonder that they have never been suggested before.
Delicate shades of meaning, hitherto concealed, are brought out by slight
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changes of punctuation, which display a closeness of application to the text only found elsewhere in Coleridge’s Lectures.
The text is prefaced by a valuable essay on Hamlet’s madness, and on this subject we cannot do better than let the author speak for himself:
“The next point is, did Hamlet consistently exhibit an ‘antic disposition’ on each and such occasions as his design demanded? In other words, was he, as a sane man, able to control his resolution so as to fit the time and season in which to display his ‘crafty madness’? The whole drama affords abundant testimony that he did so control himself as to completely carry out the purpose he had in view, and by the startling contrast of the character he assumed, and of that in which he exhibited his lofty and weighty ‘discourse of reason,’ he furnishes overwhelming evidence that he was marvellously sane. . . . . In all this is Hamlet himself, noble and transcendant, moved to ‘fine issues,’ self-controlled as the soaring eagle, firm as the stable pole-star. . . . His ‘antic disposition’ is marvellously accommodated to the several individuals before whom it is exhibited. . . . .”
After reading this preface our chief feeling is one of regret that Mr. Mull has not supplemented it by an essay on that other vexed question, Hamlet’s love for Ophelia.
In a brief note on the passage: –
“Hamlet. A little more than kin, and less than kind.”
Mr. Mull paraphrases it thus: –
“A little (signifying very much) beyond mere relationship I stand to you. I am rightful heir to the crown; I am by right your king, and you my subject.”
This is undoubtedly a rendering which deserves the most respectful consideration; but in weighing the question of Hamlet’s title to the throne, and its bearing on doubtful passages, and questions of Hamlet’s action, we must bear in mind the fact disclosed by recent juridical researches, that the rigid form of primogeniture to which we are accustomed in England, was by no means universal. Nothing was more common, in every section of the Aryan family, than for a brother of a dead chieftain to succeed instead of a son, as Shakespere’s studies in Hollinshed must have informed him; hence Hamlet’s “right” to the throne is far from being as certain as many critics assume.
But the most interesting part of the volume before us is undoubtedly that section devoted to the author’s emendations, which exhibit pre-eminently his character and penetration as a critic.
Perhaps the most disputed reading in all Hamlet is that which occurs in the following lines. (We give Mr. Mull’s reading): –
“King. Our son shall win. |
Mr. Mull adds: “The accepted reading, it seems to me, is as gross in the mouth of the Queen as it is repugnant to the situation and the facts. The coarseness of the word fat well befits the stupidity of the mutilation. ‘The mould of form’ corpulent!’”
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If Mr. Mull can succeed in laying the ghost of the fat Hamlet, he will receive the endless gratitude of all Shakespere scholars.
Instead of the received reading: –
“Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look pale: |
Mr. Mull reads: –
“How now, Horatio, – you tremble and look pale – |
| (Act I., sc. i., l. 53.) |
In the second scene, line 229:
“What! looked he frowningly?”
Mr. Mull reads:
“What looked he, frowningly?”
In the third scene, line 115, he punctuates the well-known passage as follows: –
“Pol. I do know, |
In scene iv. of the same act, line 46, Mr. Mull amends the received reading thus: –
“Let me not rest in ignorance, but tell |
Substituting rest for burst.
In scene v. line 121, he punctuates thus:
“How say you, then – would heart of man once think it! – |
In Polonius’ warning to Ophelia at the beginning of the second act (scene i. line 111), Mr. Mull makes an important change: –
“Pol. I am sorry that with better heed and judgment, |
Not perhaps so happy is the following, – Act III. scene ii., line 244.
“Ham. The mouse-trap.
King. Marry, how?
Ham. Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna.”
It would seem better to keep to the old reading, by which Hamlet’s speech reads: –
“Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically.”
In answer to a gesture of interrogation from the king.
In the iv. scene, line 182, Mr. Mull punctuates as follows: –
“Queen. What shall I do?”
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“Ham. Not this by no means, that I bid you do: |
In the fourth act, scene iv., line 39, we have an important emendation: –
“. . . . . I do not know. |
We are constrained to notice in several passages, what seems almost a fault in sense of rhythm, a deficiency of ear.
We are certain however that Mr. Mull can satisfactorily explain the seeming fault in the following passages: –
“Why this same strict and most observant watch? |
| (Act I., sc. i., l. 72.) |
And –
“For use almost can change the stamp of nature, |
| (Act III., sc. iv., l. 169.) |
As for the text, it is excellently printed, and, were it not for the references to notes in the body of the text, would be the most readable we have seen.
In the margin are notes explanatory of verbal obscurities, while variants are noticed at the foot of the page.
We have given the most interesting of Mr. Mull’s emendations, but every student of Shakespere ought to lose no time in securing this book, and studying it throughout.
Next month we hope to notice an annotated edition of “Paradise Lost,” Books I. to VI. by the same author.
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A Trilogy of the Life to Come
The first part of the Trilogy, the “Vision of Rhadamanthus,” gives us a glimpse of Elysian fields. The heroine: –
“ . . . in a trance of mystic sleep,” |
visits the realm of “chaos and dark night,” the darkness opens, disclosing the blest regions beyond, and heroine speaks,
“What chanced I know not, nor remember more |
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The rest of the “Vision” contains musical passages, shewing a fine sense of rhythmic beauty.
The second “Phase” of the Trilogy paints very dramatically the author’s conception of the Rosy Cross, and the Crucifixion of the Rose, where the horrors of darkness: –
“Took the Rose, in the might of demon spite, |
It contains musical passages, such as the following: –
“For, every soul, between pole and pole, |
“Phase” III., “The Ascent of Souls,” discloses the same power for musical rhythm, embodying philosophic thought, such as: –
“A rush of life through immortal being, |
In “Patrokleia,” the author has attempted to solve the insoluble problem of rendering the musical numbers of Homer into English verse.
A variety of metres are tried, but Chapman alone succeeded, even partially, in reproducing an effect at all similar to Homer. “Yule Tide” is a pretty poem, but, for mystical readers, the “Rose’s Passion” is undoubtedly the poem of the volume.
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Mongolian Aphorisms
If thou lovest nature, thou lovest man. If thou hatest man, thou hatest nature, for the two are inseparable.
Learn from all thou comest in contact with. Learn from the wicked as from the good; do, as the wise bee doeth, which extracts sweet honey from the bitterest plant, truly.
Slave, thou shalt not purchase thy freedom with the bondage of thy friends and next-of-kin; nor shalt thou seek to obtain it, if that freedom be at the price of making the slavery of thy enemy more sorrowful.
Learn to discern light from darkness, and to perceive in the darkest night the bright dawn of the coming day.
Better that thou shouldst be twice deceived, and cursed thrice by Lie for no lie of thine, but thy truthful word, rather than deceive thy enemy even once, or so much as think of cursing thy greatest foe.
He who curses, poisons his own heart, losing thereby every spark of love in him.
Hate is the black skunk, and love, the pure, snow-white ermine: it is enough to let in one skunk to clear a whole plain of the ermines – aye, to the last.
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Correspondence
Is this an Error?
In the Editors’ notes to the article on “The Crucifixion of Man,” in the May number of Lucifer, a quotation is given from The Hebrew-Egyptian Mystery. I have not seen this work and do not know the name of its author, but, judging from this specimen of his writings, he is very far from being a safe guide. From his way of treating the subject of the quotation, he is evidently not aware that the two Evangels in which the exclamation has been preserved reproduce the Chaldee translation or Targum of Psalm xxii., 1. This would have been more familiar than the Hebrew original to a Jew of the period in the habit of mixing with and teaching the people, and might well have fallen from the lips of such an one dying under such circumstances. To confront the Chaldee with the Hebrew here, and claim that the one is a falsification of the other is to make an unwarranted statement. But there is a still greater mistake even than this in the quotation, for, to get the reading, “My God, my God, how thou dost glorify me!” out of the Chaldee translation, the author substitutes שבחתני for שבקתני and, by so doing, himself falsifies the accepted utterance. When it is realised that the exclamation handed down by the Evangelist is a Chaldee version of a Hebrew original, it cannot but be admitted that the meaning of the Chaldee is determined by that of the Hebrew, of which it is a translation. This unquestionably is “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” In the attributed rendering of the author, the Hebrew word he has adopted, to support preconceived views, only signifies “glorify” in the sense by singing the praises (and not by the illumination) of the glorified subject.
I have never met with an example of the use of the Hebrew formula referred to in the sense “My God, my God, how thou dost glorify me!” Will the learned Editors of Lucifer, or any of its readers, who may have been more fortunate in this regard, kindly point one out to me?
8th June, 1888.
[The above having been sent to the U.S.A. for the author of the “Source of Measures” to reply to his critic, the following is his answer. – Ed.]
No Error
J. Ralston Skinner · pp. 492-495
[Editorial reply to Euphrates on the words of Jesus on the cross]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 495
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The Devil! Who is He?
There are two persons (allegorical impersonations of good and evil), called Jesus and the Devil, who hate one another exceedingly; but whilst Jesus would expose and condemn the sin and spare the sinner that he might live to repent
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and reform, the Priest would and did condemn Jesus, the good and just one, to be slain as a blasphemer and devil, whose blood ought to be shed for an atonement, in order to escape and save himself from being exposed as the very incarnation of Pride seeking to obtain the Almighty power and supremacy of God upon earth; even though the exalting of himself to the lofty position as our Father in God and God’s vicegerent, necessitated the slaying of thousands and tens of thousands of men, women and children, who either dared to oppose him, or refused to worship him, by refusing to profess to accept and believe his creeds and doctrines and to utter his Shibboleth.
But as condemning the blood of the good and the just one to be shed as a blasphemer on the testimony of false witnesses and without a cause, revealed the trail of the Serpent and indelibly marked the Priest as a man of blood, and a murderer; and as all the oceans of blood that he shed to exalt himself and blot out the name of Jesus utterly failed to stamp out the people’s love for Jesus, and only helped to publish throughout the whole world that the Priest was a man of blood and a murderer; therefore the Priest changed his policy. He shifted his tactics by using himself the very name of Jesus as an authority for a deep plan or scheme of salvation, by means of the blood of Jesus being offered and presented by himself as a sacrifice.
And this doctrine of the Mass the Priest has established, as necessary to be believed, by means of bribery, corruption, intimidation and violence, until there are thousands who have not only been imposed upon and enslaved to believe this doctrine to be true, but even good and noble persons have enlisted as teachers and preachers to pass it on as necessary to be believed, under fear of the Church’s wrath here, and God’s wrath hereafter, although neither they nor any human being can reconcile it to be either good or true.
And as the Priest, 1800 years ago, condemned Jesus to be crucified as a blasphemer and devil, and now use his name to condemn as infidels all who do not believe him to have been God, therefore the world is oftentimes made to blaspheme the name of Jesus through its being used as an authority for doing and teaching evil in God’s service, as of old men were made to blaspheme the name of God, because it was also used as an authority for doing evil.
And therefore it is our duty to deliver the name of Jesus from being thus unjustly used, because Jesus left nothing undone that love could do or suffer to deliver the name of God from being similarly used. And to be offended for this with the name of Jesus would be to be like to those who were offended with the name of God because unjustly used.
There are some persons who would dethrone Jesus from being looked up to as the Christ and Son of God, because they do not see their way to dethroning the spread of Romanism, except by dethroning Jesus; but Jesus and the Scriptures tell us that they were murderers who conspired to put Jesus to death (John viii. 37-59; Acts vii. 52; Acts xiii. 27; 1 Cor. ii. 7, 8). Therefore let God be manifested to be good and true, even though the truth dethrones the Priest by requiring him to confess that his doctrine of the Mass is opposed to the teaching of Jesus, and must be reformed, because Jesus taught God would have mercy and not sacrifice. If in the mind of Jesus we have seen the mind
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of God, then in Christ’s adversaries and slanderers, we have seen those whom we were pledged at our baptism to resist as the Devil (John xv. 24).
Manor House, Petersham s.w.
[Editorial reply to “The Devil! Who is He?” by T. G. Headley]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 497
497
A Lesson
Regarding the first rule of Practical Occultism in the April number of your journal, it may not be known to many of your readers that in most of our (Hindu) rites and ceremonies, we have to use the “five coloured powders.” These are prepared in a particular way and then spread, one after the other, over a certain Yantra. The arrangements of these colours are however different in Tantric and Vedic rites. Pundit Kalibar Vedantabagish, the renowned Vedantist of Bengal, has promised to give me a detailed account of these colours, but I doubt whether he will allow me to publish it.
Your note on Ultimate Philosophy (the last lines on page 141 of the April number) is not quite correct. According to our Shastras “the tortoise does not wag its tail in absolute void,” the whole is supported by Ananta Naga, which means, one who is endless and motionless. The Elephants (not one) are the Elephants of Space (Dig Gaza), and the tortoise is a particular manifestation of Vishnu.
It is hardly fair to condemn Sir Monier Williams on account of his taking the “Boar’s flesh” in a literal sense, and then ridicule the Puranic allegories.
Berhampur (Bengal), 12th May, 1888.
[Editors’ note on ‘A Lesson’ by H. P. Mukerji]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 498
498
The "Chaste Tree"
Will you tell me the botanical name of the “Agnus Castus” plant, also what authority there is for supposing Christ was crowned with Acanthus, and if so are any of that family indigenous to Syria?
Paliurus australis (Christ’s Thorn) is spoken of by Loudon as the probable plant, of the order Rhamni. He adds, Hasselquist thought it was a kind of Rhamnus (Buckthorn), called by Linnæus “Spina Christi.” The latter I have received from Syria, where it is common, and bears a small yellow berry.
[Editors’ note on ‘The Chaste Tree’ by W. N. Gale]
H. P. Blavatsky · pp. 498
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[Thanks to friends and subscribers]
The Editors of “Lucifer” beg to thank their friends and subscribers for the support accorded to them during the first year of its existence. With the next Number the Magazine enters upon its second year; and the Editors feel confident that they will be enabled to make it still more attractive, by increasing its intrinsic value with the permanent interest of the contributions appearing on its pages. They therefore appeal to the subscribers of the past year, and their well-wishers in Europe and America, to continue to support them in their efforts for the cause they serve.
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Theosophical and Mystic Publications
Since Colonel Olcott assumed the direction of the Theosophist, a few months ago, its successive numbers have shown a steady increase in interest.
The most noteworthy feature of the last three numbers is a series of articles on “Nature’s Finer Forces,” dealing with the philosophy of Breath in connection with the Tatwas. The explanation of the so-called prismatic decomposition of white light, according to the theory of the Science of Breath, is exceedingly suggestive, though exception must be taken to the author’s argumentation on the subject. According to the modern undulatory theory of light, it is not held that, in the case of absorption spectra, the motion of the ether is absorbed. The explanation of the phenomenon given by Science is, that when the crest of one ethereal wave comes over the hollow of another wave of the same length and period, they mutually annihilate each other and darkness is the result. Of course from the standpoint of occult physics the modern theory is unsatisfactory; but this does not justify Mr. Rama Prasad in demolishing his adversaries by the very simple expedient of mis-stating their case.
But apart from the few instances where the author comes into collision with science, his explanations and suggestions are most valuable, and the Theosophist must be congratulated on having opened a mine of such interest to practical students. We would advise all those who are naturally psychic to study these articles. The connection of Prana and the Tatwas with the planets and the light which is thrown thereby on the theory of planetary influences, deserves the attention of some western astrologer. It suggests a train of thought which is very far-reaching and which some student ought to take up and investigate.
Besides these articles, we note, in the May number, “Emerson and Occult Laws,” by C. Johnston; “Eastern and Western Science” and the continuation of the “Kaivalyanavanita.” Colonel Olcott has, it would seem, established sympathetic relations with Dr. Charcot of the Salpetrière by sending him a Tamil copy of an ancient Sanskrit work wherein one of the latest discoveries, that of a zone erogène on the human body, was recorded thousands of years ago.
In the June number special attention is claimed by an article on the Uttaragita by R. Jaya Raja Ran. It deals with the true conception of Deity in philosophy, and is, in some respects, so clear and ably reasoned as to deserve the attention of all students. “The Hindu Trimurti,” in the same number, is also an able metaphysical paper on an analogous subject; but the somewhat severe character of this and the preceding issue is happily relieved by some further chapters of “The Angel Peacock,” which has now reached a stage of thrilling interest.
The July issue opens with an extremely interesting article by Colonel Olcott on “Precipitated Pictures,” interesting mainly on account of the personal reminiscences with which the Colonel has interwoven his account. But one is saddened on reaching the end by a postscript, from which it appears that the whole series of phenomena, obtained by Mr. Marsh and published by Dr. Buchanan, is tainted with suspicion owing to the bad character of the medium. An article on “Suggestion,” follows and acquires additional significance from the juxtaposition. The “Revival of Hinduism,” a further instalment of “The Angel Peacock,” and an article by Mr. Charles Johnston on “The Creed of Christendom,” are all of interest. Mr. Pratt’s “Travestied Teachings,” is continued, “Heredity and Karma,” are the subject of a few remarks, and a full narrative of the recent American Theosophical Convention, followed by an account of the celebration of Buddha’s birthday in Ceylon, complete the contents of a varied and highly interesting number.
This journal, too, during the last three months, has more than maintained its usually high average of valuable and interesting matter. Mr. Brehon’s series of articles on the Bhagavat-Gita form a striking contribution to the study of that marvellous Scripture.
In the May issue the reader will find a very able article on “The Theosophical Field,” by Jasper Niemand, and a most suggestive conversation between a sage and a student on Elementals and Elementaries, which gives answers to many of the questions which inevitably suggest themselves to all who have witnessed mediumistic phenomena. Julius’ “Tea Table Talk” for the month is in the
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form of a charming little idyll of girl life, though it concludes in a more serious vein with some comments on Mr. Hodgson’s – the Secretary of the Psychic Research Society – recent glorious fiasco in Boston.
A good deal of space in this issue is devoted to the American Annual Convention at Chicago, of which a detailed account is given.
The “Contents” for June are very attractive. Besides the continuation of various serial articles already noticed, there are several papers deserving of special attention. Among such, Jasper Niemand’s essay on “Reading and Thinking” takes a prominent place. The subject itself is one of the greatest practical importance, and the reader who will apply to this essay the methods therein laid down will reap much fruit from its perusal.
A conversation on Elementals in connection with Karma is very suggestive, and follows well upon the discussion of Elementals and Elementaries in the June Number.
Tea Table Talk runs this time in a somewhat different strain from that of May; it is especially interesting and valuable, for it gives some hints of the way in which students should study the incidents of their daily life, and learn to trace therein the action of Karma and of those unseen influences which form so much greater a part of our life than we are wont to realise.
The July number opens with a well-timed and admirably expressed article addressed “To Aspirants for Chelaship.” All those in whom has awakened the yearning after real knowledge and the firm will to help humanity are most earnestly advised to study and ponder the statements put forward.
In connection with this article an essay on the “Culture of Concentration,” should also be studied, for they are mutually explanatory.
Another “Conversation on Occultism” is given in this number, which contains some valuable suggestions; and the Tea Table Talk is varied and interesting as usual.
Le Lotus for June opens with the first part of an admirable and remarkably well-written article on “Parabrahm,” from the pen of Amaravella. This is followed by a rather dithyrambic paper on “Fabre d’Olivet et Saint Ives d’Alvèdre,” in which the latter receives more praise than he deserves, for his magnum opus, a truly ponderous tome, is full of errors and even gross blunders. The translations of articles from the Sphinx on Ancient Egyptian Psychology and the Post-Mortem State are continued, and following them we find an essay on Some Facts about the Zodiac, translated by M. Dacourme from the Religio-Philosophical Journal, which we cordially recommend to the attention of students.
An essay on Hallucination, by Guymiot, is striking, for he maintains the existence of the so-called “Gods,” the higher intelligences which guide nature. This theme is treated of at length in Mme. Blavatsky’s forthcoming “Secret Doctrine,” and this article has special value as, in a measure, preparing the reader’s mind for the study of that work.
A letter against Vivisection from the Mandarin Lou-Y, with some lovely verses by Amaravella, and the usual notices of books, &c., complete an interesting number.
The June issue is enlivened by the continuation of the controversy between Mme. Blavatsky and l’abbé Roca on the subject of Christian Esotericism. Amaravella’s essay on Parabrahm is continued, and the translation of the article on Ancient Egyptian Psychology from the Sphinx is concluded.
These are followed by the reproduction of the twelfth chapter of the Voyage du Sieur Paul Lucas, published in 1712, in which the author gives a most curious account of a Fraternity of Adepts with whom he came in contact; and a review of J. Peladan’s À Cœur Perdu, furnishes an instructive conclusion to this issue.
The July Lotus opens with an article by the Editor, our esteemed friend and colleague, Mr. F. K. Gaboriau. A personal attack, equally unjustifiable and ungentlemanly, has been made upon him by a small minority, namely the three ex-members, of the Isis Lodge of Paris. To these, Mr. Gaboriau replies in an admirably calm, firm and dignified article, in which he vindicates the impartial and unsectarian character of his Editorship. While we deeply regret the occasion which has given rise to this article, we congratulate our colleague upon its tone.
The remaining contents of the number are some Notes by H. P. Blavatsky to the series of articles, already mentioned, on ancient Egyptian psychology; the continuation of Amaravella’s article on “Parabrahm”; a translation of Colonel Olcott; “Annual Address”; and, finally, an article by X, on “Seeing without the (physical) Eyes.”
These three Magazines can all be obtained at the Office of “Lucifer,” 7 Duke Street, Adelphi, W.C.
Footnotes
- ↑ It is to be remarked that ancient pantheism decayed about the same time as ancient communism, making place for the various exoteric sects of classical times, and (save for a few lucid intervals in which great teachers stepped forward to redeem as much of humanity as possible from the materialistic superstitions in which it was steeped) for the newer systems known as Catholicism, Orthodoxy, Protestantism, Mussulmanism, Modern Buddhism, &c. In pure philosophy it gave way to various materialistic and spiritualistic schools of thought; Spiritualism and Materialism representing simply the face and obverse of the coin of individualistic philosophy.
- ↑ It was to the advantage of the owners of chattel-slaves to take care of them, if only in order to preserve valuable property in a condition of efficiency, whereas the capitalist employer of “free” labour (labour free to accept his conditions or else starve) has no such sense of interest in the health and well-being of his “hands,” whom he can replace when worn out without any fresh outlay.
- ↑ Published by Smith, Elder & Co., price 6s. We understand that there remain only a few copies of this volume, and that they are for the most part in the possession of the author, Mr. Evelyn Pyne, The Pines, Bagshot, Surrey, to whom we refer our readers.
- ↑ To prevent all misapprehension, the writer wishes to say that he has not himself embraced the higher life, and lays no claim to any higher intuition than is possible for those to have who like himself are living both in the world and of it.
- ↑ Let me take this opportunity of naming a few short works, pamphlets, and periodicals, treating the Socialist question from other aspects besides that of simple economic justice. Text-Books, &c.: – Hyndman and Morris’s “Summary of the Principles of Socialism.” (Modern Press, 13, Paternoster Row.) Grönlund’s “Co-operative Commonwealth.” English Edition, by G. Bernard Shaw. (Modern Press.) Edward Carpenter’s “England’s Ideal.” (Swan, Sonnenschein &Co.) Edward Carpenter’s “Towards Democracy.” Maurice Adams’s “Ethics of Social Reform.” Krapotkin’s “Appeal to the Young.” (Modern Press.) W. Morris’s “Art and Socialism.” (Reeves, 185, Fleet Street.) Periodicals: – “The Commonweal.” Weekly. Revolutionary Collectivism and Communism. (Socialist League Offices, 13, Farringdon Road.) “Freedom.” Monthly. Communistic-Anarchism. (Leaflet Press, 19, Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane.) “To-Day.” Monthly. Socialism in general. (Reeves, 185, Fleet Street, E.C.) “The Christian Socialist.” Monthly. (Reeves, 185, Fleet Street.) “Brotherhood.” Monthly. (Reeves, 185, Fleet Street.) “La Revue Socialiste.” Monthly. Socialism in general. (B. Malon, 8, Rue des Martyrs, Paris.) The above are all short and low-priced.
- ↑ The direct administration of the various departments of production, distribution, exchange (except with foreign countries), locomotion &c., would probably be left, in a populous country like Great Britain, partly in the hands of democratically constituted trade corporations, partly in those of provincial, county, and communal administrations.
- ↑ Parshi – the image in the pupil of the eye – that ONE Being which appears under the mask of innumerable forms.
- ↑ According to Professor Lauteo “History of the Rosicrucians,” the Rosicrucians departed to India at the beginning of the XVIII. century.
- ↑ The “Blavatsky Lodge of the Theosophical Society.”
- ↑ And why “He” and not IT? Has Deity a sex? Most extraordinary custom even in monotheists – Conceit of Men, who mirror their male element in their Deity when they do not degrade the Unknown to the ridiculous and the absurd by seeking to address and speak of it as “Woman” in some cases, as “male-female,” or “Father-Mother,” in others, thus making of an impersonal absolute Principle – a huge Hermaphrodite! – [Ed.]
- ↑ With the Kabalists, “the Three Mothers” in Sepher Yetzirah are Air, Water and Fire. They are EMeS, or אמש.
- ↑ By “successful practice” I mean, successful to everybody concerned.
- ↑ Typhon, and Seth, Set, or Sut, are names given to the father of Osiris, who is said, in the ancient Egyptian myth, to have murdered him. The wind from the south-west, coming across the desert, is also called Seth, or Typhon.
- ↑ Storm-wind.
- ↑ Sixteen cubits is considered a good rise for the Nile.
- ↑ God Hapi-Mu is the Nile, to whose honour were constructed Rock-Temples at Silsileh; and where, by commandment of the Pharaohs, Rameses II. and III., were solemnised two festivals to celebrate the rising of the Nile, at the beginning and close of the inundation.
- ↑ Nile-criers, who announce each day the number of inches the Nile has risen.
- ↑ Heliopolis, the “City of the Sun.
- ↑ In the course of his address, Sir M. Williams refers to Dayan and Saraswati, the founder of the Arya-Samaj, and gives some details of his life, which seem to be derived from the autobiographical sketch, prepared by himself, which appeared in the Theosophist for 1880. We are not aware that these details were ever given elsewhere.
- ↑ Colonel Olcott’s Lectures on Theosophy and Archaic Religions, p. 109.
- ↑ W. H. Allen & Co., 13, Waterloo Place, Pall Mall, S.W.
- ↑ We object to the claim. See Editors’ note.
- ↑ Anuradhapura is the wonderful ruined city of Ancient Ceylon, where the sacred “Bo-tree” still grows. It is of this place that Mr. Burrows speaks in his “Buried Cities of Ceylon,” when he describes the former inhabitants of the island as a nation “that could build a city of gigantic monoliths, carve a mountain into a graceful shrine, and decorate the pious monuments with delicate pillars that would have done credit to a Grecian artist.” My friend had visited and described Anuradhapura more than a year previously to his present journey, so that he does not now stop to enlarge upon its wonders. “The first thing that attracted our attention,” he wrote of Anuradhapura on that occasion, “on descending from the coach, was a collection of sixteen hundred square granite pillars, arranged in rows of forty, and standing about six feet apart, so as to cover an area of about two hundred and forty feet each way. Though they stand some twelve feet out of the ground, each pillar is one solid block of stone. . . . These sixteen hundred pillars, it seems, originally supported the floor of an enormous monastery called ‘The Great Brazen Place,’ built by King Dutugemusue in the year 161 B.C. This building, we read, was nine storeys in height, each storey being less in size than the one below it. It contained a thousand dormitories for priests, besides various other apartments, including a great hall supported on golden pillars resting on lions, in the centre of which stood a magnificent ivory throne, and as the whole vast fabric was roofed with tiles of burnished brass (whence its name), it must have presented a truly imposing appearance in those brave days of old.”
- ↑ Abhiñña – the six transcendent faculties obtained by the Yogis or Arhats, after which come the Iddhi, the supernatural powers? – [Ed.]
- ↑ Chinese, Confucius, Mincius, &c.
- ↑ An island in a lake north of Sikhim – the Sacred Isle.
- ↑ To some minds, very likely. In the opinion of a Vedantin or an Eastern Occultist this “Boundless” is the one deity and the one reality in this universe of Maya, and it is the one everlasting and uncreated principle – everything else being illusionary, because finite, conditioned and transitory. – [Ed.]
- ↑ It cannot be independent, since “existence” is precisely that Deity which we call “Absolute Existence,” of which nothing can be “independent.”
- ↑ Which philosophy? Not Eastern philosophy and metaphysics – the oldest of all. Nothing cannot come out of or from another nothing – if the latter word is accepted in our finite sense. All comes from Nothing, or No-thing, En-Soph, the Boundless (to us) nothingness! but on the plane of Spirit the noumenon of all. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Our correspondent is very little acquainted, we see, with occult Eastern ideas and true metaphysics. The deity he calls “Nothing” and we “No-thing” can produce nothing, for the simple reason that it is in itself all, the Infinite, Boundless and Absolute, and that even it could never produce anything outside of itself, since whatever manifests is itself. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Lightning is produced by electricity, and is an aspect of the concealed Cause. And because that Cause originates the phenomenon shall we call it “lightning” and a “He”? – [Ed.]
- ↑ And why not “She,” the all? Just as natural one as the other, and, in our opinion, quite as incongruous.” – [Ed.]
- ↑ Say, at once, “itself,” instead of “Himself,” and do not make it a personal (on our plane) conscious action and you will be nearer the mark of our occult teachings.
- ↑ This is Kabalistic and, on the whole, correct, but too indefinite for esoteric philosophy. Does our critic mean to say that it is the microcosm which becomes the Macrocosm, instead of the reverse? (See Editors’ Notes at the end). – [Ed.]
- ↑ Aye, Brahmâ “sleeps” on the lotus during the “nights,” and between the “days” of Brahma (neuter). But Brahmâ, the Creator, dies and disappears when his “age” is at an end, and the hour for the Maha Pralaya strikes. Then No-thing reigns supreme and alone in Boundless Infinitude and that No-thing is non-differentiated space which is no-space, and the absolute. “The most excellent male is worshipped by men, but the soul of wisdom, that in which there are no attributes of name or form is worshipped by Sages (Yogins).” (Vishnu Purâna). This, then, is the point of difference with your correspondent.
- ↑ None whatever. It only denotes better knowledge of metaphysics. That which has form cannot be absolute. That which is conditioned or bounded by either space, time, or any limitation of human conception and growth – cannot be Infinite, still less Eternal. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Undeniably so, “He who centres the myriadal host” is not absolute deity, not even its logos. Aja (the unborn), but at best Adam Kadmon, the Tetragrammaton of the Greeks, and the Brahmâ-Vishnu on the Lotus of Space, the He which disappears with the “Age of Brahm.” – [Ed.]
- ↑ Just so, and this is Adam-Kadmon, the heavenly man, the “male-female” or the symbol of the material manifested Universe, whose 10 limbs (or 10 Sephiroth, the numbers) correspond to the zones of the universe, the 3 in 1 of the upper and the 7 of the lower planes. – [Ed.]
- ↑ Circiter 638 – 558 B.C.
- ↑ Athena.
- ↑ The Straits of Gibraltar.
- ↑ As known to the Greeks; that is to say, the northern coasts of Africa as far as Egypt and Asia Minor.
- ↑ America.
- ↑ The Mediterranean
- ↑ The Etruscan states in early times extended their sway over the greater part of Italy and furnished Rome with her polity and religious institutions.
- ↑ Nearly six miles.
- ↑ The names were originally Egyptian, but Solon, having studied the science of the power of names, translated them into his own tongue.
- ↑ A stade is about 606 feet.
- ↑ The width of the bridges was a plethrum, about 101 feet.
- ↑ Three stades broad, a plethrum wide and fifty stades long, some six miles.
- ↑ A ship with three banks of oars.
- ↑ It was a stade long, three plethra broad and of a proportionate height.
- ↑ 101 feet deep, 606 feet broad, and upwards of 1,250 miles in length.
- ↑ 101 feet broad.
- ↑ Their standing army consisted of upwards of a million men; their navy of 240,000 and 1,200 ships.
- ↑ Crater or mixing bowl.
- ↑ By E. D. Walker. Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1888; and London, Ward & Lock.
- ↑ “Hamlet; Restorations and Emendations,” by Matthias Mull. Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 1885.
- ↑ “A Trilogy of the Life to Come,” and other Poems, by Robert Brown, Jun., F.S.A. David Nutt, 1887.