Theosophy
The theosophical quarterly. Vol. 30 1932
Theosophy
AflDOVKR-iliHOi. 117
THBOlDGlCAL uARaM
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THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
The Theosophical Quarterly
Theosophical Quarterly
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VOLUME XXX
-April,
CONTENTS OF VOL. XXX, NO. 1
July, 1932
PAGE
NOTES AND COMMENTS.
FRAGMENTS.
MADAME BLAVATSKY’S FORBEARS.
CHUANG-TZE, II.
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE, V.
WAR MEMORIES, XVI.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME.
CONVENTION, 1922 (Reprint).
T. S. ACTIVITIES: Convention Report; Letters of Greeting
REVIEWS.
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
PUBLISHED BY
THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
NEW YORK
second-glass matter September 5, 1923. at the Post Office at IS
179
Copyright, 1932, by The Theosophical Society
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ANDOVfifi-fl^aVASD
Theological Lerari
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
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a IQ35.
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THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
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of such study; and the investigation of the unexplained laws of nature and
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The Theosophical Quarterly is the official organ of the original
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W. Q. Judge and others , in 1875.
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with similar bodies , the purposes and methods of which are wholly
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Editors, The Theosophical Quarterly.
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The Theosophical Society, as such, is not responsible for any opinion or declaration
in this magazine, by whomsoever expressed, unless contained in an official document.
A Deluded Cock and a Very False Dawn
T WO books were recently recommended to us, by one who firmly be¬
lieves in his ability to speak for the intelligentsia of the day, as being
so penetrating and profound as to herald the dawn of a better under¬
standing of human nature and the inauguration of a new and truer sociology.
To watch the coming of the dawn, on whatever plane it is witnessed, is an
experience whose appeal and wonder never lessens; but we had heard too
many heralded, both at midnight and full noon, to be much impressed or par¬
ticularly hopeful, especially as the two authors in question were very well
known and did not seem to us at all likely to have departed so far from their
regular orbits as to have become bright stars of the morning. Nevertheless,
since we aspire (from a safe distance) to keep a watchful eye on the intelli¬
gentsia, we bought the books: Mr. Aldous Huxley’s novel, Brave New W orld,
and Mr. H. G. Wells’s The Work, Wealth and Happiness of Mankind. We are
moved to warn others against a like folly.
“Brave New World”
The ostensible purpose, and we imagine the origin, of Mr. Huxley’s book is
such as to command the sympathy of students of Theosophy, who have long
found reason to dread what the world desires. He takes as a text a quotation
from the French of Nicholas Berdiaeff, which points out that Utopias now appe
much more realizable than has heretofore been thought, so that we find our¬
selves faced with the agonizing question as to how their descent upon us may
be avoided. They are altogether too realizable; and as the world presses toward
them we are perhaps drawing near to an age when the intellectual and cu 1-
vated will no longer dream of Utopias, but of means of evading them and of
returning to a society “less perfect but more free”. It is of such an age and of
such dreams that Mr. Huxley purports to wnte, the jacket of the book tel mg
us that it is “A witty and wickedly satirical novel about the impending Model T
S
6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Utopia that does fantastic things to such old-fashioned ideas as motherhood,
death, fear, love, and happiness.”
Perhaps, as we have begun with the jacket, we can also end with it. It is
patently intended to present the reviewer with usable quotations; and we shall
ourselves feel the cleaner if we do not again have to open the book’s pages.
There are extracts from reviews: “A challenge and a warning to the world”.
“A healthily provocative book.” ‘‘Slashing and wicked.” ‘‘Excellent reading
for those not too easily shocked”. There is a rather extended quotation from
the book itself, part of a talk to some students by ‘‘His Fordship Mustapha
Mond, Resident Controller for Western Europe”.
‘“Try to realize what it was like to have a viviparous mother. . . .’
‘“Try to imagine what ‘‘living with one’s family” meant’.
‘‘They tried; but obviously without the smallest success.
‘“And do you know what a ‘‘home” was?’
‘‘They shook their heads.
‘“Yes’, said Mustapha Mond, nodding his head, ‘You may well shudder’.
‘“Our Ford—or Our Freud as, for some inscrutable reason, he chose to call
himself whenever he spoke of psychological matters—Our Freud had been the
first to reveal the appalling dangers of family life. The World was full of fathers
—was therefore full of misery; full of mothers—therefore of every kind of
perversion; . . . full of brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts—full of madness and
suicide.’
“‘Fortunate boys!’ said the Controller. ‘No pains have been spared to make
your lives emotionally easy—to preserve you, so far as that is possible, from
having emotions at all.’
“ ‘Ford’s in his flivver’, murmured the D. H. C. ‘All’s well with the world’ ”.
Our abridgment is much expurgated, but it will serve.
We should not ourselves have called such writing “witty”; but it is un¬
deniably rather “clever”, and of all literary qualities “cleverness” seems the
most sought and enjoyed to-day. Mr. Huxley’s “cleverness” is made manifest
on every page. It has enabled him to see, with clarity, that the Utopian dreams,
in which our age indulges, are the reflections of its appetites, and crave a social
order where sensual desires might be gratified unrestrained, and unavenged by
aftermaths of pain. It has enabled him to depict, in vivid colours, the loath¬
some degradation of all human things and relationships that would result,
could such a Utopia be achieved. It has barbed his satire, and shown him on
every side a mark at which it can be sped. But with all of this, his cleverness
has not been able to furnish him with any safeguard against the dangers that
inhere within itself, and which have so defeated whatever purpose he may at
first have had, as to make his book an offence to decent minds.
We have little doubt that Mr. Huxley and his admirers would feel that he
had been complimented were his reviewers to class him with Bernard Shaw or
Anatole France; but to the student of Theosophy, or to any mature experience
which, reaching out to the wholeness of life, has touched its realities, the pur¬
suit of cleverness for its own sake must appear degrading. The names which
NOTES AND COMMENTS
7
exemplify such pursuit do not stand for an enviable order of intelligence, nor
for a comprehension of human nature such as may be gained by rising above it
in self-conquest. Rather do they tell of something immature, or sub-human, in
their possessors, something which as yet belongs to the mere raw stuff from
which human nature may be formed, and which bores and penetrates into its
ingredients from below. Their view is the “worm’s eye” view. It is as though
they had not yet learned to live upon the wholesome bread of life, but must,
like maggots, turn for food to mouldy flour. We all know that there is a satire
that can make for righteousness, piercing the joints of armoured wrong, or
scourging evil in defence of right. But satire that so relishes itself as to have
lost all thought or memory of moral purpose, and which is directed indifferently
to good and bad, sparing nothing and defiling all it touches, such mocking has
within it the malice of sub-human things,—of elementals or imps of hell, or of
the street gamin, “showing off”. Behind it, using it, is the Essence of Evil,
but it itself scarcely reaches to the moral plane. The writer of the blurb on the
jacket dignifies the book too much when he (three times) calls it “wicked”:
“wickedly satirical”, “wickedly fantastic”, “slashing and wicked”. It is just
the small boy being “smart” and trying to shock,—the very nasty little boy,
with his uncanny ability, wherever he goes, to find and exhibit something
hideous and unclean. Yet whether “wicked” or “nasty”, the fact remains that
Mr. Huxley is not a pleasant companion; we close the book no wiser than we
opened it, but with a sense of having waded in filth and of badly needing a
bath. He is typical of the “clever” man, whose cleverness goes to his head
like wine, and, like wine, uncorfeciously to himself reveals his nature. There are
thousands like him, who think that wit can excuse all, disinfect all,—and who
are very sure that they are witty. So Anatole France and Shaw and their
legion of little imitators. So Mr. John Erskine, smearing the vulgarity of his
own mind and approach to life over the sweet and beautiful stories that are
the heritage of our race; so Mr. Aldous Huxley bathing his readers in the
indecencies of his imagination; and the reviewers crying out “How clever”,
“How amusingly horrifying”, “How penetrating and revealing”.
Faugh! The very thought of them brings the stench from the open setfdR
in which they fish. But doubtless, in the course of aeons, they, and others,
will grow up.
“A New Education for a New Time”
We turn from Mr. Huxley to Mr. Wells with a sigh of relief. Mr. Wells is
what he has always been,—only a little more so with each new book, as he
grows older and hardens in the grooves of mental and emotional habit. His
name trails adjectives like a comet’s tail; but “indecent” is not among them,
and one can at least keep one’s self-respect by disagreeing with him, and not
have to scrub him off one’s mind with antiseptic soap. Fertile, ingenious,
imaginative, provocative and provoking, perverse and superficial, illogical,
dogmatic and conceited; sentimentalist, socialist, theorist, materialist, with an
unequalled gift for misrepresentation and false simplification, for drawing
8
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
realistic pictures of what has no reality, and projecting the image of himself
upon the screen of his surroundings, so partisan and prejudiced, so narrow and
bigoted, that he has made himself definitely blind to all he does not wish to see,
on the wrong side of nearly every important question,—he presents his thought
so glamorously as to make it rival the limpid light of truth itself. It has been
suggested that it might be truth if applied to something else—if the titles of
the books were changed—if Mr. Wells would only be explicit in telling his read¬
ers that, whatever title he may have chosen, he is still always writing about
himself. So the author of A Subaltern's War remarks of Mr. Britling Sees It
Through that it ought to have been called Mr. Wells Does Not See It Through ,
“since it reflected nothing but the weakening of the author’s resolution”; and
doubtless even The Outline of History , which is neither outline nor history,
could be made accurate if it were entitled merely Mr. Wells's Notions upon the
Subjects Treated. We should select the same title for the present work, which
Mr. Wells himself finally decided to call The Work , Wealth and Happiness of
Mankind.
He considers it “slighter ‘and even more provisional” than The Outline of
History , but adds that, “Its claims are enormous; let there be no mistake about
that. It represents all current human activities and motives—all and nothing
less. ... It will have failed of its object so far as any particular reader goes
if that reader does not find his own niche clearly indicated in this descriptive
fabric” (p. 25).
It is not probable that many students of Theosophy will feel that their own
activities and mqtives are at all accurately represented by what Mr. Wells has
to say,—though they may indeed find their outer occupations as “butchers or
bakers or candlestick makers” touched upon in his encyclopaedic pages. His
approach to life is the very opposite of ours. Though he makes it clear that
he considers himself of the true priestly class, his god is only immanent in him,
never transcendent. It is, in effect, himself that he worships: his own image, in
himself and in mankind. In the whole universe he sees nothing higher than
man; and argues that even should there be such, it is of no practical concern
to him or to the theme of his book. He sees everything as arising from the
slime; nothing as descending from above. “The one mind, common to all indi¬
vidual men”, “the oversoul, in which all souls are one”, “the possessions” that
are “possessed by all pure souls equally . . . the special property of the whole
only when united”,—all in which mysticism and religion have found the true
“work, wealth and happiness of mankind” to lie, Mr. Wells rejects wholly from
his thought. He grants that mystery exists; but he grants it only to dismiss
it, not from life, but from thought.
“It is impossible to dismiss mystery from life. Being is altogether mys¬
terious. Mystery is all about us and in us, the Inconceivable permeates us, it
is ‘closer than breathing and nearer than hands and feet.’ For all we know,
that which we are may rise at death from living, as an intent player wakes up
from his absorption when a game comes to an end, or as a spectator turns his
eyes from the stage as the curtain falls, to look at the auditorium he has for a
NOTES AND COMMENTS
9
time forgotten. These are pretty metaphors, that have nothing to do with the
game or the drama of space and time. Ultimately the mystery may be the
only thing that matters, but within the rules and limits of the game of life , when
you are catching trains or paying bills or earning a living, the mystery does
not matter at all” (p. 83).
To us it seems that it is precisely when one is confronted with the paying
of bills” and the ‘‘earning a living”, that one is forced to realize how profoundly
the “mystery” of what lies behind life, and such comprehension as we may
have of it, do matter to us. Why does one pay one’s bills? Why earn a living?
Is there anything more determinative of a man’s nature than whether his
answer to such questions points to an outer police force, or to loyalty to an
inner sense of right? Is not a man’s philosophy of life of very special moment
to his creditors and employer? Yet one gathers from Mr. Wells’s pages that
there can be only one practical answer. To him it all comes back to the outer
police force; for even where he sees the inner sense of right to be the compelling
motive, he explains it as but the memory of the policeman’s club,—a racial
memory of primitive “taboos”. That is the essential evil in all of Mr. Wells’s
later work—since he abandoned his purely and frankly imaginative fiction. He
is capable of seeing the good; capable even of helping you to see it more clearly,
but only to explain it away; only to present it so that it will appear the foolish
and the outworn.
As was to be expected, the postulate of the “primitive man is given a very
prominent place. The effort is to trace everything from him. For the origin
of human society: “This taboo . . . may have been the foundation of real
human society. It made it possible for father and sons and sons-in-law to
endure each other” (p. 50). Of morality: “The psychoanalysts trace the
moral conflict in our minds back to its roots in these primordial prohibitions
and suppressions, without which social life could not have existed (p. 5 1 )*
Of religion: “The prestige of some old men outlived them; they haunted the
dreams of the tribe; their strength and their influence were invoked; medicine
men saw them in visions, undertook to speak for them, and the first tribal gods
were evolved” (p. 51). Of industry: “The dawn of economic history shows us
humanity already busy upon the job of putting the work on to someone else”
On the jacket of the book, in letters only less large than those of title
and author, it is described as “A New Education for New Times”. How wi
this new education fit the new time to deal with the age-old conflict betwe
the good and the evil? between the hungers of the animal and the aspiration
of the spirit? To ask that question is to see Mr. Wells as an instrument in one
of the most sinister movements of the age. Behind the common little cockney,
the sentimental socialist, the tired pacifist and superficial theorist, behind the
brilliant imagination and gift of persuasive writing, works the mocking, men¬
acing figure that symbolizes sin; and it matters not at all that Mr. Wells him¬
self does not see him there, nor know what it is that is using him. It matters
no more with Mr. Wells than with Mr. Huxley. There is no being neutral in
itle
§
10 THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
the warfare of life; and as the Christ warned men long ago, “He who is not with
me is against me.”
We wish to be done with Mr. Wells; but we cannot dismiss his work without
pointing out that for all these assertions regarding “taboos” and “primitive
man,” for all the explaining away of man’s recognition of the laws of his own
soul, there is not one least shred of evidence. It is all assumption—and most
of it very silly assumption. Consider this for example: “Children of three or
four will say quite confidently [because they have been told it] that the world
is round and that the year goes from summer to winter and from winter to
summer; and it is hard to purge these ideas from one’s consciousness and imagine
an adult mind without these particular assumptions. But the world of the
early men was flat and went on for ever, and the weather changed, grew hotter
and colder, snowy or rainy, sere or green, and it was only the very oldest and most
observant who could have had a chance oj noting any established rhythm in these
phases ” (pp. 46 and 47). The italics are ours. If these words mean anything
at all, they mean that Mr. Wells is supposing that man became man while
still shorter lived or less intelligent than a squirrel, or the beaver, or any of the
host of animals that make provision for the winter season. Such supposition is
sheer nonsense; yet is no worse, only more obvious, than the rest.
And at the end, what does Mr. Wells offer us, or what has he gained for him¬
self? “What have we to put into the scale against this presentation of the
whole human adventure, as nothing better than a freak of chance, flung up in
the incomprehensible play of forces for ever outside our understanding, and
destined to be reversed as casually and wiped out of being altogether? So far
as our powers and knowledge go, we have nothing. We are forced back upon
something more fundamental than knowledge or reason; the innate inevitable
faith in itself that every healthy conscious being must necessarily possess”
(p. 894).
The italics are again ours. In all the wide universe there is nothing in which
he can have faith save in himself. He himself (and while he is in health) is the
only evidence he can see that good may endure: “We are unable to believe
that the universe that has evoked the will to live in us can be without will.
We can no more believe the universe insane by our measure of sanity and
altogether indifferent to our urgencies than we can prove it sane” (p. 894).
This is from the next to last page of the work—the summary with which he
leaves us—the doubt that is given us as our only ground of hope.
Mr. Wells has disclaimed any desire for life beyond death. He has said
that he strutted to no such immortality. But not even Mr. Wells has said
that he does not strut.
FRAGMENTS
A GAIN I heard the Voice, which said: Lift up thine eyes and see: and I
r\ saw, through mist and semi-darkness, a sullen, oily sea heaving from
its depths; and as, in increasing volume, it gathered to the shore, short
waves curled white an instant, like the flashing teeth of an attacking beast.
A murmur of sound came out of the sea, the murmur of an angry mob bent on
destruction. It was a sound from far away, as of long past ages, gathering
momentum from these periods of time,—the forces of unregenerate, wilful man,
urged on by the Dark Powers who were preparing to unleash them.
We stood, a handful, on the shore to resist them.
The Voice said: God gave men peace and they died of it, gutted out like
dripping candle-ends in the gusts of their own desires. So God gave them war,
and they rose, briefly, to heights of heroism in the flames of sacrifice, only to
sink back into unspeakable degradation of cowardice,—their own ashes. Now,
saith the Lord, let the dogs of hell devour them. Open the iron gates, and set
the minions of Pluto free, that the world at last may know that I am ruler over
hell and heaven, and hold those who deride me in the hollow of my hand.
We stood, a handful, on the shore to resist them: and one of us said in answer
to the Voice: Even so, we stand; for are we not the Battalion of Death, and
having died already many deaths, in agony and flame, what have we to fear?
And still we stand, 0 Masters of life, of death and of eternity, 0 glorious
Brotherhood of the Great Lodge,—we, dust and nothingness in your great Pres¬
ences, stand and shall stand, though the sea engulf us and the lightning fall and
the fiends of hell devour us: and when the seas have receded in their appointed
time, and the stars shine once more in serenity above us, you shall find us stand¬
ing as before, eyes front, heads erect, hearts unshaken!
Again I heard the Voice, which said: Lift up thine eyes and see: and agaitr
I saw the Armies of heaven marching across the sky and the great Saint Michael
leading; and as they marched, with paeans of martial music, I saw their banners
dip and the flash of swords, as the Battalion of Life saluted the Battalion of
Death in passing.
Cave.
MADAME BLAVATSKY’S FORBEARS
iHROUGH her grandmother, Princess Dolgoruki, Madame Blavatsky
was descended from Prince Yuri Dolgoruki, that is, Yuri the Long-
armed, who founded the city of Moscow in the year 1147, and was
its first Tsar. Yuri Dolgoruki claimed descent from the Varangian Viking
Rurik, who was invited by the Slavs to come to Russia with his kindred in
the ninth century, and who, accepting this invitation, established in Russia
law and order and a strong line of rulers. For centuries after the founding
of Moscow the Dolgorukis played a great part in Russian history. Under
that furious reformer, Peter the Great, a Prince Dolgoruki was the leader of
those who opposed the Western innovations which the Emperor imposed
on his subjects; this Dolgoruki was exiled for his recalcitrancy, and particularly
because he refused to shave his patriarchal beard in conformity with Peter’s
fashion. Another Prince Dolgoruki held the rank of Major-General under
Katherine the Great; another of the line, also a direct ancestor of Madame
Blavatsky, was Ambassador to the Court of St. James’s.
Madame Blavatsky’s grandmother, Princess Dolgoruki, was the last descen¬
dant of the elder line. She was a remarkable woman, tall, and with a magnifi¬
cently formed head. She was a student of natural science, and especially of
geology and botany. When the famous English naturalist and traveller, Sir
Roderick Murchison, travelled in Russia and the Caucasus, he was her guest,
and, if the memory of the writer be not at fault, Sir Roderick named in her
honour a fossil shell which he discovered in the deposits of the Perm district,
which gave its name to the Permian period of geology. Princess Dolgoruki
married General Andrei Fadeyev, for many years Governor of the Saratov
district on the lower Volga. This frontier territory was largely inhabited
by sectarians who refused to acknowledge the Russian Orthodox Church,
and by Kalmyks, who were dependents of Buddhist Tibet. The sectarians
refused to accept the potato, then something of a novelty in eastern Russia,
alleging that the “accursed root’’ must be evil because it is nowhere men¬
tioned in the Bible. Wishing to introduce the heretical but useful tuber,
General Fadeyev had recourse to guile. He had potatoes planted in an
enclosed garden and proclaimed the sternest penalties for whoever should
touch even one potato. As with their first ancestor, the lure of forbidden
fruit was not to be resisted by the sectaries, and potatoes were soon spread far
and wide through southeastern Russia. The former Princess Dolgoruki
lived to a great age. In her later years she suffered a stroke of paralysis
which deprived her of the use of her right arm. She was in the midst of a
series of botanical studies and, undeterred, she learned not only to write
with her left hand, but also drew and painted admirable studies of botanical
specimens. A few years ago, several volumes of this manuscript botany
12
MADAME BLAVATSKY’S FORBEARS
13
were still extant. The future Madame Blavatsky, while she was still Helena
Petrovna Hahn, paid childhood visits to the majestic grandfather and the
benign, learned grandmother, with her parents and her younger sister, Vera
Petrovna, who has recorded these visits in her charming book for children,
When I was Little.
General Fadeyev and his wife had four children. A son, Rostvaslav
Andreivitch, won fame in the wars of the Caucasus, gaining the rank of
General, and later earned renown as a distinguished military writer. He was
for some years military adviser to the Khedive Ismail of Egypt. There were
three daughters, Helena Andreyevna, Ekaterina Andreyevna and Nadyejda
Andreyevna, to give the Russian style of patronymic following the Christian
name, the latter being almost invariably the name of a saint. It was the
custom to celebrate the saint’s day of translation with ceremonies and gifts,
as a more important birthday for the child. Helena Andreyevna Fadeyev
and her daughter were thus named in honour of Saint Helena, mother of
Constantine. According to Eusebius, Helena visited Palestine after her con¬
version, building a church at the traditional site of the Ascension, and another
at Bethlehem; she was later said to have recovered the True Cross, whose
authenticity was vindicated by a miracle of healing.
Helena Andreyevna Fadeyev married Colonel Peter Hahn, a distinguished
artillery officer, and had three children. The eldest, Helena Petrovna—once
more to give the Christian name and patronymic—was later to become
Madame Blavatsky. The second daughter, Vera Petrovna, became a popular
Russian author, one of whose many books has already been mentioned.
The third child, several years younger than the two sisters, was Leonid
Petrovitch.
Helena Andreyevna Hahn was a distinguished writer of stories, so that the
great Russian critic Belinski called her the “George Sand of Russia.” She
died in her twenty-ninth year, in the summer of 1842. She was, therefore,
only twenty-six when, in 1840, she wrote two stories, The World's Verdict ,
and The Judgment of God , from which are taken the two following passages
which describe the life of the inner self, and the golden threads of Karma
running through human lives. When these passages were written, the future
author of The Secret Doctrine was a child of nine, but it is not difficult to see
that she was profoundly influenced by the thought and character of her gifted^
mother.
In The World's Verdict , the hero of the story, after a great moral upheaval,
thus records his experience:
“. . . The fog which, up to that time, had lain heavy on my intelligence,
was dispersed. . . . Like one who had been blind, and from whose eyes a
great physician had removed a cataract, I was beginning to see. The world
gradually opened before me, new, unexpected: the world, not of. phantasies,
but of beautiful truths, of exalted fervour, of refinement, of poetry, of all that
makes the soul of man nobler and happier. How reverently I entered into
its mysteries. How proudly I rose from the oppression of my own insignifi-
14
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
cance, until at last, like a man reborn, I looked on the world of God. Every¬
thing within me and around me was transformed. For the first time I became
conscious of the beneficent and active intelligence within me, of the power of
my will and the sense of beauty, and, in my rapture, I bowed down in the dust
before the Almighty, having come to understand the wonderful perfection of
our creation, the problem of our being, and the supreme destiny of man. . . .
It almost seemed as if my soul, freshly born into being, illumined the whole
world with the beauty of its own rays, and the world, warmed by the warmth
of my soul, answered to the touch of its first ray by heavenly harmonies,
like Memnon’s statue.
“Formerly, I had been ignorant of the just pride of the consciousness of
self, and, in spite of my self-love, and of what I called my independent ways,
I was a perfect slave to what men thought of me. Many a time I acted
against my own conviction, from a pitiful rivalry with my comrades. . . .
Formerly, I had not even suspected the existence of that comfort which the
Lord grants to us in our inner, ever wakeful self;—not in that self which is
the vain caterer to man’s desires, the restless glorifier of his achievements,
real and imaginary, which, in its everlasting discord with conscience, has no
existence except on the tongue, deafening the ears of everyone with stories
in which it alone can find delight; but in the stern Argus and judge which is
subject neither to the rule of the world nor to the decrees of fate; in the un¬
swerving, incorruptible guardian of the seed from heaven, God’s parting gift
as we enter life, which, if not smothered by tares, or devoured by birds of
the air, is to grow and ripen in the heart of man until it becomes his support in
depression, his peace and contentment in the midst of bitterest calamity. . .
The World's Verdict is not connected in plot or construction with The Judg¬
ment of God , nor were they, as their titles might suggest, designed as com¬
plementary to each other. Their unity comes from the inner spirit of the
author, and both describe the mighty, invisible things of the interior life in
the same sincere and inspiring way, because both truly record the author’s
spiritual experience. Here is a brief passage from The Judgment of God:
“Certain events impressing themselves on my mind when I was but a little
child, left in me a leaning toward the supernatural. I do not mean the super¬
natural of concrete, material nature, but the inner feeling of our spiritual
existence. It is not that I have superstitious beliefs; it is more correct to say
that I believe in realities that can only be felt. A visitor from beyond the
tomb could not frighten me, and I do not think that I should grow pale at
mysterious groans or laughter in the small hours of the night. But I do
believe in the secret Providence which binds together the lives of human
beings and guides their perceptions; I believe in the stirring of unaccountable
loves and hatreds, as the invisible threads which stretch and stretch, some¬
times winding themselves into wonderful network, but always leading man to
the inevitable goal marked for him by supreme predestination. And if the
Lord said that not a hair of our heads should fall without His will, are we to
suppose that the activities of our spirits, strong and potent as they are, were
MADAME BLAVATSKY’S FORBEARS
i 5
not calculated, distributed and directed toward something our weak intellects
cannot foresee?”
It may well be that there is, in these passages, an echo of the philosophical
mysticism of France, for tradition records that among the forbears of Madame
Blavatsky’s family there were French ancestors also, of the ancient and dis¬
tinguished house of Duplessis. Belinski may have been right in suggesting
a French element in Helena Hahn’s writings. Madame Blavatsky’s younger
sister has given, in the book already mentioned, a very attractive picture of
their gifted mother:
“I can no longer remember how we left our grandmother [the former Prin¬
cess Dolgoruki] and made the return journey. I can only recall that we were
in a different place, where my grandmother and our other relations were no
longer with us. Officers were always coming, whom I did not know. One of
them, very tall and with a red, pointed moustache, claimed to be my father.
But I was unwilling to recognize him as my father, and rebuffed him. . . .
“I remember also that my mother was a great sufferer, but that she spent
long hours writing, behind a partition covered with green cloth. The little
nook behind this green barrier was called mother’s work room, and never
did either my elder sister Lyolya [diminutive of Helena], nor I, venture to touch
anything in that room, which only a curtain separated from our own. At
that time, we did not in the least understand what our mother could be occu¬
pied with, in this retreat in which she passed whole days. We only knew that
she was writing at her table, but we did not in the least suspect that she was
working there to earn money to pay our tutors and governesses. . . .
“When the weather was bad, I took my station near a window, and happily
gazed out at the great square on which were taking place the military exercises
which my father directed, with several officers under his orders. I immensely
enjoyed watching the soldiers manoeuvring to the sound of drum and trum¬
pets, and seeing the big guns hurried about on wheels which thundered as
they moved, while my father galloped on his fine horse, giving orders, with
animated gestures. . . .
“ During the following winter our mother suffered still more. The doctor
forbade her to give much time to her writing, and she spent her evenings with
us. She seated herself at the piano, and my young governess, Antonia, under¬
took to teach my sister to dance. . . .
“ Then, suddenly, I do not remember how, we went to a large and beautiful
city. ... I learned later that this city was called Odessa, and that my
mother had gone there for medical care. . . .
“ My elder sister, four years older than I, was already studying industriously
under the guidance of two governesses, and was also studying music with
our mother. But that poor mother was daily losing strength, though she
still worked as hard as before. At last she had to yield to the insistence of
our grandmother, who invited us to come to her, to Saratov, to seek a more
thorough treatment. The expectation of this journey caused my sister Lyolya
and me the greatest delight.
i6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“It was night. Our closed coach swung gently from side to side. Worn
out by the long journey and weary of looking for a city which never appeared,
we were all half asleep. My sister and I were lulled to sleep by our smooth
progress over the snow, by the whistling of the wind, and by the monotonous
cries of the coachman encouraging his horses. My mother alone was not
asleep. She held me on her knee, her well-beloved little one, with one hand
holding my head pressed against her breast, seeking to protect me against the
jolting of the coach. . . .
“All at once I was wakened by a more vigorous jolt, and an intense ray of
light, shining in my face, made me blink my eyes. . . .
“Our coach passed through a great stone gateway, and stopped before
the brilliantly lit steps. ... A lady, tall and stately, with an expression
of kindness and sweetness, clasped my mother in her arms; only later did I
recognize her as my grandmother. . . . The tall, thin gentleman in the gray
frock-coat came toward me, took me in his arms, and, kissing me several
times, put me into my grandmother’s arms. It was only then that I knew he
was our grandfather. . . . With intense enjoyment I drank my hot tea and
attentively studied the big portraits of gentlemen and ladies that hung on
the wall opposite me . . .”—portraits of the forbears of Madame Blavatsky.
Charles Johnston.
Heroism is the brilliant triumph of the soul over the flesh , that is to say over fear;
fear of poverty , of suffering , of calumny , of illness , of loneliness , and of death.
There is no real piety without heroism. Heroism is the dazzling and glorious
concentration of courage .— Amiel.
The Buddha said: “It is not 7 , 0 Bhikklius } who quarrel with the world , but
the world which quarrels with me . n — Samyutta Nikaya.
CHUANO=TZE
0
II
The Way of Man and the Way of Liberation 1
Without going forth , one can understand all that takes place under the sky; without
looking out of the window , one can see the Way of Heaven. The farther one goes out
from the Self , the less one knows .— Lao-Tze.
HE Tao does not reward men for their own accomplishments”, said
Chuang-Tze, “but for what Heaven accomplishes through them”
(XXXII, 2). This sentence points to the difference between the two
“Ways” of Taoism, the Way of Man and the Way of Heaven.
The Way of Heaven is “the great submission to the course of Nature”. By
Nature is meant the principle and purpose underlying the manifestation of the
Universe, the law of ordered, cyclic growth which is said to be obeyed by all
creatures, with one exception. Unregenerate man alone has tried to fabricate
an independent existence outside the course of Nature. He has invented a
little private world of his own, raising a barrier of self-will between it and the
great world beyond. It is this malformation of elemental human consciousness
which the Taoists call the Way of Man.
“It is the Way of Heaven which is the Lord; the Way of Man is the servant.”
Nature works slowly but without intermission for the regeneration of the human
race. When such a regeneration occurs in a human life, a Master of the Tao is
born and a new measure of individuality is added to the immortal consciousness
of the Universal Spirit. The Sage works with Nature and not against her, for in
his being the powers of Nature attain a perfect expression and fulfilment. “The
Master is a companion of God and seeks his enjoyment in the formless condition
of Heaven and Earth. . . He finds happiness in the business of doing nothing
on his own behalf. . . He stands aloof from other men, but he is in accord with
Heaven. Hence it is said: ‘The small man of Heaven is the superior man
among men; the superior man among men is the small man of Heaven’ ” (VI, 11).
The Taoists had no respect for what is generally called civilization, which they
regarded as the blind alley into which the Way of Man leads its victims. What
they denounced was the false civilization which isolates man from Nature and
perverts his sense of values. Doubtless, our modern world, with its concerns
and shibboleths, would appear to them as nothing but the manifestation of a
vain and rebellious spirit. It could scarcely be otherwise, for they defined true
civilization as the refinement of consciousness.
This explains Chuang-Tze’s hostility to the Confucianist scholars. The
essence of Confucianism may be described as the cultivation of loyalty and of
the sense of duty, but many Confucianists had confused loyalty with outward
tCf. Theosophical Quarterly, April, 1932, pp. 303-312, art. “Chuang-Tze: The Way of Heaven.”
17
i8
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
conformity, and duty with ritualism. Chuang-Tze had no sympathy for a
civilization which he believed to be saturated with the idea that man can be
made perfect by rites and ceremonies and moral pronouncements. Moreover,
he could not tolerate the self-complacency of the Confucianist Literati , who
assumed that they had exhausted the possibilities of spiritual evolution when
they had learned by heart the Five Classics and the Four Books. It seemed to
him an outrage against the Divinity latent in the human being, that men should
thus deliberately stultify themselves.
However, Chuang-Tze was tremendously impressed by the figure of Confucius.
He found it hard to reconcile the bigotry and scholasticism of the Confucianists
with the evidence that Confucius himself was a sage. Only one conclusion
appeared possible,—that the real Confucius was never known by his disciples.
“When Confucius was in his sixtieth year, his views changed. What he formerly
held to be right, he then concluded to be wrong; and the things which he then
held to be right were those which for fifty-nine years he had regarded as wrong”
(XXVII, 2). According to a Taoist tradition, Confucius in his old age became
a mystic, a devotee of the Way of Heaven and tried to teach the Way of Libera¬
tion from the Way of Man; but he failed, for his disciples did not understand
him and preserved for posterity only the dead-letter of his teaching.
Chuang-Tze has recorded an incident which may have marked a turning-point
in Confucius’ life. It is contained in Book XXXI which bears the title of “The
Old Fisherman”. The story has such poignancy and charm, quite apart from its
pertinence to our subject, that we repeat it here at some length.
Wandering in the forest of Tze-Wei, Confucius and his disciples came to a
pleasant terrace beneath which flowed a stream. They stopped to rest beneath
some apricot trees near a shrine, while Confucius took his lute and sang to them.
An old fisherman hearing the chant came towards them from the bank and stood
watching Confucius. His beard and eyebrows were turning white; his hair was
uncombed and his cloak dishevelled. He waited until Confucius had finished
his song; then beckoning to two of the disciples and pointing to the Teacher, he
asked: “Who is he?” One of the disciples replied: “That is the Superior Man
of Lu.” “Of what family is he?” “Of the Rung family”. “And what is the
occupation of this Mr. Kung?” The other disciple then spoke: “In his conduct
he manifests benevolence and righteousness; he cultivates the ornaments of
ceremonies and music; he pays special attention to the relationships of the
people; he seeks the transformation and uplift of all classes of the people, his
object being, to benefit the kingdom.” “I understand”, said the stranger.
“He must be a great ruler possessed of territory, or a prime minister”. “No”>
replied the disciple. “He is neither a ruler nor a prime minister”. Then the
old man began to laugh and said: “In that case, he is embittering his mind and
wearing out his body to no purpose”.
The disciples returned and repeated the conversation to Confucius who was
astounded, and rose, saying: “This man must be a Sage”; and he hastened after
the old fisherman who had returned to the shore and was loosing his boat from its
CHUANG-TZE
19
moorings. When he saw Confucius, he waited; and Confucius, coming forward,
bowed twice to him. “What do you want with me, Sir”? asked the stranger.
Confucius replied: “I am inferior to you, my Master. I have ventured here to
wait for your instructions, and I shall call myself fortunate if I may but hear
the sound of your voice”. “Ah!” responded the fisherman, “How great is your
love of learning!” Confucius again bowed twice and said: “All my life I have
cultivated learning; but I have not had an opportunity of hearing the perfect
teaching. In humbleness of heart and without prejudice, I take the liberty
of requesting you to speak.”
The stranger said: “Birds of the same note respond to one another,—such
is the ordinance of Heaven. . . You occupy yourself with the affairs of men.
Now, Sir, you are neither a monarch nor a feudal lord nor a prime minister nor
even a petty official, and yet you take it upon yourself to regulate ceremonies
and music, and to give special attention to the relationships of society, with the
object of transforming and uplifting the various classes of the people. Is this
not an excessive multiplication of your business? To assume the duties of others
is one of the eight defects of human nature. When one has put away the eight
defects, then, and then only, is he capable of being taught. . . Very difficult,
Sir, is it to make you understand. There was once a man who was afraid of
his shadow, so that he ran to escape from it; but the shadow ran after him.
He ran on and on without stopping, until his strength left him and he dropped
dead from exhaustion. Alas! Had he but stayed in a shady place, his shadow
would have disappeared. And you, Sir, use your mind all the time as that
poor man used his body. You think and think and think about benevolence and
righteousness. If you had earnestly cultivated your inner nature and had
carefully guarded from defilement your proper truth, you would have escaped so
many entanglements and external concerns. And what is a man’s proper truth ?
It is sincerity, in the highest degree;—without the purest sincerity, how can one
expect really to move others? If a man must force himself to weep, it is not
real sorrow; if he must force himself to show affection, it is not true love. True
grief, though it be soundless, is yet sorrowful; true love, though unsmiling, is
yet affectionate. When there is truth in the heart, it acts outwardly as a
spiritual potency; and this is why we deem it so precious. . . As regards rites^B
and ceremonies, these are rightly prescribed for the common people; but the^^
proper truth of a man is a gift from Heaven, and its operation in his nature is
spontaneous and incessant. Therefore, the Sages do what is necessary, for this
is their duty, but they do not subject their inner natures to the restrictions of
man-made customs, nor do they change their will as these customs change;
for they receive their law from Heaven and keep clear the paths of spiritual
vision. They are complete and individual. Alas, for you, Sir, that you have
been steeped in the hypocrisies of men, and have been so late in hearing of the
Great Way!”
Once again, Confucius bowed twice, and said: ‘‘That I have met you to-day,
Master, is as if I had the happiness of going to Heaven! If you be not too
ashamed of me, but will let me be as your servant and will continue to teach
20
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
me, tell me, I pray, where your dwelling is.” But the stranger was saddened
and replied: ‘‘There is the saying: ‘If it be one who can walk with you, enter
with him into the most subtile mysteries of the Tao. If it be one who cannot
walk with you, take care that you do not try to lead him, and you will incur
no responsibility.’ Do your utmost, Sir! Now, I must leave you, I must leave
you.” With these words, he shoved off his boat and went away among the green
reeds.
Confucius remained standing on the bank, waiting until the wavelets were
stilled and he could no longer hear the sound of the fisherman’s pole. Then he
returned to his disciples. And one of them was scandalized by what he had
seen. ‘‘For many years, Master,” he said, ‘‘I have been your servant, but never
have I seen you treat another with the awe and reverence which you have just
shown. I have seen you in the presence of a Lord of ten thousand chariots, and
always your manner towards him was reserved and proud; but to-day this old
fisherman stood erect before you with his pole in his hand, while you bowed your
head before him, as if you were a suppliant and an inferior. Was not such
reverence excessive? Your disciples will all think it strange.”
Confucius turned to the disciple and sighed: ‘‘Difficult, indeed, is it to change
you! For years you have been trained in propriety and righteousness, and yet
your mean and servile heart has not been taken from you. Do you not know
that if you meet one older than yourself and do not show him respect, you fail in
propriety? If you see a man of superior wisdom and goodness, and do not
honour him, you lack the true characteristic of humanity. Because that fisher¬
man is, in truth, such a man, we should reverence him. If our reverence be
insincere, we shall not attain the truth, and shall inflict a lasting injury upon
ourselves. Moreover, the Tao is the course by which all things should proceed.
To obey it is life. Therefore, wherever the wise man finds the Tao, he honours it.
That old fisherman surely possesses it;—how could I presume not to show him
reverence?”
This story illustrates, better than any disquisition, the fundamental differences
between orthodox Confucianism and primitive Taoism. The Confucianists
argued that one can acquire any quality by persistently acting as if one already
possessed it;—hence, their insistence upon the careful performance of rites and
ceremonies which have been tested by the long usage of the centuries, by the
immemorial experience of mankind. Thus, a son might feel no spontaneous
grief, when his father died, but if he faithfully carried out the funeral ritual, it
was assumed that the ritual itself would awaken in him the appropriate senti¬
ments which it symbolized. The Taoists, also reasoning from experience,
asserted that Confucianism reversed the true process, that unless the qualities
of the heart be first awakened by inward means, rites and ceremonies serve only
to conceal their absence. When his inner nature is awakened, they said, the son’s
grief will be as spontaneous as any of the movements of Nature, and the appro¬
priate rites for his father’s death will merely provide an objective form or vehicle
through which he can decorously express this grief.
CHUANG-TZE
21
One might suggest that in their polemics the Confucianists and the Taoists
were both right and both wrong. The point is that their respective doctrines
are not really contradictory but complementary. Confucius was preeminently
a moralist, building upon the safe and sound basis of ordinary human experience
and tradition; and Lao-Tze was a mystic, testifying to the intuitional powers and
creative ardours of the soul. A student of Theosophy ventures to believe that
these two men of such diverse genius were both agents of the Great Lodge and
that they were expected to cooperate. If we accept Chuang-Tze’s interpre¬
tation, Confucius did cooperate with Lao-Tze. According to this interpretation,
Confucius’ system of ethical discipline was primarily intended to prepare his
disciples for the reception of the Taoist doctrine, and on several occasions, he
tried to instruct his disciples in the rudiments of pure Taoism. . . Chuang-
Tze says that the disciple Tze-Kung once asked Confucius why he professed
preference for the Way of Heaven and yet followed the Way of Man. Confucius
replied: “I am under the condemning sentence of Heaven” (VI, n). Did
Confucius mean that he had been definitely commissioned to refrain from
mystical teaching, or as Chuang-Tze hints, do these words imply that Con¬
fucius blamed himself for the failure of his disciples to respond to his higher
instruction?
One cannot properly understand the Taoist method of liberation, unless its
complementary relation to the Confucian system be appreciated. The Taoist
view of purification and self-discipline was necessarily valid only for the man
who had already accomplished the measure of self-control which Confucius
prescribed. In other words, only decent people could hope to make any prog¬
ress upon the Way of Heaven. Other qualities were equally essential, but
decency was a sine qua non. Taoism bears no resemblance whatsoever to the
“immoralism” of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. What may be called the real or eso¬
teric doctrine of Taoism could only be received by a disciple from a Master
who had authority to give instruction,—an authority not derived from any
human appointment but from the actual quality of his consciousness. As the
Old Fisherman told Confucius, ‘‘birds of the same note respond to one another”.
The Master of the Tao would not and could not teach anyone whose nature was
not, in a definite degree, conformed to his own.
Therefore, the Taoist Way of Liberation often seems to be the reverse of prac¬
tical, just as the virtues of the Taoist Master appear strange and superhuman
to the man of the world. The language of normal human intercourse is ill-
adapted to describe such things, and it is no wonder that Lao-Tze and Chuang-
Tze, like other great mystics, were forced to resort constantly to paradox and
circumlocution.
We read in the sixty-seventh chapter of the Tao-Teh-King: ‘‘I have three
precious jewels which I prize and hold fast. The first is gentleness; the second
is economy; the third is shrinking from taking precedence of others. With
that gentleness I can be bold; with that economy I can be liberal; shrinking from
taking precedence of others, I can become a vessel of the highest honour. But
in this age men give up gentleness and try vainly to be bold; economy, and try
22
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
vainly to be liberal; the hindmost place, and try vainly to be foremost;—of all
which the end is death.”
There are obvious analogies between this passage and many sayings of Christ.
Both the Western Master and the Eastern Sage regarded humility as the most
fundamental of the virtues. Chuang-Tze’s commentaries upon the Tao-Teli-
King, therefore, have an immediate, practical interest for the Christian, for by
meditation upon them the Christian may discover unsuspected depths of mean¬
ing in the teaching of his own Master. There is no reason why the doctrine
of correspondences should not be applied with profit to the study of “comparative
religions”.
Chuang-Tze represents humility as the key-note of the consciousness of the
Sage. The man of the world automatically thinks of his personal self as the
central reality of his universe. In his more generous moods, he is inclined to
attribute equal reality to the personal selves of others; but in one form or another,
the general notion of “personality” as a thing in itself is always present in his
thought. On the contrary, the Master of the Tao thinks of all personalities,
including his own, as unreal, or—more accurately—as non-existent on the
plane of Reality. He does not deny the fact that he has a personality as he
has a physical body, but he regards both personality and body as instruments
to be used by his Real Self which is distinct from them. They are as distinct
from this Self as the garments which he wears or the house where he dwells.
Chuang-Tze’s conception of the Real Self has frequently been compared to the
doctrine of the Higher Self in the Upanishads and the Mahayana Buddhist scrip¬
tures, especially as regards his insistence that the individual Self on its own plane
is not a separate entity but an undivided fragment of the Tao, the Universal Self.
The influence of Buddhism seems also to be apparent in his definition of the
unreal as the transitory and the changing. But though the forms in which he
cast his thought may have been derived from Indian sources, he tinctured them
deeply with the colour of his own genius. So he may have used the magnificent
concepts of Indian metaphysics to make clear his own view of what is meant by
the humility of a Master. No one else has ever expressed more emphatically
the connection between humility and the power of discernment between the
Real and the unreal. Thus, the aspect of humility which he stresses most often,
is not self-abasement or self-effacement, as these are commonly understood,
but the positive recognition of the non-existence of the lower personality beyond
the boundaries of human fancy.
“As fishes breed and grow in the water, so man develops and grows in the Tao.
The fishes, staying quietly in the pool where they were born, are fed by Nature;
so, developing in the Tao, men do nothing for themselves, and Nature secures
their happiness. Hence, it is said: ‘Fishes forget one another in the rivers and
lakes; men forget their personal selves in the arts of the Tao’ ” (VI, n).
“A disciple asked a Master: ‘Can I get the Tao and hold it as my own?’
The Master replied: ‘Your body is not your own to hold; how then can you get
and hold the Tao?’ The disciple asked: ‘If my body be not mine, who possesses
it?’ The Master said: ‘Your body is the substantial form entrusted to you by
CHUANG-TZE
23
Heaven and Earth. Also, life is not yours to hold. It is the blended harmony
of the Yang and the Yin [the positive and negative forces in Nature] entrusted
to you by Heaven and Earth. Your animal soul is not yours to hold. It is
entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth, and its actions are not your actions. . .
Therefore, when we walk, we should not know where we are going; when we
stop and rest, we should not be aware of it; when we eat we should not know the
taste of our food;—for all these things are brought to pass by the strong activity
of differentiated energy upon the various planes. If you can hold neither your
body nor your life nor your animal soul, how can you get and hold the Tao
(which is the Universe)?” (XXII, 4).
‘‘The strong activity of differentiated energy upon the various planes” recalls
the Trigunas of the Sankhya philosophy in India,— Sattva, Rajas and Tanias ,
‘‘the inherent qualities of differentiated matter”, the interaction of which pro¬
duces all phenomena. Like the Sankhya theory of manifestation, Chuang-
Tze’s view of causation is open to a materialistic misinterpretation. He did
not mean that the bodily life and the personality are incidental effects of the
interplay of inanimate forces. Differentiated energies, from one point of view,
are phases of the Yin, the negative, Prakritic aspect of the Tao. They bear the
imprint and reflect the states of consciousness, the will and desire and wisdom,
of the Yang, the positive, creative power of the Tao which corresponds to the
Purusha of the Sankhya School. The free action of the differentiated energies
was regarded by the Taoists as absolutely essential to the adequate development
of the vehicles through which consciousness expresses itself. The most that
even the Sage can do is not to interfere with that free action. Positively af¬
firming the union of his spirit with the Great Tao, he detaches his sense of identity
from each vehicle as it is evolved. It is in this sense that he is said to hold
nothing as his own.
With characteristic humour, Chuang-Tze suggested that we are most likely
to be acting conformably to Nature when we do not know what we are doing.
The context shows his meaning clearly enough. He believed that our instincts,
our powers of perception and action which are intended to translate the general
will of Nature, have been perverted, because for aeons we have used them self¬
consciously for the gratification of personal desires. We must get rid of the
notion that these instincts and powers really belong to us. As Chuang-Tze.
was always saying, men forget that they do not own Nature, for Nature own(
them, and their efforts to improve upon Nature are as ineffectual and as con¬
fusing as would be the efforts of a disciple to instruct his Master. The actions
of the Sage are sure and proper, because he uses his powers in accord with the
purpose for which they have been entrusted to him. He has purged his con¬
sciousness of all personal desires, save one,—the desire to cooperate with Nature.
Like St. Francis of Assisi, Chuang-Tze had no patience with those who make
a profession of ‘‘knowledge”. He was as certain as it is possible to be, that
unregenerate man can never truly know anything. Many of his arguments have
a modem sound, recalling the pragmatism of William James and the intu¬
itionalism of Bergson. The mind, he asserted, is an instrument that pilots
24
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the body around the world with considerable success, when it is left alone, but
when used for purposes alien to its nature, it is an incubator of illusions. Self-
satisfaction and egotism are continuously reenforced by the tendency of the un¬
regenerate man to regard his mind as a receptacle of ultimate truth. Chuang-
Tze was convinced that even though a man may have all the virtues ever im¬
agined by moralists, nothing can be done for him until he admits his mental
helplessness in the presence of Reality. Chuang-Tze would have delighted in
Socrates’ remark: “One thing I know, that I know nothing.” Not only in
China, but elsewhere, men cling to the notion that if they can describe the
appearance of a thing and give it a name, they have somehow discovered its
essence. It is not necessary to be a Taoist to sympathize with Chuang-Tze’s
denunciation of this fallacy. Knowledge of the essence of things is attained,
he said, by those who follow the Way of Heaven, but this true knowledge is
founded upon mystical experience and not upon a course of intellectual gym¬
nastics.
“By inward fasting and vigil, you must clean and purge your mind, wash your
soul white as snow, and sternly repress the idea that you know anything. The
subject of the Tao is deep and can hardly be described. . . Those who seek the
Tao are strong in their limbs, sincere and far-reaching in their thought, acute
in their hearing, clear in their seeing. They exercise their minds without be¬
coming weary; they respond to everything aright without regard to place or
circumstance. The most extensive knowledge does not embrace the Tao;
reasoning will not make men wise in it,—the Sages have decided against both
these methods. . . Even the most clear-sighted do not meet with the Tao,—
it is better to be silent than to reason about it. The Tao cannot be heard with
the ears,—it is better to shut the ears than to try to hear it. This is what is
called the Great Attainment” (XXII, 5). “He who uses only the sight of his
eyes is acted upon by what he sees; it is the Spirit that gives the assurance of
certainty. Yet people stupidly rely on what they see, and will have it to be the
truth. Therefore, all their calculations pertain only to what is external”
(XXXII, 14). “The Sages have no knowledge of‘first principles’. They occupy
themselves ‘ignorantly and vaguely’ with those things which lie outside the dust
and dirt of this world” (VI, 11).
“There came a time when the Sages who ruled the first races of men no longer
shed their light upon the world. Then the Tao and its characteristics ceased
to be regarded as uniform. Men in different places got glimpses of it, and each
boasted of seeing it as a whole. Thus there were many schools and teachers.
Every school had its peculiar excellence and served its purpose; but none covered
the whole range of truth. Each school was as limited in its vision as a scholar
who offers his explanation of all the beauties of Heaven and Earth, and professes
to understand the principles underlying all things and to explain the virtues of
the great Ancients. Seldom is it that such a one can embrace the essence of
true beauty or can rightly estimate the ways of those who are spiritual and
intelligent. The students who succeeded the Sages no longer saw the un¬
divided purity of Heaven and Earth. The great scheme of Truth possessed
CHUANG-TZE
25
by the Ancients, the system of the Tao, has been tom in fragments which lie
scattered under the sky” (XXXIII, 1).
The seeker for Truth, like the lover of Beauty, never rests content with any
form, however perfect, for he knows that this form is only the sheath of that
which is more perfect still. Always, ‘‘the Luminous is produced from the Ob¬
scure; the Multiform from the Unembodied; the Spiritual from the Tao; and
every body from the invisible essence within a seed. . . How deep is the Tao,
like the sea! How invincible is the Tao, ever beginning anew when it has come
to an end!” (XXII, 5).
Chuang-Tze compared the life of the aspirant to the state of waking from
sleep. Most men dream their lives away; only the Sage is fully awake. ‘‘Those
who dream of pleasure may weep in the morning; those who dream of sorrow
may in the morning be going forth to hunt. When they were dreaming, they
did not know that it was a dream; only in the morning did they know this.
Even so, there is the Great Awakening when we shall know that this life was
nothing but a great dream. All the while, the stupid think that they are awake,
and with nice discrimination insist on their knowledge; now playing the parts of
rulers and now of grooms. You are all dreamers; Confucius was a dreamer;
and I who say this am dreaming myself. These words seem very strange; but if
after ten thousand ages we meet the Master who can interpret them, it will be
as if we chanced to meet a friend in the morning after we have risen from sleep”
(II, 9 ).
How is the Great Awakening accomplished? First of all, said Chuang-Tze,
there must be the ‘‘fasting of the mind”. ‘‘Maintain a perfect unity in every
movement of the will. You will not wait until you hear with the physical ear,
but will seek to hear with your mind. You will not wait until you hear with
your mind, but will seek to hear with the spirit. Let physical hearing rest in
its place. Let the mind’s function be the verification of what is proposed by
the will. The spirit alone is free from all preoccupation and awaits cajmly the
orderly succession of events in Nature. Where the Tao is, there is this freedom
from all preoccupation and strain. Such freedom is called the fasting of the
mind. . . In acting after the manner of men, it is easy to fall into hypocrisy;
in acting after the manner of Heaven it is hard, indeed, to play the hypocrite.
To follow the Way of Man is to try to fly without wings. I have heard of the
knowledge of the wise; I have not heard of the knowledge of the unwise. Behold
that window—through it the chamber is filled with light. Even so, in th^
windowed mind felicitous influences come to rest, as in their proper dwelling
place. What rest can there be for the man whose body alone is in repose while
his mind is galloping everywhere? When the information that comes through
the senses is comprehended inwardly, and at the same time the Self views the
mind as an external thing,—then the Spiritual Intelligences will make their
abode with us. Thus we shall exercise a transforming influence upon all things.
This was the procedure of the first Emperors” (IV, 2).
The elevation of the centre of self-consciousness above the mind is accom¬
plished by an inward ‘‘movement of the will”. To be effective, however, this
26
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
inward movement must be accompanied by an outward movement directed
towards the control of action. To use Mr. Judge’s phrase, the seeker of the
Tao trains himself to “do nothing for the lower self alone”.
“The life of the Master is like the action of Heaven. He responds to the
heavenly influences and moves as he feels the pressure. The spirit of man
goes forth in all directions, flowing on without limit, reaching to Heaven above
and wreathing the Earth beneath. Its name is the Divinity in man. When the
path of pure simplicity is followed, he who treads that path becomes one in
consciousness with the Divinity in man” (XV, 2, 3). “The Sage regards what
men call necessary acts as really unnecessary. Therefore, he is not at war
with himself. The unregenerate man is perpetually at war with himself, because
he does not discriminate between the necessary and the unnecessary. His
desires mislead him and so his plans end in ruin” (XXXII, 6).
“As it is said: ‘Those who know the Tao do not speak of it; those who speak
of it do not know it. Hence the Sage conveys his instructions without the use
of speech.’ The Tao cannot be made ours by constraint; it will not come at
our call. When the Tao was lost, its Characteristics appeared. When its
Characteristics were lost, Benevolence appeared. When Benevolence was lost,
Righteousness appeared. When Righteousness was lost, Ceremonies appeared.
Ceremonies are but the dregs of the Tao, and the commencement of disorder.
Therefore, he who practises the Tao, daily diminishes his doing. He diminishes
it and again diminishes it, till he finally acquires the difficult art of doing nothing.
But when he really does nothing , in reality there is nothing which he does not do"
(XXII, 1).
Perhaps the following may illumine somewhat the mystery of the great
paradox that the spirit is most active when it appears most still and most re¬
luctant to act. “When Khao-fu, the Correct, received the first grade of official
rank, he walked with head bowed down; on receiving the second, with bent back;
on receiving the third, stooping low, he hurried along where none might see him,
in the shadow of a great wall. Who would presume not to take this great minis¬
ter for a model? But the ordinary man, on receiving his first appointment,
puffs out his chest; on receiving the second, he surveys the world from a chariot;
on receiving the third, he calls his uncles by their ‘first names’ ” (XXXII, 11).
Chuang-Tze’s comment upon this little study in contrasts is significant. “When
one practises virtue, he should never think of himself as being virtuous. He
who thinks of himself as being virtuous loses the power of true self-examination.
He does not love the good but only his own opinion of himself.” The Taoist
doctrine of “doing nothing” is equivalent to the ideal of disinterested action
which is set forth by Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita.
To be selfless and to practise good with detachment were the great objectives
held before the seeker of the Tao. At a certain stage in the process of his “Self¬
creation”, the aspirant was said to awaken from the dream of psychic life. Then
he had the right to demand instruction from a Master.
Stanley V. LaDow.
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
V
T HE next outer event of consequence, following the attacks of the London
Westminster Gazette in the autumn of 1894 (see the Theosophical
Quarterly, January, 1932, pages 238-247), was the Adyar Convention,
at the end of December, 1894. It was a disgraceful performance, but served
a useful purpose in so far as it helped to convince Judge’s friends that to have
any relations of any sort with people who could sponsor such a travesty of
Theosophy, would be fatal to the work of H.P.B. and to the Society which her
Masters had founded. Olcott had occupied the Chair, and, as the published
reports show, had permitted Judge, who still was Vice-President of the Society,
to be called every bad name that his excited enemies could extemporize. He
was a “fraud”, a “deceiver”, a “common impostor”, a “villain” and so forth.
Not a word of protest from Olcott, as Chairman, or from Mrs. Besant as par¬
ticipant. Without a single exception, everyone present seems to have been
delighted. Much of it was mere screeching, Miss Henrietta Muller—who
had accompanied Chakravarti and Mrs. Besant from London to the Parliament
of Religions in Chicago in 1893 —supplying a good share of it; and she was
well qualified, being a “wild woman” by nature and selection, who, like Mrs.
Besant, had “gone native” in India, and who used to travel with Hindu youths
whom she had adopted. Bertram Keightley did his best, but his vocabulary
was insignificant in comparison. Even the Countess Wachtmeister, whose
psychism made her peculiarly susceptible to contagion of that kind—to mob
hysteria—joined in the general chorus . 1
It was Mrs. Besant herself, however, who, on this occasion, did more than
anyone to fill us with down-right disgust; and it was not because she was abusive
—she was not abusive; she displayed, and loudly displayed, all the resignation
of a Christian martyr. Having attacked Judge publicly, having done her
utmost to bring dishonour on his good name, and having succeeded in that to a
considerable extent so far as the general public were concerned,—she now,
though the direct cause of that dishonouring, paraded it as a grievance against
her victim! “I am bound to tell you”, she informed her audience, “that on
every platform on which I shall stand, I shall be met with this difficulty as to
dishonour.” Then she went on (and it was this that finished us): “I will bear
it, I will face it, and stand by the Society despite the difficulty”. Having pillo¬
ried her “brother”, she was prepared to endure, nobly, heroically, the shame
of having a “brother” in the pillory!
1 In an earlier instalment of these Letters, I said that "I never heard that she [the Countess Wachtmeister]
attacked Judge”. It would have been more accurate to say that anything I may have heard or known of that
sort at the time, made no lasting impression on me, one way or the other. This was because, in comparison with
others, she was innocuous, and, though deplorably misled, was sincere. The fact is that she issued several pamph¬
lets and circulars, the intention of which was to injure Judge's theosophical reputation. In later years, she repu¬
diated Mrs. Besant and resigned from the Adyar Society.
27
28
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
As a result of all this oratory, the Indian Convention passed a resolution
“That the President-Founder be and is hereby requested to at once call upon
Mr. W. Q. Judge, Vice-President, Theosophical Society, to resign the office
of Vice-President.” Not long afterwards, when she had returned to London,
Mrs. Besant announced, jointly with G. R. S. Mead, that “If some definite
action with regard to Mr. Judge shall not have been taken by the European
Section before the meeting of its Annual Convention in July, we, the under¬
signed”, shall then move that the Convention unite “with the Indian and
[specially created] Australasian Sections in demanding his expulsion from the
Society.” The alternative was an “explanation” by Judge, such as Mrs.
Besant might consider “full and satisfactory”, of her charges against him,
“or his voluntary secession from the Society.”
After this came the Convention of the American Section, which was held at
Boston on April 28th and 29th, 1895. I was not present, as it was clearly my
duty to remain in London while Dr. and Mrs. Keightley were absent in America,
representing a number of European Branches at the Convention. It is evident,
however, from the published report of the proceedings, fully confirmed at the
time by the reports of friends who were participants, that the spirit and tone
of the speeches were in marked contrast to the vulgarity and licence of the
exhibition at Adyar. This, of course, was due to Judge’s influence and example
of many years. As he says in his letter to me of May 2nd, Mrs. Besant was
ignored. But the Theosophical principles she had violated were not ignored;
neither were her political manoeuvres. The American members had had
enough; besides which they realized that the salvation of the Movement de¬
pended upon ridding the Society of those who, for nearly two years, had con¬
sistently proved their contempt for H.P.B., and for the essentials of all that
H.P.B. valued, taught, and loved. Hence, when Clement A. Griscom, at
the first morning’s session, presented the report of the Committee on Reso¬
lutions declaring the autonomy of the American Branches under the name of
“The Theosophical Society in America”, the whole roomful of delegates and
members rose and cheered to the echo. The enthusiasm was not only intense
but passionate. This was partly because all those present knew that they
were defending and vindicating Judge, as well as defending and preserving the
Society.
The resolutions as read and passed can be found in The Path magazine of
May, 1895, on page 66. Based in part upon historical and legal premises, the
reason immediately preceding the major resolution was: “Whereas, conditions
contrary to the principle of Universal Brotherhood have arisen within the
Theosophical Society which would prove fatal to the continued existence of
said Movement; therefore be it Resolved”—that the American Section T. S.
then and there declare its entire autonomy.
Those of us who, with any degree of understanding, favoured this action in
1895, and who have followed the history of “residue” societies, including that of
Adyar, from that time to this, could not adequately express our thankfulness
that Judge had the courage and wisdom to consent to the elimination of the
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE 29
gangrened elements before it was too late. The Movement, and we personally,
owe our lives, in the real sense, to the action taken at that Boston Convention.
The resolutions, which were lengthy, were passed by 191 votes (of delegates)
against 10, at the first afternoon session. The only personal reference they
contained (except the appointment of Judge as President for life, “with power
to nominate his successor ”) was extraordinarily generous, and shows how loyally
Judge clung to the hope that Olcott, at the eleventh hour, might rise to the
occasion: “Resolved, that the Theosophical Society in America hereby recog¬
nizes the long and efficient services rendered to the Theosophical Movement by
Col. H. S. Olcott, and that to him belongs the unique and honorary title of
President-Founder of the Theosophical Society, and that, as in the case of
H.P.B. as Corresponding Secretary, he can have no successor in that office.”
That Olcott, instead of rising to the occasion, sank to it, and kept on sinking,
distressed Judge greatly.
For the benefit of those who think they know all about Mrs. Tingley, even
at that time—and they are many, some of them denouncing her as already a
“little dugpa”, and Judge as being “under her thumb”; some of them exalting
her to the rank of H.P.B. or higher—it is worth noting that she attended the
Boston Convention; made a short speech; that Judge glared at her with deep
displeasure while she spoke and after she resumed her seat; and that at the
end of the session he called her to him and rebuked her so severely that she
wept. . . . And now for their proponents to fit that fact into either of the two
“final conclusions”, “inner lights” or “occult revelations,” which I have specified!
After the Convention had adjourned, the delegates and members again
assembled (April 29th, at 3.30 p. m.) “to listen to a written explanation of
the charges against William Q. Judge of forging ‘Mahatma messages’.” Judge
said his health would not permit him to read the paper himself, but that Dr.
Keightley would do it for him, adding that the explanation had been purposely
kept back until the final action of the Convention should be known. Dr.
Keightley then read the paper, which occupied one hour and a half, to an audience
which paid the deepest attention. The six charges made by Mrs. Besant were
given in full and answered seriatim. At the conclusion of the reading there wjf
long and loud applause, after which it was moved and carried:
“That the meeting considered the explanation perfectly satisfactory, but that,
so far as those present were concerned, it was entirely unnecessary.”
This explanation was printed in pamphlet form as soon as possible, and
was distributed to members throughout the world, whose names and addresses
were known at Headquarters in New York.
All eyes were now fixed on the Convention of the European Section to be held
in London on July 4th, 1895. Judge’s friends knew, by this time, that in
Europe they would be outnumbered by about three to one. Those of us who
had been members of the Blavatsky Lodge in London, had realized this some
time before, when resolutions had been passed, in spite of our vehement protests,
calling upon Judge to resign. Our answer then had been to withdraw, and to
form a new Branch, called the H.P.B. Lodge, which met at 62 Queen Anne
30
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
Street under the Presidency of Dr. A. Keightley. It seemed likely that our
only recourse at the coming Convention would be to take similar action. We
were determined, however, to fight to the last ditch for the principles of The¬
osophy which Judge was so splendidly upholding. This involved making it as
clear as we knew how, first, that he was upholding them, and, second, that
his accusers were dragging them in the mud. As it turned out, the attitude
adopted by Olcott and Mrs. Besant when the Convention met, made our task
relatively easy; for Judge, as President of the Theosophical Society in America,
had addressed a Letter of Greeting to the European Theosophists, in which,
after referring to the action taken by the American Theosophists at Boston, he
said that while autonomy would have been brought about in any case before
long “as an inevitable and logical development”, it had been hastened “by
reason of what we considered to be strife, bitterness and anger existing in other
Sections of the Theosophical world which were preventing us from doing our
best work in the field assigned us by Karma”. The last paragraph read as
follows:
“Let us then press forward together in the great work of the real
Theosophical Movement which is aided by working organizations,
but is above them all. Together we can devise more and better
ways for spreading the light of truth through all the earth. Mu¬
tually assisting and encouraging one another, we may learn how to
put Theosophy into practice so as to be able to teach and enforce
it by example before others. We shall then each and all be mem¬
bers of that Universal Lodge of Free and Independent Theosophists
which embraces every friend of the human race. And to all this we
beg your corporate official answer for our more definite and certain
information, and to the end that this and your favourable reply
may remain as evidence and monuments between us.”
It was a challenge. When the Convention met, Olcott as Chairman, informed
the delegates that this Letter of Greeting had been received (there was no
concealing the fact, as many of us had copies in our possession), but that he
would not read it. “I declare the thing out of order and not admissible”, he
said.
Several of us jumped to oiir feet to protest against the chair’s ruling, pointing
out that it was untheosophical, unreasonable, and illegal. Mrs. Besant realized
that a tactical blunder had been made, and, while referring to her ally’s ruling
as “perfectly just and legal”, suggested that he allow the letter to be read,
“and then let it lie on the table, passing it over in absolute silence so to speak”!
The letter was then read, after which F. J. Dick of the Dublin Lodge quickly
moved: “That this Convention do receive the communication with pleasure
and do draft a reply thereto”. More speeches. The plan had been to silence
us, but it was not our purpose to be silenced. Mrs. Besant moved as an amend¬
ment: “That the letter do lie upon the table”. This was carried by 39 votes
against 13 (only delegates voting). There was but one step left to us, and that
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE
33
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE 31
was to raise a “question of privilege”, which I now did (and still have the little
book on “Rules of Order” from which this useful idea had been gleaned). Asking
Judge’s friends to speak with me by rising from their seats, which they did,
we protested against the action of the Convention in rejecting the address
presented to us by the Theosophical Society in America, thus declining to
accept the hand of brotherhood which had been held out to us,—this action
signifying “the final abandonment by the majority of this Section of the funda¬
mental basis upon which we are working”, which made it a farce to continue
together, “since we are not working for the same object.” “We protest, and I
believe for the last time. We shall now leave the meeting.” Whereupon a
number of members marched out, headed by Dr. Keightley. We assembled
again promptly at the home of Lady Malcolm of Poltalloch, an old member,
and a fearless and loyal soul, whose sense of justice had been outraged by the
way Judge had been treated. There we organized “The Theosophical Society
in Europe”, electing Judge its President,—and at once cabled to him a sum¬
mary of what had happened.
Judge died on March 21st, 1896, about fourteen months after he wrote the
following letter. During all that time he was fighting consciously for his life,
determined to complete, if he could, certain things he had begun,—the develop¬
ment of certain individuals, included. The disease which ostensibly killed him
was tuberculosis of the lungs. In 1881, and again in the summer of 1882, he
had spent some time in Carupano, Venezuela, on business, and had suffered
severely from Chagres fever, a malignant type of malarial fever which often
leaves a predisposition to tuberculosis in its trail; but he could have continued
to repel that physical attack with ease, as he had done for years, if it had not been
for a far worse strain on his vitality, namely, the strain of his resistance to the
efforts of the Dark Powers to kill him,—the venomous hatred of his persecutors
and slanderers, once his close associates , supplying the lines of contact for the
major onslaught. These efforts culminated during the winter preceding the
Boston Convention.
New York, January 18th, 1895.
Dear E.T.H.,
I am so sick just now that I cannot send any letters. Take it all for granted.
My Chicago trip was all right and useful, but this is my ordinary death year,
and hence I am just waiting until the Rubicon is passed.
So good-bye.
William Q. Judge.
I have done nothing yet about Chew Y.-T.
With the following letter, Judge enclosed a long clipping from the New York
Sun , quoting The Path , and making good-natured fun of him on account of
“Mahatma messages.”
32
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
New York, January 21st, 1895.
Dear Mr. Keejid n6 Chewsan,
A heap of yours are unanswered and I fear will not be, for I am too over¬
whelmed with things and correspondence. If there are any matters I must
reply to, or on which you want a short indication of my idea, please adopt this
plan following. When I have a lot of letters to read I get it mixed. Plan: on
a piece of paper put the points, separate slip from letter, and mark it Ques.
or “For Reply”. I need just that sort of thing. Ask the others to do the same.
Needn’t leave room. I’ll fix it to answer.
Look here. When I write I mean what I say, and not what may be inferred.
So do your part to prevent inferences. I haven’t had a thought of condemning
anyone at 62, nor of dampening ardour. That’s all inference and imagination;
do all you can to arouse the idea of taking me as I write, and not by assumption.
Otherwise I shall be continually bothered. -has gone to a lot of trouble to
show me that-didn’t do this and that. I don’t need this. I never infer; I
go on what I know. I’ve trusted everything to you people, and what greater
proof can I give of entire confidence and reliance? This really is my only gloom,—
that an incorrect notion such as the above should be there. But I assume it is
effect of reaction and strain, and hope it will pass.
I altered the current Screen of Time and rewrote it, affixing the Chew Yu
letter.
To Julius I have given the reasons and the new plan. You had better see
that, so as to get the idea for all it may be worth.
We shall now have to explain and make clear about West and East, and
Western Occultism—the Western wave etc.—so as to destroy the idea A.B.
[Mrs. Annie Besant] is spreading that I wish to create disunion. I will try
to send an advance letter about this for all. Gradually the truth as to India
must come out. Plenty of stuff in K.H. .\ and H.P.B. papers for it. So all
good explanations will be wise. India is not to be “downed”, but we must
show the actual evolutionary importance of the Western wave.
You are all doing well and I thank you all. You must all be patient for I
am walled in and have but slim cash and time. Later we will get into some real
good system.
Good-bye, good love and good luck, as ever,
William Q. J.
On this plane, Judge was the Guardian of the whole Society, and felt deeply
responsible for all its parts. He had inherited that responsibility directly from
H.P.B., and it had become greater with his own continued inner growth. It
was, therefore, both his duty and desire to avoid what we then referred to
colloquially as “a split”, so long as there was a ray of hope for his enemies.
That they were his enemies, as well as enemies of the Society, complicated his
task. If they had attacked and persecuted some other member of the Society,
instead of himself, he could and would have acted against them, drastically,
from the beginning. As it was, the initiative, under occult law, could not come
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE
33
from him. He had to be “ordered”—one might almost say “pushed ”—by
other members of the Great Lodge before consenting to cut off the gangrened
membership. Further, “orders” received by him directly, had to be confirmed
by similar “orders”, from the same source, sent to him through others. None of
this has been understood or taken into account by those who have attempted to
criticize his procedure at that time. They have revealed nothing except their
own ignorance,—including their ignorance of the truth that to be bound by
occult law is equivalent to being bound by the finer shades of honour.
Judge’s friends were not bound as he was. Their duty was entirely different.
Those among them who had any real insight knew well that Judge was the
Society , just as H.P.B. had been the Society during her lifetime; they knew
that to save him would save the Society, and that it could not be saved in any
other way.
Some people find this principle difficult to understand. I have heard Chris¬
tians say: “Christ is Christianity”, and other Christians object on the ground
that this ignored the Church. A student of Theosophy ought to know that it
takes only one real Christian to make a Church, and that, in the same way, it
takes only one real Theosophist (which implies a great deal) to make a The-
osophical Society,—and that without the reality, the organism is a danger and
a snare.
It followed that several of Judge’s friends had advocated a “split”, long before
he was willing to entertain the idea. His letter of March ioth, which follows,
was the first intimation we, in London, received, that he had consented finally
to an “operation” on the body entrusted to his care.
March ioth, 1895.
A.K., J.C.K., E.T.H. (and others).
I have changed my plans because of information and instructions from A
in regard to an American split; and that information is being confirmed not only
by reflection but also by facts. The fact J.C.K. gives about the insane prop¬
osition of Sturdy and Co. confirms. They are all mixed up and incapable of
leading, and to remain tied to them means years of strife and bitterness. A.B.
[Mrs. Annie Besant] is determined to destroy me, and hence we must get apart,
for U.S. is the real T.S., and their rot and rioting over there under A.B. is some¬
thing we must separate from. So, I am now in the split party, though I have
not as yet said so openly. I have told a few only. Previously I was against
talk of split, proposing that April Convention should stand for unity, after
passing certain resolutions, and then see what the other two [Sections of the
T.S.] would do.
This is what .'. says: Write London and tell them to write to, or see, the
different parts, and ask what steps they (such places or Lodges) are prepared to
take in reference to the U.S. April Convention, not only on the question of
separation and affiliation, but as well on sending delegate or delegates to America.
Give them directions if they do not know.
Well, I don’t think you need instructions. The more resolutions you can bring
34
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
with you, the stronger we shall be. If Europe will not delegate you—and
of course you would not accept if determined to go a way it [the European Sec¬
tion] would not sanction—you can get some Lodge or Lodges or centres to dele¬
gate you specially to represent them. Ireland of course; Sweden and others
I of course do not know about, but you will know. I suppose the form of reso¬
lution on the special point can only be that if U.S. splits, they will affiliate.
But you are competent to draw that up.
The chief reason some will have for “no split” is sentimental,—a desire not
to split the T.S. But it is already split, and the Sturdy thing shows what it
will come to for certain. So you must meet that the best way you can. If
you meet one or two safe persons who say that J. [Judge] was against it, you
can say you have reason to believe I changed my mind.
As ever,
William
The memorandum dated April ist, 1895, was enclosed with a letter addressed
either to Dr. A. Keightley or to me: I do not remember which. In any case,
I have the original, which is in Judge’s handwriting, though with occasional
modifications.
April 1 st, 1895 — A For letter to-.
Tell him that you have watched events, have waited, have given the perse¬
cutors, the destroyers of Theosophy every chance, and now the hour has come
when it is no longer possible for you to remain with them. To what are you
pledged? For what through centimes have you worked? For the Theosoph-
ical Movement, or, the spiritualizing of the race. That movement is now
endangered by the state of the T.S., which cannot be # cured by any further
temporizing. The only part of the T.S. that has any theosophical vitality
is the group of American Branches. It is their duty to cut themselves off, or
like good apples in a barrel with rotten ones, they will be rotted. Remember
the picture of the T.S. as a tree tom by the roots and cast upon an arid plain.
Quite true you may keep alive this organization for some three years, but it
would be a period full of bitterness and strife, ending in the ruin of the The¬
osophical Movement. Even now, as you know, they are trying to undermine
you in your own place. By striking at you, the centre, they are striking at
Theosophy. This the Dark ones know, and are pushing that poor woman
[Mrs. Besant] on, while she and her friends are working for their own self-
righteous ends as they suppose. The Dark ones know that such as they can¬
not head nor carry on a real movement. Waste no more thoughts on them;
devote all your helpful thoughts to those brave souls who have stood, who have
worked for Theosophy and not for themselves, who have seen through those
illusions, who have not mistaken hypocrisy for truth. The others will have
to be left to learn the lessons of their experience so that those may profit them
in other lives under similar temptations.
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE
35
New York, April 25th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
Off tomorrow to Boston with A.K. and J.C.K., and so will not be able to
write you much yet.
Fullerton leaves us for good on Monday and, until we get in good running
order, Claude [Wright] will sit at the seat of the Recording Angel with me to
supervise him. It does not seem that A.F. will ever get back. He is the victim
of (a) narrow mind ( b ) worship of A.B. (c) messages received through sources
unauthorized, etc. ad inf. The London crowd [Avenue Road] will gloat and
hug themselves, but, first, it is a distinct gain for the American work, and,
second, they will not (later) relish the fish they have caught. God help them
both.
If Arch will remember we will devise a plan for the relief of Lucknow (62
Q. A. Street) by some alteration. Sound out carefully and see how it will go if
the Council has to report direct to me. That, by increasing expense here,
would take some of the funds there to here. It is but tentative.
Well, I must go. You do not need more. I am with you daily in thought.
As ever,
William Q. Judge.
Alexander Fullerton had been a thorn in Judge’s flesh for some years, though
he had done useful routine work in the T.S. office. Self-assertive and invariably
“off-side”, Fullerton’s “worship” of Mrs. Besant led him to distrust Judge, and
to seek other sources of occult information. He made contact with psychics,
who, like all psychics, occasionally got things straight, and occasionally crooked,
and, being himself unable to discriminate, he was left in a state of hopeless
confusion. The “messages” referred to by Judge in his letter of May 2nd,
and in the earlier letter of April 25th, had been received by Fullerton through
these sources.
As to “the proposition” to which Judge refers: during all this period, I had
become more anxious than ever to work for Theosophy under Judge in America.
I knew, however, that my family would disapprove, and as I dreaded telling
them that I wanted to leave home permanently for this purpose, I imagined all
sorts of expedients, submitting my various plans to Judge for his approval. \
Judge did not approve, and although, as I discovered later, he had been anxious
for me to “take root” in America with as little delay as possible, he discounte¬
nanced any form of “short cut”, and waited for Time to show me what to do.
There is a valuable lesson in this connection in his letter of June 14th: the
man who jumps overboard in order, as he hopes, to serve the Lodge, must jump
on his own initiative. He will never be told to jump. He must assume entire
responsibility for all consequences, both to himself, and to those he loves or to
whom he is indebted. No man yet has ever been asked to sacrifice anything—
position, career, money, leisure, friendships—for the Work, by any representative
of the Lodge. Only a pseudo-occultist would be capable of that. More: if
the aspirant be conscious of making any sacrifice at the time, or if ever there-
36
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
after he should look back and regret what he had done, or should come to re¬
gard his decision as having been a sacrifice,—his act would necessarily be re¬
jected as nullifying itself, and he would be written down as a failure. He must
give himself and his all as the one thing in the universe he desires to do; and
even “give” is misleading, for the man takes.
New York, May 2nd, 1895.
My dear Ernest,
I have your letter of the 17th of April.
Of course Fullerton’s second message is “rot”, as he has found out for himself.
He is all broken up, has withdrawn from his first message, opposed our pro¬
ceedings in Boston, spoken against me and left this office for good—I say “for
good”, because I will not let him come back.
I read at the Convention my reply to the charges, which will be printed as
soon as I can get them going on it. I have no copy to send to you, but I will
try to send you a copy of the resolutions adopted at Boston.
I wish you would say to those people, or any one else, not to start around
attacking A.B. If she comes to their Lodge, let them do what they wish, but
they ought not to go out of their way to attack her, or to defend me against her.
If she could be thoroughly ignored, it would be better, but that is hardly possible.
At Boston Convention she was ignored, and her name came up so little that we
can’t remember it at all.
As ever yours,
William Q. Judge.
Just got your reply to the proposition. Let it wait. I do not think your plan
of an offer from here is good. It will be a boomerang later. Better to act
quite bluntly than to make an obstacle. Don’t be in a hurry yet. Time will
show you what to do.
Don’t you think that if some Englishman were to circulate the historical
sketch, or the idea of autonomy in England, there would be some fun in July?
Olcott’s office is really open; he was never elected for life, and it’s his duty to
call for election of himself or someone else.
As ever,
%.
The following letter was postmarked: Cincinnati, Ohio.
June 14th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
There was no need for me to write you because we communicate other ways.
But-wrote me now and then as if I should tell you one way or the other if
you should come here. At least it read that way to me. No such responsibility
should be put on me as that I must tell you to come, or be the active compeller,
so to say. Each must decide such a thing for himself. And I think you know
that as well as I do. I do not assume, mind you, that you have any such idea,
but write about it because of what was said.
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE
37
Claude [Wright] is now running the T.S. office in my absence, as it appears
I shall have to stay away a considerable time. I am on the move like a pilgrim.
But I am better a little each day. Been with Dr. Buck for a month. Don’t
give away the address. Address will remain 144 Madison Avenue for all.
What you report about the spread of ideas there on the points of autonomy etc.
is good. I thought something must come of it, for all Englishmen are not
like those idiots we know. It would be monstrous if no one there took up such
manifestly right notions. Perhaps the July current may carry them where
they didn’t expect. I send an address to them [for the Convention of the
European Section: see the introduction to this instalment] which will react
whether accepted or rejected; and I have seen to it that Olcott is well peppered-
He may do the right thing, but no one can tell, as he lives solely for his own skin
and no more. Independent Sections is an idea that has been in his brain, and
may revive. Let us hope so. He will dislike our [illegible word] but the fact
is that he and I are the sole remaining legal officers of T.S., and both are “hold¬
ing over’’.
Don’t fret my dear. It is a crescendo demand in the case of A.B. which she
will never be able to fill.
Let us forget the devils as often as possible in between the periods when it is
necessary to fight them.
That sentence in N.T. [Northern Theosophist], “The Unity of the Theosoph-
ical Movement” etc., taken from the Historical Sketch, is from .*. How many
suspect it I wonder.
I decided not to notice the lies of that traitor Fullerton. People are tiring
here of circulars and proofs. What are really wanted now, are time and work.
Nothing else will accomplish much.
Say, don’t use such poor ribbon on your typewriter, and don’t put black deep
ink on other side. It prevents comprehension of text, and it backs up one
against the other when they sink through.
I hope Sweden will stick. July 5th get A.K. to cable to New York a few
descriptive words. Buck and a lot of us are going to be anxious to know.
No, the Americans don’t know the situation with you, and they don’t want to.
No time. They couldn’t understand the mind at work any more than Spencer
does, much as he thinks he perceives. He will have done good anyway.
Well, good-bye my dear boy.
As ever
” 4 .
On July 20th I had written Judge that I had taken the plunge, had arranged
matters with my parents, and was sailing for New York at an early date.
Colorado Springs, Colo., August 5th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
Today, at noon, I received here yours from Barmouth of July 20th. Hence
you can see you will hardly get this. It will leave tomorrow and take fourteen
38
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
days to go, which will take it to August 20th. So I will send to 144 Madison
Avenue, N. Y., a letter to be held, and delivered to you on arrival.
Your questions. Dear Boy you’re funny,—you make me “luff”. I do not
approve of such an idiotic thing as for you to stop a couple of days in New
York, and then rush off 2000 miles to see me. It is right good to want to do
this, and I fully feel it, but my boy it is not wise , and hence not duty. There is
too much to be done and we must use the time well. It would waste a lot of
space to come right after me. For the territory is large and you should do some
of it. And quite two weeks should be spent in New York and Brooklyn. Inter¬
views have to be managed etc. Then you should go up to Boston, if they want
you after writing them, because I detached Harding from there to go to Central
States. You have to renew old and make new acquaintances. If Boston
doesn’t want you, then there are Columbus, Dayton, Toledo and Cincinnati to
be taken in, and from there to Chicago etc. I cannot now tell what is best
beyond the above, and there’s a good deal of work in it. After Chicago and
vicinity, it may be well to make a trip to Minneapolis and St. Paul and down
from there vi& Sioux City. C.F.W. [Claude Wright] knows that route. It
would take you to Omaha and could go on to Kansas City or to Salt Lake.
Plans for Colorado come later. If at that time I am out here, you could easily
arrange it. Dismiss all precipitancy, which is “bad hurry”, even though we
hurry in proper cases.
Before arrival, if you get this in London, or at once on arrival in New York,
you should write, with C.F.W., to Boston etc., so as to lay pipe and have your
regal presence known. And of course at once to me so I may know plans.
Lecture fund assists in these things.
What I want to work at is a Napoleonic propaganda at which I hoped to,
but can’t, assist. But Harding and Griffiths are doing part. We have to fill
the air with Theosophy and T.S. in America, so that the others will wake up to
find themselves nil. And I quite forgot. It is essential that before you go
West you should go to Toronto to help, and as you are so really English! you
would do good! This would cut off part of New York and Boston stay. We
have to pour in force at those points where there are splits. Then on way back
from there, are some places (see map).
When you get to U. S. you will probably find lots of work and invitations
waiting you.
Well, au re voir,
Best love,
%.
(To be continued)
WAR MEMORIES
XVI
Those Last Days
I look back over that memorable autumn of 1918, and especially to
the weeks just before the Armistice, I seem to remember that everything
■*“ moved with lightning rapidity, and changes came about almost over¬
night. That, at any rate, is what happened to our unit. One morning our
doctor received notice that she was to be transferred to quite another part of the
country, and before noon she had left us. A few hours later, the nurse was also
transferred, being sent to a district now more in need than ours, while the other
aid and I were told to report at our headquarters in Nancy, for a new field of
duty. So, within the space of one short day, each of us packed her kit bag,
made a hasty farewell to the good village friends, and life on our hilltop came
precipitately to an end. I never saw any of my co-workers again; I never
even heard what became of them—such—are the fortunes of war.
My new work, which was with another automobile-dispensary unit, was to be
temporary; it was not at all arduous, and, contrary to my expectations, it proved
in many ways to be vastly entertaining. I was appointed interpreter for an
American doctor (a woman), who stood high in her profession, but whose knowl¬
edge of French left many things to be desired. She had known practically
none when she arrived in the War-zone (nothing whatever to be ashamed of
about that!), but, being slightly deaf, she had found it peculiarly difficult to ac¬
quire any. Yet, plucky woman that she was, she refused to be daunted, and
insisting upon talking regardless of consequences or of a superfluous interpreter,
I would hear her whispering sweet nothings to some frightened child, whose
wounds she might be dressing: “ N'avez pour, riavez pour," she would murmur
reassuringly, meaning thereby: “Don’t be afraid”; or if she saw tears trickling
down some little face, in a soothing voice: “Ne pluie pas, tie pluie pas" She
might just as well have said outright, “Don’t cry”, in good, plain English—the
unfortunate youngster would have been spared a certain amount of astonishment,
and would probably have understood equally well.
When, however, it was not so much a matter of offering human consolation,
as of giving concrete, medical advice, I had to keep very much on the alert,
for the few words which she thought she had managed to capture were generally
wrong, like a poultice misapplied, and they often got themselves into an almost
unbelievable tangle, so that our dispensary was sometimes in danger of becoming
a kind of side-show in a circus.
When matters took their normal and proper course, the doctor, sitting gravely
at her medicine-bottle-and-ointment-box-covered table, with my humble self, in
the capacity of interpreter, at her side, would, through me, interview the patient
39
40
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
—perhaps a stout peasant woman—who would have been placed in a chair fac¬
ing us. The interview would then begin.
The doctor, in an undertone to me: “Ask her what the matter is.”
I, addressing the patient with a smile which was intended to be ingratiating:
“ Qu'avez-vous , madame?"
The patient, appearing to address her answer to me, but with her weather-eye
on the doctor: “Ah, madame , que j'ai mal d'oreille! Toujours—sans cesse—jour
et nuit — ah! — ah!”
I, turning to the doctor: “She says she has an earache—all the time—day and
night.” And so it would go on.
Now, while the doctor knew the individual meaning of the more common
words, because of her difficulty in hearing and therefore in catching their accu¬
rate pronunciation, together with the natural difficulty which many of us experi¬
ence when forcing our Anglo-Saxon tongues into the finer cadences of the Latin
shadings, she was capable of creating the most ludicrous situations. For to
her, the words ceufs, yeux and oreilles sounded exactly the same, and she pro¬
nounced them all like ceufs , the most trained ear being quite unable to detect the
least difference. It was not surprising that she made the first two sound alike,
but how she managed to get the third involved, I never could guess, all I know
is that she did. Being a great believer in eggs as a diet, she was constantly recom¬
mending them, and as ear and eye affections were matters of common complaint,
there was plenty of room for inextricable confusion. Had she made an invari¬
able rule of passing on her medical advice regarding egg diets, earaches or in¬
flamed eyes through her interpreter, all would have been well, for the interpreter
(myself) had become accustomed within the first twenty-four hours to some of
the doctor’s idiosyncrasies in French. But refusing to allow her limitations to
limit her, she would, when she felt inclined, ignore all intermediaries, and plunge
headlong into the giving of her professional opinion on her own account, telling
the bewildered patient that it would afford her immediate relief if she would
put boric acid on her eggs, or stuff her eggs full of cotton soaked in hot oil. The
look of stupefaction which I used to watch creeping over the faces of some of
those old peasant women was often too much for me, and “for the honour of the
regiment” I found it necessary to cultivate sudden and violent sneezing fits, in
order to cover my uncontrollable amusement.
“I think these Lorraine peasants are a very stupid lot,” she used to say dis¬
passionately, “they never seem to understand what anyone says to them,”—
and to this day I have no idea whether this was pure effrontery or a childlike
absence of self-consciousness.
My life as interpreter did not last long. I do not think I actually disgraced
myself—though I skated on very thin ice many a time—but I was really not
much good; anyone could fill that rdle, and I sent out an S.O.S. call for a pucka
“man’s job”. Everything seemed in a state of fermentation, however—a fer¬
mentation of uncertainty. Rumours of an approaching Armistice had already
begun to spread. These rumours were still vague enough, but they signalled a
possible beginning of the end; no one could plan ahead with any assurance that
WAR MEMORIES
4 r
conditions would make the carrying out of those plans feasible when the time
came, and arrangements made one day, would be unmade the next. Early in
September, my organization had talked of opening a supply depot at Besan^on,
and I was to have charge of it, but as the days went on, with the Germans
retreating, faster and ever faster, Besangon became rather too remote to con¬
sider as a useful centre for supplies. Then other places came up as possibilities,
but no decision was reached. So my organization suggested “odd jobs” for me
which, with the rapidly changing conditions, suited me admirably, and as it
turned out, gave me many interesting if rather kaleidoscopic and fleeting experi¬
ences, for which I have always been glad.
I was living in Nancy at this time, and I had a tiny room in a small hotel where
I left such things during my brief absences as I did not want to take with me.
Of course we got air raids at first-hand here, and something was always hit—
one night it was the actual automobile in which I had happened to be driving
that very day; again it was something less seemingly personal, like the railway
station, or a corner house which I often passed. All really wise townsfolk
were off the streets before couvre fen , but some of us had night duties, and we
went stumbling through the dark thoroughfares when our work took us abroad.
There was always a certain pleasure in this, for Nancy itself was attractive by
night as well as by day, and the beautiful Place Stanislas, with its ancient palaces,
its encircling line of arches and its incomparable great gateways, had a mysterious
loveliness which was wholly enchanting. But the town was literally packed
with American troops (you had to go to Lun£ville if you wanted to feel that
you were still in France), though as a matter of fact I came very little into con¬
tact with them save outwardly, as I was officially and actually working only for
the French. Nancy, however, like the Place de la Concorde in Paris, appeared
to have become quite Americanized; American troops swarmed in and out, and
long lines of American artillery passed through it, ceaselessly. Nancy was at
fever-heat in khaki; Lun^ville was serene in horizon-blue, and there was the
greatest possible difference in the atmosphere of these two towns. No matter
in which one you might be, however, you felt that something special was in the
air; something more immediate than a future, problematical Armistice, because
there had for some weeks been rumours that the civilian population around might
soon be evacuated. Many, in fact probably most of us, did not know at the time
just what it was all about, though we sat quite comfortably on our pins and
needles awaiting events with composure; but, considering it in retrospect, L
suppose it was the St. Mihiel offensive about to be launched, which gave this-
impression, and no doubt also, the foreshadowing of the great Metz drive, which
as a matter of fact never came off, because of the Armistice. I had a number
of friends in Lundville, French officers and their families, and if I could not get
there in a better way, I used to “lorry hop” over as often as I could. I liked to
talk to these men—or rather, I liked to listen to them as, together, they discussed
the situation, events present and future, all of them plainly on the qui vive.
And if anyone were so mistaken as to introduce the subject of a possible Armis¬
tice, everyone promptly had the “dumps”. No one could bear the idea. They
42
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
had not fought for four whole years and more, to lay down their arms tamely
now! That prospective Metz drive had got into their blood, and nothing but a
march through the “lost provinces” and on into Germany, and so to Berlin would
ever satisfy them.
In the early part of the War, Lun£ville had been occupied for three weeks or
thereabouts, while Nancy was never entered— Nancy I'Inviotte it was called,
proudly. The people of Lun^ville never forgot this occupation; it made an
indelible mark, and they were as eager as the Army for that forward drive into
enemy territory. Yet they were calm, and the streets outwardly rather quiet
(far quieter than in palpitating Nancy), though overhead you would often see
an enemy plane sailing high in the pale azure, with the darting “ guepes ” in
pursuit, ready to “sting” it when they got near enough. Few people in the town
below seemed to pay much heed to these aerial intruders, except with a shrug
and a jest, and one day as I hurried along, I came upon a poilu, evidently a
permissionnaire , out for a stroll with his wife. I saw them standing on the curb,
like children looking skyward, and I heard the man say, with a gay exaggeration:
“Que diable! II y en a au moins cinqnante!"
“Zut /” was all his wife deigned by way of answer, but the degree of scorn
which that indefinable but expressive monosyllable managed to convey, must
have sent an electric current all the way to German Headquarters.
Dreadful things did of course happen, however, and one evening, not far
from where I was walking, a bomb found its victim in an old, old man, as he
was quietly crossing the street. I passed just as they were picking him up—all
that was left of him—and as they called me, I heard his poor old voice quavering,
“ Douccment , doucemcnt ,” involuntarily, despite himself. No doubt “his time”
had come in any case (he must have been nearly eighty), but like many another
quiet soul, he had probably dreamed of dying peacefully in his bed at home,
with his wife and children and grandchildren around him. I ahvays experienced
a feeling of wild rebellion at the futility of things like this, when they happened
to the very old or the very young among the simple civilians. What good did
such wanton killing do the Germans, I thought ? Then almost immediately there
came a saner breath—a breath of the real War—for down the street swung a
regiment of French troops, mistily blue in the waning light, the men singing in
clear, strong voices to the rhythmic beating of their feet, that famous marching
song “Madelon”, so reminiscent of the glory of Verdun, and the equilibrium
was instantly restored, for in a strange way, the memory of great and noble
deeds seems to transmute even futility, giving it a meaning and a purpose.
A few days before the big St. Mihiel push, it was “officially” arranged that I
should be sent northwards, some distance on the road toward Pont- 4 -Mousson,
to investigate a possible centre of future work. Unofficially it was arranged for
me to be taken on to Pont-a-Mousson itself—a favour which I did not expect.
A friend in Lun^ville had pulled a wire on my behalf, knowing my desire to visit
that heroic and martyred little town. It was, of course, quite “out of bounds”
to an errant civilian like myself, for it was constantly subjected to bombardment,
and some of the German trenches were so close that, if you sped too far or too
WAR MEMORIES
43
fast along a certain street, you were likely to pitch head over heels into them.
I had no ambition to pay an impromptu visit of this nature “on” the Hun, but
I did very much like the idea that I could actually glare at him across No Man’s
Land, and from a shorter distance than had been my lot since I left Belgium.
So I felt greatly obliged to Lun^ville, and to that wire which had allowed itself
to be pulled, and I lost no time in making my modest preparations, for we were
to start the following day. Of course we (there were two of us beside our escorts)
had to take our tin hats and our gas masks, and the evening before, we had an
amateur gas drill—chiefly on my account, because it was well known that I was
not to be trusted when it came to getting my mask on expeditiously. When a
gas alarm sounds, you may have only six seconds in which to adjust your mask
(if it is to do you any good at all!), and the kind that we had been issued was my
despair—an out-of-date model, I insisted. I was the most unpardonable
blunderer over the wretched business; all my fingers became thumbs, my head
seemed suddenly out of all proportion to the size of the mask, so that it stuck
when it was only half way on, and nothing short of a miracle would have saved
me from immediate asphyxiation were I really to be exposed to a severe gas
attack. This weakness of mine being recognized, my companions were taking no
chances, and we had our informal drill on the rather deserted, tree-bordered
esplanade in front of my little hotel in Nancy. Six seconds indeed! It took
me nearer six minutes, and no one would give me any assurance that the Germans
would be so accommodating as to wait my convenience, in case I proved too
slow. The young French sous-lieutenant , one of our escort of the morrow, and
the member appointed to officiate at the “drill”, was far too courteous to be
otherwise than encouraging, but he must really have felt on the brink of insanity,
for I seemed to make no progress whatever, and we all got into gales of laughter,
out there on the darkening esplanade.
“I’ll never be able to manage this in a hurry”, I exclaimed idiotically, aloud
to myself. “If a gas alarm does go off, what shall I do?”
“Beat it!” I heard in low answer at my elbow, and turning, I saw a tall,
gaunt, khaki-clad Kentuckian (that mountain type is unmistakable) who added
with a broad, good-natured grin, “I reckon it’s about all you ken do.”
“Where in the world did you drop down from?” I asked, surprised. “You
weren’t here a second ago.”
“No”, he drawled, with cryptic brevity, “I reckon I wa’n’t—well, so long!”
and with vast, long-legged strides, as though he had on the seven-league boots,
he disappeared into the twilight.
I turned to the young sous-lieutenant. I did not know how to say “beat it”
in French, but I told him in words which were equivalent what my intentions
were in case of trouble, and the “drill” came to an end.
The next day we started in a four-seated, grey, service militaire car. Pont-&-
Mousson is not much more than twenty or twenty-five kilometres, as the crow
flies, north of Nancy, and the road runs close to the banks of the dear, sleepy
Moselle, at the foot of the long range of the high, wooded hills known as the
Grand-Couronn6—that line of hills which sweeps south-eastward toward Lun£-
44
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
ville, and against which the on-rushing tide of the German advance was checked-
It was, in fact, at a particular high spot seen from the road below, that the
September invasion of 1914 came finally to an abrupt end; it was here that the
French turned and formed themselves into as impassable a wall as the Grand-
Couronnd itself, upon which they stood. In those early days, the country¬
side must have worn a very different look from that which it now had, for none
of the later insignia of war had yet come into being, and the shell-swept road
which we were passing over with comparative safety, must have been clearly
open to view, running as it did, through the low-lying meadowlands—an easy
mark from the hilltops. But now, as we got farther north, this road was so
heavily camouflaged that, while I had seen many “curtained roads” before,
this one seemed to out-curtain them all. Miles and miles of loose-flapping,
sagging, greyish canvas, draped dismally on tall poles set up at intervals along
the roadside, and overhead, transverse lines of the same greyish canvas stretched
banner-like, yet how unlike festivity! We moved through endless reaches of
the grey unsightliness, a kind of dismal nightmare. And the dust of that much-
travelled road! Clouds of dust, greyer than the flapping canvas. We passed
detachments of troops, from time to time, the men with hair and caps and
shoulders powdered white, even their eyelashes a heavy grey with it. Grey,
grey—everything was grey within those curtained walls, and I began to feel
that I was dreaming, that I was somewhere in “a land east of the moon”.
In the villages we passed through, life was struggling on courageously; the
women still did their now ragged washing at the village fountain; a few pale
children made a pretence of playing in the streets, where ruined houses gave a
precarious shelter; a dog or two wandered aimlessly about. At Dieulouard we
stopped, and I made a few necessary enquiries about prospective work in the
neighbourhood, and had a look in at some of the houses; then on we dashed, into
the unofficial lap of our journey. The country seemed to get sadder, the farther
we went, though all the time I knew that it was really beautiful. Perhaps it
was the feeling of aching suspense that must have been in the very air—the
suspense of all those years; the burning desire to push forward, the galling
necessity to sit still, merely holding on. About five miles out of Pont-^-Mousson
we came to a large sign: “Eteignez les Lumieres "—this was about as close as
lights could be used safely, and it told us that we were getting nearer to the
actual front line.
We reached Pont-^-Mousson at last—that old garrison town with the great
bridge which the French had destroyed, but which had once joined the two
halves lying on opposite banks of the river, the temporary, wooden construction
which now replaced the solid masonry, looking like a flimsy cobweb. The poor,
shattered houses and tom streets, told of the countless bombardments which,
for four long years, had played such havoc here. High on the hill overlooking
the town from the east, stood the ancient hill-fortress—Mousson. And how
many wars it had looked down upon through the centuries! To the north-west
was the crest of Bois-le-Pretre, that far-famed hill with its many thousands of
heroic French dead lying buried there. Just across the river I was shown where
WAR MEMORIES
45
a section of the German lines lay. I could not see this, but I was told that
sometimes when a shell fell short and landed in the river itself instead of on
some house in the town, quantities of fish would be killed and would come
floating up to the surface, and that the old men and women of the town,
regardless of danger, would row out into the open and gather them up, in full
sight of the enemy.
Twenty minutes was to be the limit of our stay, for although our visit was
unofficial, it was under strict surveillance, so we had to move quickly in order
to see all we could in that short time. Of course, we kept as much in the shadow
as possible—uniforms are excellent targets when trenches are near—and we spoke
little, and in low voices. Turning a corner suddenly, we came upon a strange-
looking mechanism, above which was written, both in French and in English:
“ ‘Ware gas’ alarm. Put on your respirators,” or something like that, and I
felt three pairs of eyes smilingly fixed on me. But I remembered the advice of
my tall Kentuckian, and smiled back, defiantly. One or two shells went
shrieking over our heads as we wandered around, and I think our escorts were
wishing that the twenty minutes were over and their responsibilities finished;
but their chief promise had not yet been fulfilled. The officer in whose charge
we were knew this, and he also knew that I was not going to let him off! So at
last he made a sign to an N. C. 0 . whom I had already noticed waiting about as it
were in the offing. The man saluting, came forward instantly and, in answer
to a few low words: “Om, mon colonel ,” I heard him say, and he disappeared.
A few moments later I saw him reappear and salute again.
“Come!” said Colonel de B—. ‘‘We are going to cross an open place; please
follow me closely and rapidly; do not linger, do not speak, but look to your
left as you get well into the open—not far off you will see the German trenches,
and if your eyes are sharp you might see some sign of movement in them. But
I beseech you, do not speak, do not linger. Come!”
We went silently forward, at first in the shadow of a kind of arcade, which
turned suddenly into a small, open square. Colonel de B— looked round at us
once more, to impose complete silence, and for the first time I saw, by the look
in his face, that this trip which was giving us so much pleasure, was costing him
something. He had, of course, a sense of responsibility which we did not have—
this piloting womenfolk about within the range of gun-fire was not to his liking,
and I knew he would be glad when he had got us both safely out of Pont-^
Mousson.
Following him we advanced rapidly, quietly, single-file, and when we were
free of the walls, I looked to the left, and there they were—they seemed within
a stone’s throw—the German front line trenches. The fact that I could not
actually distinguish the enemy which peopled that long, thin trench, made little
difference; I knew the Germans were there. I suppose it would not have been
considered much of a sight to those who had lived always in close touch with the
front line, but I had not been so near since the Belgian days when the advancing
Germans seemed all-conquering; now, we knew them to be as good as beaten,
and I was looking at them again! Had I known that within the space of one short
46
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
week they would be gone from that particular spot altogether, I should have
thought even more of that fleeting sight than I did.
We got safely to the other side of the small square and under the lee of the
opposite protecting arcade, and we rapidly turned a comer, and moved down
a side street. But evidently we had been sighted, for we heard the crack of
rifle fire, and immediately several shells came screaming again over our heads,
and this time Colonel de B— said we must leave at once. The twenty minutes
was not quite up, but he had fulfilled his promise, and I was not going to be so
miserly as to exact the full pound of flesh, so we followed obediently, got quickly
into the waiting car, shot forward to the accompaniment of another bursting
shell, somewhere to the rear of us, and in a few minutes were safely out of Pont-
4 -Mousson, and speeding south again along the highroad, back to Nancy.
Colonel de B—, who had been rather more than usually stiff and military
for the last quarter of an hour, now began to unbend a little, and, leaning back
against the cushion of the car, he smilingly turned to me.
lt Enfin!" he laughed; but when I protested that that one little word was
capable of many interpretations, and asked him to explain, he only laughed at
me again—and that was all I could ever get out of him!
A few days later came the St. Mihiel offensive and I spent a couple of days
in Toul doing canteen work. How well I remember the drive over there, late in
the evening (it must have been September 12th or 13th I suppose), with other
workers at Nancy who had been asked to lend a helping hand in that seething
cauldron. For some reason there was bad traffic congestion that night, and as
our camion was held up by the roadside for a time, some of us got out to see
what there was to be seen. The roar of distant artillery thundered over and
around us in the semi-darkness, the great guns flinging their lightning flashes
far out across the sky. Off somewhere to the north was the hot glare of burning
villages, and I remember how the strange, shifting light with the stealthily
moving shadows, gave a sense of unreality to what seemed like whole armies of
dim figures which came and went, weaving rhythmically in and out, as though
they were taking their part in a vast Danse Macabre. In Toul, for those few
noisy, hectic hours, there were plenty of odd jobs for us all, if it were nothing
more than washing plates or slicing bread, but, while I remember few details,
I brought away with me a bewildered feeling of jumble and tumult and chaos
which I have never really understood. It was not at all the same impression
as that which I got at Verdun, for instance, where there was, of course, terrific
congestion but never the least confusion—at least I never saw any. I think
something must have gone much awry, temporarily in any case, with the Trans¬
port Branch of the American Army. But whatever the cause or the explanation,
I shall always associate Toul with a frightful jumble of commissariat lorries,
ambulances filled with wounded, ammunition wagons, limbers and mules, in
a solid jam. We all know what a fine piece of work the American Army ac¬
complished in demolishing that seemingly indestructible St. Mihiel salient, a
relic of the early German successes, and what an important factor it was to
France to have the great railway system which had been tied up for so long,
WAR MEMORIES
47
freed at last; but I have often wished that I could have an explanation of the un¬
imaginable traffic confusion that night, especially in view of the fact that the
St. Mihiel offensive was not the result of an instant necessity, but was supposedly
a well thought-out military plan. I am the more inclined to speak of this be¬
cause so many books written by Americans (particularly by American women)
at that time, take every occasion to run down the French in Lorraine and to
extol the Americans,—to such an extent that it is quite exasperating. The
French never did anything; it was always the Americans who led the way,
showing them how things should be done! As a matter of fact, I was by no
means the only American in Toul who knew that something went dreadfully
wrong that night.
I went on working for another month at all kinds of things—dispensary units,
canteens, anythings that came along. But always there was that growing
feeling of change, of uncertainty, of a rapid breaking up, and I was glad that
my work remained fluid, so that I might be ready for the unexpected, should it
arrive. I had, of course, never forgotten my early hope that I might see King
Albert come riding back into his own again; that I might manage in some way
to get to Brussels at the time of his entry. I could never forget all I had seen
that little country suffer during the first terrible year, and I longed to take part
in its reinstatement; to see for myself the streets of Brussels freed from the
hated grey-green uniforms. But the time was not yet ripe.
So those last few weeks flew by, and I found myself less and less in Nancy,
and more and more in Lundville, till at last I moved over there altogether. That
is how it happened that I was a witness of what was to me one of the most un¬
forgettable episodes of the whole War—the unlooked-for, sudden appearance,
after long years of captivity, of a small group of British prisoners.
It must have been about the third week in October, and it was late one after¬
noon; the days were short, and a chill dusk was closing in, bringing a certain
creeping melancholy. A few of us were returning from our work, and as we
passed along a somewhat empty street, we came suddenly upon them—that
phantom-like, small group—half standing, half leaning, hardly able to do even
that; feebly chattering with a death-grip exhaustion; starved until they were
little more than shadows; emaciated beyond belief, some almost naked—a group
of six, all told. They did not know where they were; almost they did not care,
they were so spent; yet pride of race, or sheer grit, had sustained them all through {
that ghastly ordeal. They, with many others, had been unofficially kicked out
of their German Internment Camp, their captors no doubt realizing that, the
fight being lost in any case, some food might be saved by a premature discharge
of some of their prisoners. This “discharge” amounted, in fact, to an unwar¬
rantable and ignoble expulsion, peculiarly dishonouring to the captors, and as it
was the British who were always the most hated, it was they who were exposed
to the greatest hardships. I cannot now remember from which Internment
Camp these particular men had come, for later we had many more such shocking
sights; but after nearly four years of life in a German prison, where their shoes
had rotted off their feet, where their clothes had fallen in tatters from their sore-
48
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
infested bodies, weak from the starvation diet of German prison food (thin
soup, a brew of acorns, and a little sour, black bread), old beyond their years from
gnawing misery, they had, one night, been taken to the Camp exit, just as they
were, and, without the least provision, set adrift in the enemy country, to find
their way back to their lines as best they could; to walk unheard-of miles across
an unknown, unfriendly land, without shoes (old rags or paper sandals tied with
string to their bleeding feet), without food, almost without hope—save for that
unwavering pride of race. To beg their way of the Germans! To walk—they
could hardly crawl! But though half dazed with the suddenness of what had
come upon them, with the most general idea only of the road that they should
follow, they just “faced West”, as one of them said afterwards, adding, “and, of
course, that had two meanings for us; we knew it was a matter of life or death.”
I still shudder when I think of the long, unspeakable torture. Jeered at, spat
upon, vilified, they staggered on, the stronger supporting the weaker, until at
last they came tottering into Lun6ville—only six of them left out of the original
company. It would be impossible to exaggerate the fearful condition of those
boys as we saw them huddled there that evening, the wind blowing their rags
.about them—one had on a woman’s skirt which he had dragged around him to
cover his nakedness—their shaking hands, palsied with strain and effort, death
in their eyes. So we came upon them—these living skeletons, these spectre-like
creatures with the broken frames—but with the unbroken spirit!
One of our party took in the situation at a glance. Being a doctor, he knew
that unless rest and medical care were given at once, every one of those six men
would die—though it did not take a doctor’s eye to be assured of this. He
went quickly over to where they were, and spoke to them. He told them that
they were now within the Allied lines, and that they were safe, and were to come
with him—oh, only a few steps farther, and after that they could rest. Yet
•even when they heard this, their self-restraint, their grip upon themselves held
fast and it nearly broke your heart! The one who seemed to be in charge,
with an unconscious dignity which even then did not forsake him, tried to smile
his thanks, but I saw his bloodless, tight-drawn lips strain back over his teeth
like those of a dying man. And they were so grateful, so pitifully, so un¬
believably grateful you could not bear it! So those ragged, sore-infested,
almost dying men, stumbled and lurched after the doctor as they followed him
a little way down the street, and there they received the tenderest care that
Lun^ville and their French comrades-in-arms could give them. Two of them'
died, despite this care, however; but the others were pulled through.
There are many things for which I earnestly hope I shall never be so faithless
as to forgive the Germans—no, not as long as I live—and not the least of them
is for the sufferings of those English boys who came reeling into Lun^ville that
dark October evening. The memory of it cuts like a knife, and I hope it always
will; and I hope too that one day, little as they would wish to ask it for them¬
selves, I shall be able to take my share in redressing that monstrous outrage.
Volunteer.
(To be continued)
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
T HE Student seemed depressed, and the Philosopher noticed it. “You
look,” he said, “as if you had been visiting the business section of New
York. Don’t do such things. The last I heard from that quarter was
of a man who cheered himself up by reading the obituary notices in the daily
papers, to assure himself that some people still are lucky!”
“Nine-tenths of it is psychic, as was suggested at the Convention”, the
Historian commented; “a nightmare, mob nightmare. You remember what
Emerson called ‘Borrowing’:
“Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of grief you endured
From evils which never arrived!”
“We are slow to learn”, said the Engineer. “Could any truth be more evi¬
dent than the observation of Epictetus, centuries ago, that ‘men are disturbed,
not by things themselves, but by their opinions or thoughts concerning those
things’?”
“While you are quoting”, said another, “in spite of its being hackneyed,
don’t forget this:
“It is easy enough to be pleasant
When life flows along like a song,
But the man worth while is the one who will smile
When everything goes dead wrong.”
“We need hackneyed doctrine nowadays”, the Philosopher declared; “that
is, if by hackneyed you mean oft-repeated and old and simple and obvious.
Part of the trouble with the world is that it threw over-board the ‘old-fashioned’
and ‘shop-worn’ axioms about ‘Waste not, want not’, ‘Saving is a greater art than
gaining’, and so forth, in favour of ‘Spend, spend, spend for the good of Trade’
—as if Trade were a member of the Trinity—and ‘Buy to-day and pay here¬
after’. But of all the hackneyed axioms that New York needs to remember
at present, I should choose, ‘Courage leads to heaven, fear to death’.”
“You will agree with me, however,” said the Ancient, “that though courage
is essential, it is not enough. People need faith in something besides faith in
money, if they are to face its loss courageously. Low ideals have much to do
with existing conditions,—practically, and as direct cause; not merely theoreti¬
cally. No man can control a thing, whether that thing be animate or inani¬
mate, so long as he is under it; and as most people were under the obsession of
money in 1929—making and spending it, or longing to do both—inevitably
49
50
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
they are under it to-day. The world has, indeed, come to look upon money
as the key to happiness, with happiness itself as the normal, legitimate con¬
comitant of human life. I cannot see how such illusions could result in anything
but disaster; and the more wide-spread the illusions, the more universal the
disaster was bound to be,—disaster in the sense in which a glutton uses that
word when, expecting to enjoy another sumptuous repast, and then another,
his stomach suddenly rebels, and leaves him prostrate.”
“I find it intensely interesting as well as helpful”, the Historian now re¬
marked, “to compare the Buddhist with the Christian approach to life; and,
in both cases, I mean the approach of sincere believers. I have brought with
me some notes on the subject, and, if you like, I will give you the quotations
which make specific comparison possible.”
As we most gladly accepted this offer, the Historian continued:
“Though many Christians would deny this, Buddhism and Christianity, it
seems to me, begin with the same fundamental proposition, namely, as the
Buddha said: ‘Birth is attended with pain, decay is painful, disease is painful,
death is painful. Union with the unpleasant is painful, painful is separation
from the pleasant; and any craving that is unsatisfied, that too is painful. In
brief, the five aggregates which spring from attachment (the conditions of
individuality and their cause) are painful.’ In the Samyutta Nikaya he is
quoted as saying: ‘Which, 0 Bhikkhus [monks or disciples], think you is the
greater; the tears which you have poured out, wailing and lamenting on this
long pilgrimage . . . joined to the unloved, separated from the loved; or the
waters of the Four Great Seas?’
“ ‘Pessimism’, would be the comment of unenlightened Christians, most of
whom proceed as if the Christian Master, instead of saying, ‘If any man will
come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me’,
had said, ‘Life is a joy-ride; come along’. We know what St. James thought
about it: ‘For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a
little time, and then vanisheth away.’ It would be easy enough to multiply
texts; but if, instead, we try to look squarely at the facts, I do not see how
we can escape the conclusion that nearly all lives, in terms of pleasure and
pain, justify the Buddha’s teaching. It is Kali Yuga, the Iron or Black Age:
what else can we expect? How can a world, which is full of sin and selfishness,
fail to be full of misery? Men cling desperately to the belief that they ought
to be happy; and they are right: but they will not pay the price; they expect to
obtain happiness on their own terms, as the fruit, not of self-denial, but of self'
indulgence. Men will not learn except as the result of bitter, prolonged, and
constantly repeated suffering—life after life; so the entire human race, with
the exception of the few who have gained liberation, are bound to the ‘sorrow¬
ful weary Wheel’, as the Orphic ritual declared.
Granting the truth of that fundamental proposition, we come to the question:
what is the way of escape? What is the cure for this condition? It is at this
point that exoteric Buddhism and exoteric Christianity, seem to part company.
Exoteric Buddhism says in effect: to cure the condition, you must remove
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
5i
its cause, and, ‘This, 0 Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of the Cause of suffering:
Thirst ( Tanhd ), that leads to re-birth, accompanied by pleasure and lust,
finding its delight here and there, namely, thirst for pleasure, thirst for sensa¬
tion, thirst for prosperity’; and, ‘This, 0 Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of the
Path which leads to the cessation of suffering: that holy eightfold Path, that
is to say, Right Belief, Right Aspiration, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right
Means of Livelihood, Right Endeavour, Right Recollection, Right Medi¬
tation.’
“Practically, if a man in great distress had gone to the Buddha for comfort
or support, that Master would have explained to him the Law of Life, and
would have told him to forget his own sorrows in the sorrows of others—in the
even greater sorrows of others—thus developing universal love and compassion,
and lifting himself above self-love and self-pity. If the man had obeyed, he
would have been led in due course to an understanding of esoteric Buddhism,
which is based entirely upon self-immolation for the sake of others, for Love’s
sake, and which is identical with esoteric Christianity, whose supreme exponent,
for Love’s sake, and ‘for the joy that was set before him,’ ‘endured the Cross,
despising the shame’. Superficially, however, even here there is a difference,
because it is evident that the Master Christ endured the Cross for love of his
Father, at least as much as for love of his own and his Father’s children, while,
so far as the books of Buddhism take us, including so profound a treatise as
The Voice of the Silence , it might be inferred that compassion for suffering
humanity is the sole motive of those who, by leaving self behind, become part
of that ‘Guardian Wall’, ‘built by the hands of many Masters of Compassion,
raised by their tortures, by their blood cemented’, which ‘shields mankind,
since man is man, protecting it from further and far greater misery and sorrow’.
The reconciliation is found in the actual practice of those who have followed
the teaching of Buddhism to its source in the Great Lodge,—the members of
which are Theosophists.
“But let me return to my comparison of the first approach, or exoteric ex¬
pression, of these two great religions. It is far from my purpose to laud one at
the expense of the other. They were ‘revelations’ to totally different peoples,
whose need and temperament were as unlike as the climatic and other physical
conditions in which they lived. It would be as foolish to ask all the races o^|
mankind to eat and dress alike, as to adopt the same religious method. In
any case, Buddhism, in its first stages, demands a large measure of disillusion¬
ment, of interior withdrawal from life, and in one sense may be described as a
negative (feminine) rather than a positive (masculine) procedure. It is a
Way of Escape, intended to lead to a method of attack and to Victory, rather
than a method of attack, incidentally (not as objective) resulting in escape,
and, by ceaseless pushing of the attack, in Victory,—which I take to be the
Christian Master’s solution. Even so, the orthodox Christian’s resignation to,
or acceptance of, the Divine Will, as a rule is thoroughly negative, and does
not differ materially from the orthodox Buddhist’s attitude. It is only when
the Buddhist feels the power of Compassion stirring within him; only when
52
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the Christian feels the power of Love stirring within him, that either becomes
in any degree positively religious. The Buddhist, if he would follow in the
footsteps of his Master, must learn to let ‘his mind pervade one quarter of the
world with thoughts of Love, and so the second, and so the third, and so the
fourth. And thus the whole wide world, above, below, around, and every¬
where, does he continue to pervade with heart of Love, far-reaching, grown
great, and beyond measure. Just as a mighty trumpeter makes himself heard
—and that without difficulty—in all the four directions, even so, of all things
that have shape or life, there is not one that he passes by or leaves aside, but
regards them all with mind set free, and deep-felt love’. In that way is the
‘dire heresy of separateness’ overcome.
“I confess it is not a method I should find congenial, because, if I happened
to think of Trotsky or Stalin or Bernard Shaw or quite a number of other people
in the course of my ‘pervasion’, my desire would be, not to love them, but
quietly, painlessly, to remove them—to another world; and I am convinced
that my desire would be righteous, as they are in no sense my personal enemies,
but the enemies of the entire human race. That, however, has nothing to do
with the abstract merits of the two systems!
“In the case of the Christian, if he would follow in the footsteps of his Master,
he must learn, not merely to accept the Divine Will, but to love and adore it;
he must see in his Master’s will for him, the epitome of wisdom, of love, of beauty ;
he must not merely welcome it, but must go out to meet it. Even when he
knows that for him it will mean cruel suffering, he must set his face stedfastly
‘to go to Jerusalem’, and become at last able to say that with desire hath he
desired to eat the Passover as his Master ate it.”
“But suppose a man is faced with financial ruin, and that others are depend¬
ent upon him: what should be his inner attitude, what his objective?” It
was the Student who asked this question.
“In the first place”, the Historian answered, “he should realize that if others
are dependent upon him, he owes them a duty, and that he can perform this duty
only by means of money. Even if no one should be dependent upon him,
he owes it to his own manhood and to his own soul, not to become a burden
on his relatives or friends. In the second place, if a student of Theosophy,
he should realize that his money ought to serve as a physical weapon in the
hands of the Lodge. From every standpoint, therefore, it must be his duty
to fight to conserve what he has, and to acquire more, if he should need
more in order to fulfil his obligations, or to use his opportunities for service,
adequately.
“People sometimes make the mistake of supposing that because threatened
with defeat, they should at once accept defeat as ‘the Will of God’. This,
of course, is utterly wrong,—just as wrong as to use the word Karma as though
it were synonymous with Kismet. If in danger of defeat, it is clearly our Karma
to be in that position; but we can meet our Karma like cowards, or we can
meet it like men; we can see in it an opportunity, and in that sense a gift, or
we can see in it an excuse for retreat and collapse. Karmically, and from the
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
53
standpoint of the soul, it is more important that we should never surrender
than that we should survive, but it is more important still that we should attack
and never cease to attack, going down, if we must go down, striking a last
blow with all the life left in us. The ravens fed Elijah because he was a man,
not because he was hungry.”
‘‘Are you talking Buddhism or Christianity or Theosophy?” asked our
visitor.
‘‘I am talking all three, when all three are properly understood”, the His¬
torian answered. ‘‘There are plenty of Buddhists, sincere but dead-letter
interpreters of their sacred texts, who would find what I have said, utterly
foreign to their traditions—and inclinations; but, among others, there are a few
Rajputs, one in particular (and Buddha himself was of the Warrior caste),
who are not dead-letter interpreters, and are known as Masters or Adepts in
the innermost circles of Buddhism, whose doctrine is the same for instance, as
that of the author of Light on the Path; and you will remember his definition
of the only kind of man who can hope to attain the inner wisdom: ‘Only he who
is untamable, who cannot be dominated, who knows he has to play the lord
over men, over facts, over all things save his own divinity.’ Not much ‘submis¬
sion’ about that!
‘‘There are perhaps not many people who have the time, or sufficient edu¬
cation, to study history advantageously, that is, to draw from it personal and
practical lessons; but there can be no excuse for a failure to learn from events
recorded in the daily press during quite recent years. The /revolution in Russia
took place in 1917, and has been discussed ever since. The Czar and his family
were murdered by the present rulers of Russia in July, 1918. Everyone knows
that he was a deeply religious man, a sincere Christian. The fact remains that
it was his misunderstanding of Christianity (the fruit, as always, of his own
inherent weaknesses) which was responsible, not only for his own death, but
for the deaths of those he loved, and for the torture and murder of countless
thousands of men and women who stood for whatever civilization Russia had
possessed. Like Louis XVI of France (another good and intensely patriotic
man), the Czar had chance after chance to destroy those who were fomenting
revolution. Both the French King and the Russian Emperor, by the execution
of a few hundred demagogues, could have saved thousands of innocent lives,
including their own. Instead, the message of the Czar to the French Ambassador
—which happens to represent also the attitude of Louis XVI—shows clearly
how befogged he was: ‘Tell the Ambassador of France (M. Pal£ologue) that
this terrible war will need an expiatory victim, and that I shall be that victim.*
He was willing to sacrifice his life; he was not willing to say ‘No’ to his wife,
whom he loved and deeply pitied (a noble, devout, and self-sacrificing woman,
of rare refinement and great strength of character, most unfortunately blinded by
her maternal devotion and self-reproach,—her boy’s hemophilia being an
inheritance from her family); and although willing, up to a certain point, to
say ‘No’ to the revolutionaries, he was totally unwilling to kill them before
they killed him,—as it was his obvious duty to do. It is very much worse than
54
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
useless merely to say ‘No’ to a burglar; and the man who, knowing that
his bedroom-window is being ‘jimmied’, turns on the light, seizes his gun, and
asks ‘Who’s there?’ before firing ,—may leave a widow to pay for his funeral,
but is more likely to have caused her murder also, within a second or two of his
own.”
‘‘What did you mean by saying that the Czar’s misunderstanding of Chris¬
tianity was the fruit of his own inherent weaknesses?”
‘‘I meant that invariably we read ourselves into the beliefs we accept; that
a man unconsciously adapts his religion to fit his conduct,—and that this is as
true of those who call themselves Theosophists as of all others. Have you not
known members of the Society who have done things in the name of family or
social or community ‘duty’, which have left you almost dumb with amazement?
Do you know any follower of any religion or philosophy whose interpretation
of its moral and disciplinary code is not a reflection of his own will and
desire—easy for him, or exacting, as his own love of comfort, or of self-discipline,
may determine? And do you not realize that inevitably, in the course of time,
disobedience to the best that he sees must result in intellectual as well as moral
blindness? One thing is certain: if a student of Theosophy is not true to his
ideals now, he need not expect to know anything of Theosophy in his next
incarnation. . . . But that is travelling rather far afield from the unfortunate
Czar. Physically, he was fearless; he was generous, kind, honest, utterly un¬
pretentious, a man of culture and great personal charm, the best of fathers
and most loyal of husbands (one of the few men in Russia who was unswervingly
loyal to the Allies on principle ); yet, with all his virtues, he had an excess of
humility,—and we know that the excess of a virtue becomes a vice. From the
day of his father’s premature death, he felt crushed by a sense of his inability
to govern, of his inadequacy as a Czar. He had heroic endurance. From
first to last, in spite of all the insults, deprivations and outrages with which
the cowardly Bolshevists tormented him, and, worse, tormented his wife and
young daughters,—not a word of complaint escaped him. This means, as I
see it, that he had an excess of what is known as ‘Christian fortitude’, just as he
had an excess of ‘Christian forgiveness’. His virtues were negative, not positive.
Physically courageous, he was in some ways a moral coward. He lacked utterly
the spirit of attack, of aggression, of dominance; and this was curious, because
his father was a phenomenally strong man, both in body and soul, and his
mother has been described as ‘vivacious, very decided and positive ... intelligent,
well-read, with a surprisingly quick brain and a keen sense of humour’,
a woman with ‘fearless courage, strength of character, and downright frankness’.
It shows once more that children, instead of inheriting the qualities of their
parents, often reverse them, and become their opposites.
‘‘But again, this is a digression from our main subject, though it has all
served to bring out ideas as to the spirit in which the present ‘depression’ should
be met.”
‘‘There is one thing I should like to speak of before we go home”, the Re¬
corder now said. “Directly in line with what was said at the Convention about
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
55
*
the outrageous cost to the taxpayer of the veterans of the World War 1 , a Na¬
tional Economy League has since been formed by a group of men whose patri¬
otism and disinterestedness cannot be questioned,—the same group, for the most
part, that started the Plattsburg and other Training Camps in 1917. The
address of this League is 1 Pershing Square, New York. It is circulating a
Petition ‘to the President and the Congress for the Elimination of Expenditures
for Veterans of the Spanish-American and World Wars not in Fact Suffering
from Disabilities Incurred in Service.’ The Petition asks ‘for the reduction of
the Federal expenditures by not less than $450,000,000 annually which these
reforms would effect.’ This saving would more than balance the national
budget, yet, because of the approaching elections, no one in office, and none of
the leaders of the Congress, has had the courage or the honesty to advocate
its adoption. ‘Millions for the War Disabled and not one cent for Political
Pensions’—meaning, for the purchase of votes—is the slogan of the League.
Copies of its Petition for signature, may be obtained by writing to the address
I have given. Everyone must surely realize that America is being taxed to
death, and that the bureaucracy in Washington and throughout the country
has become a vampire which is sucking the life-blood of all classes of the people.
This is not a political question; it is a matter of principle. I understand that
one out of every ten of the population is a Federal or State employee, or pen¬
sioner.
“As you know, I feel very strongly that work for Theosophy comes first, and
that we should not fritter away our time and energies on lesser things,—the
reason for this being that Theosophy deals with the fundamental principles
which should govern in politics, in art, and in every other field of human prog¬
ress and endeavour. External events and movements are important only in
so far as they illustrate the right or wrong application of principles. None
the less, especially as it would take only a few minutes to send for, read, sign,
and perhaps obtain the signatures of a few friends to that Petition, I think it
may properly be included as a theosophical activity.”
T.
»The Editors add the following quotation from a special article in the New York Times of June 5th, 1932:
"At a time when there is clamor for immediate payment of the ‘soldiers’ bonus,' it is illuminating to compara^^
what the various governments have done for the relief of World War veterans and their dependents. From
standpoint of annual outlay for this purpose, the United States leads the world: its appropriations for veteral^^
exceed those of all the chief belligerents combined, despite the fact that the number of men it mobilized and its
total casualties were far below those of these other nations.
“The leading combatant nations, Great Britain, France, Germany and Italy, together with our neighbour Canada,
will spend this year for so-called 'veterans' relief’ a total of about $891,190,360, or some 10 per cent less than the
government at Washington. The ranking is as follows:
Men Dead and This Year’s
Mobilized Wounded Relief Bill
United States. 4.355,000 360,300 $1,072,064,527
Germany. 13,000,000 6,111,862 298,690,000
France. 8,410,000 5,623.000 286,722,000
Great Britain. 6,600,000 3,000,000 174,802,060
Italy. 5.615,000 1,597,000 69,853.300
Canada. 619.636 232,045 61,123,000
“The cost of relief in America, as compared with that of other countries, is attributable to two factors: political
pressure of the veterans themselves, and a refusal on the part of Congress to limit aid only to the wounded and
the dependents of those who died in action. Thus all who were mobilized are entitled to free hospital and dental
care and to a twenty-year bonus certificate on which they may receive cash at maturity, with loans in the mean¬
time."
CONVENTION 1922*
F RIENDS—there is something my heart for a long time past has been
saying to yours, and to-day I am moved to voice it.
You have all been told that for the first time in the world’s history, our
Movement has been carried over the cycle. You all know, therefore, that every
year which has passed since, let us say, 1901, has been different from any year
that has ever been before; that in each of those years we have advanced steadily,
steadily into the enemy’s country; that in a certain sense they were years we had
no business to have.
You have not supposed, of course, in considering this matter—and I am sure
you must often have considered it—that the Dark Powers have taken this
quietly, have submitted tamely. On the contrary, they have fought with all
their strength to resist it; they have devised in every way to circumvent it; and
as on this plane their power is greater—as we are obliged, as it were, to fight
with one hand behind our backs—the struggle has not been easy. But so far,
by the grace of Heaven, they have not succeeded; we have continued to advance.
0 yes, we have had helpers from the other side; if we had not, we could not
have done it,—humbly, gratefully, we acknowledge that. But they also are
handicapped here by the evil and darkness in our own hearts—traitors in the
camp—and what they have done they have done at frightful cost.
Thwarted on the inner plane, the force and fury of the Black Lodge boiled
over on the outer plane, and we had the Great War—a faint reflection of what
was taking place on the inner plane—and the Great War was not won, remember.
Germany was not beaten, though she could have been, save that the Allies lacked
that grace of Final Perseverance,—for all their courage, that crowning, final
courage—what Napoleon called “four o’clock in the morning courage.” They
had not the faith or the vision for that; they harboured too many delusions, and
so they failed when victory was almost in their grasp.
♦The Branch of The Theosophical Society in Caracas, Venezuela, always enterprising, reprinted this (from
the Theosophical Quarterly of July, 1922) in leaflet form for distribution on the day of the recent T. S. Con¬
vention. Copies of the leaflet were sent to some members in New York, at whose request we reprint it here, ten
years after its original publication.— Editors.
56
r*
a nrnTTTTrnrr'n
CONVENTION 1922 57
Let us learn the lesson, and pray for that grace of Final Perseverance as
we pray for nothing else. The spiritual warrior must fight when he is blind
and stricken and dead, when his feet are washed in the last drop of his heart’s
blood, when his life is utterly dissolved. For if he cannot fight in this condition
he can never win. Victory comes, and comes only , as the crown of complete
self-giving—of devotion to a cause so passionately loved as to make that giving
cheap. Pray, I say therefore, for the grace of Final Perseverance.
Much has been said recently of the need for ch£las, for the Movement to
develop ch£las,—we know that at this time chelas cannot come over to us.
Presently many of us who worked here before the cycle turned, will have passed
away. There are those who have been on the front line, without one moment’s
rest day or night, all these years. They cannot last for ever—and the fight
must go on. We must continue to advance; we cannot stop. The Dark Powers
would have been content to crush us, years back. Not now! In turn they
would rush forward like a mighty flood, using our acquired momentum. If
you need some picture of what it would be like, look at Russia,—and the agony
would be that Those who trusted us, because They trusted us, would have failed.
None of us could endure that!
Now do you see what I mean—what my heart has been saying to your hearts
all this while? Stop whining and snivelling in the stuffy comers of your life,
and come out boldly, gladly, into the hardships of this glorious warfare. Stop
thinking about yourselves, your pains, your trials, your feelings, least of all your
conveniences. Think of Them and of Their sacrifices—which alone are the
reasons that you are alive to-day, and not merely whirling dust specks in space—
and in Their names and for Their sakes, each one his own, fight to redeem a
dying world: and give, give, give everything!
Then do you know what will happen? For the first time, for the first time ,
you will know what peace is, the peace that passeth understanding, the peace
which the Master can only give to His dearly beloved disciple who is as Himself,
the peace They know in the midst of Their toil and never-ending conflict.
In reality, facing our own hearts, what does it matter what becomes of us.
so long as Their cause triumphs? We can see so clearly that that is the onj^
thing worth while. Reward! aye indeed, reward enough—if some day, cm
laid down, we shall catch the echo of that far distant cry:—
“Sounds as if some fair city were one voice
Around a King returning from his wars.”
That is the spirit of chelaship; that is what makes a man a chela.
*****
In God’s name come over and help us. The need is so great!
K.
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
Several days before the Convention, notices were mailed to inform members that "because
the starting-point of the Washington Parade, to be held on April 30th, has been changed to the
Washington Arch, and because the side streets near Fifth Avenue in that neighbourhood will
be packed with sections of the Parade, including bands, it will be impossible to hold the Con¬
vention of The Theosophical Society at 64 Washington Mews as originally planned and an- ^
nounced. In this emergency, a member of the New York Branch has placed at the disposal
of the officers of the Society an unoccupied house at Riverdale-on-Hudson, where the morning
and afternoon sessions of the Convention will be held. The New York Branch will provide
motor omnibuses to take members and delegates to and from Riverdale."
The Convention assembled accordingly.
Morning Session
The Convention was called to order on Saturday, April 30th, 1932, at 10.30 a. m. Mr. Har¬
grove was elected Temporary Chairman, and appointed a Committee on Credentials consisting
of Mr. H. B. Mitchell, Treasurer T. S., Miss I. E. Perkins, Secretary T. S., and Dr. Torrey.
While the Committee was at work, the Temporary Chairman welcomed the delegates and
members, and spoke of the great pleasure all felt "in being assembled once more in a Con¬
vention of The Theosophical Society." It was impossible, however, he said, to recognize
that pleasure without at the same time recalling "our great loss in the death of Mr. Charles
Johnston, who, for over a quarter of a century, was Chairman of our Executive Committee,
and who, at Convention after Convention until last year, welcomed us at these assemblies.
. . . You know how you feel; you can at least imagine how those feel who were so closely
associated with him in the Work for forty years or longer."
The Committee on Credentials then submitted its report. This having been accepted, and
the Committee discharged with thanks, the permanent organization of the Convention was
effected by the election of Mr. H. B. Mitchell, President of the New York Branch, as Per-
manent Chairman, Miss Perkins as Permanent Secretary, and Miss J. Chickering as Assistant
Secretary.
Address of the Permanent Chairman
The Chairman: It is my privilege as Permanent Chairman—and one that I greatly value—
to speak, at the opening of the Convention, of what I believe it would be well for us to have
uppermost in our minds during our proceedings. As the years pass and the cycles turn, and
we steadily penetrate deeper and deeper into uncharted territory, it becomes more and more
important for us to check our course by reference back to the early directions we received, and
to the original principles upon which, and the purposes for which, the Theosophical Society
was founded, so that we may know whether we are really moving toward our appointed goal
or have been in some way diverted from it.
Our responsibility is very grave. Many, if not all, of us here to-day have good reason to
58
T. S. ACTIVITIES
59
believe the statements, made by the outer founders of the Society, that they were acting,
in so doing, only as the agents of the Great Lodge of Masters; and that Theosophy, as we know
it, is a re-giving to the world of parts of that ancient wisdom of which the Masters are the cus¬
todians. We have been the recipients of that gift, in part at least; and to the extent that we
have received it and know of Theosophy, to that extent we have been joined with the Great
Lodge of Masters as custodians of their wisdom,—as trustees of the world for the knowledge
of the things that pertain to immortal life; for the preservation of that knowledge and for its
right use. In our hands, to preserve or to throw away, to make or to mar, is this new in¬
carnation of an age-old movement—the age-old effort of the great of soul to aid their younger
brethren. In our hands to-day is the harvest of the sacrifice and labour, the love and devotion
of our predecessors; and in seeking guidance for the right use of our heritage, we cannot do
better than look back to what they have left on record of their purposes, and of the purposes
of the Masters whom they served.
Perhaps I should pause here to say what we are always so careful to say when we have vis¬
itors—though surely it should need no saying among ourselves—that each member can speak
only for himself in matters of opinion and belief, and that though I speak from the Chairman’s
table, I have no more power than any other member to commit the Society to any one view of
its principles and purposes. No one need accept anything of what I have to say; yet I can
claim, as can all, your courteous hearing for considerations that seem to me of moment.
We all know the stated purposes of the Society—know them so well that perhaps their very
familiarity has become an obscurant of some of the implications they should have for us, and
which a new approach or a more detached view would reveal. Let us leave them aside for a
moment therefore, and think first of what has been called the Maha Chohan’s letter—a letter
written by the Head of the Lodge, fifty-one years ago, setting forth something of what it was
hoped that the Society might accomplish. Among its many notable phrases there is one that
we should never forget: “The Theosophical Society was chosen as the corner stone, the founda¬
tion of the future religions of humanity.”
The letter has been published several times. It was republished in the Theosophical
Quarterly for January, 1911, in Mr. Johnston’s “Notes and Comments”, where he was writing
on “The Future of The Theosophical Society”. The Society had then just completed its thirty-
fifth year, and Mr. Johnston used this statement of the Masters’ aims as a standard by which to
determine its actual achievements as of that time. Since then twenty-one years have passed
—three seven-year cycles—and, believing as we do in cyclic law, it is very fitting that we should
look back to-day to the same standards that he used then, and make use of the same quotations.
“The comer stone of the future religions of humanity”. We, who have worked long in the
Society, have seen its shaping. Those who have joined us in later years have seen at least a
part of its shaping. In the history of the Society have been taught, one by one, the great lessons
that must underlie every real religion; and as we review, in the retrospect of fifty-seven years,
the events and forces that have made us what we are, we can see how they have graven deep
into our consciousness the fundamental principles and basic truths that are requisite for the
religious life. The comer has been chiselled square and true.
Do not let us be content merely to generalize. Let us look closely enough to be sure that,
we recognize what we see. Beginning at the beginning, what is it that we see? How did
Movement originate, its purposes gain a hearing, and the Theosophical Society come to
be formed? The answer is clear: by H.P.B.’s phenomena. We often hear those phe¬
nomena questioned. Sometimes, even by some of the Society’s own members, it has been
regretted that they had been thought necessary; and it has seemed to some that they struck
a wrong note at the very inception of the Movement, derogatory to the dignity and seriousness
of the theosophic teaching. It is the same unconsciously materialistic attitude that minimizes
the place of miracle in Christianity, and tends to present Christ’s life and teaching in terms of
mere kindliness, humanitarianism, long-suffering gentleness and self-sacrifice. But the turn¬
ing of water into wine at the wedding feast, the giving sight to the blind, the raising of Lazarus
from the dead, the single-handed cleansing of the temple and domination of the rabble,—
these are not accidental intrusions into the drama of the soul; they are of its very essence.
6o
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Look to what religion we will, we shall find miracle at its root; not alone because it tends to
validate or support the claims of that one religion, but because it is essential to the demands
of religion itself—religion as such—teaching and illustrating a fundamental requisite of the
religious life: the ability to face and to achieve wh&t the world holds impossible. The truth
is that every real religion is founded on the principle that spiritual law transcends natural
law, that all things are possible to the Divine, and that the man who reaches toward and who
attains the spiritual life, gains powers that are not possessed by the natural life. The ability
to face courageously—undaunted and undismayed—the impossible, and so facing it to achieve
it, is the foundation of religion. The very first step upon the Path calls for a heroism that
will essay what it knows it cannot of itself do; that will put away the natural in reliance upon
the spiritual. Perhaps this is a statement that some will question; but as each man considers
it, he will find that it is true.
This was the first step. The next was its logical consequence: the enunciation of the ex¬
istence of Masters, the great principle of the perfectibility of man; that the world has not
reached the limit of human attainment nor the destined goal of the evolution of the soul, but
that it is literally possible so to live and grow as to fulfil the command of the Western Master:
“Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect”. It was the
doctrine that mankind had not only a “Father” in the heavens, but Elder Brothers there
and here, “the august hierarchy of just men made perfect, who watch over the destinies of
humanity”, the “Lords of Karma”, but accessible to mankind. It is not possible to over¬
emphasize the importance of that last phrase. “The kingdom of heaven is at hand ”, within
reach, here and now. Not only does the Lodge exist, but the way to it is open: open to us, to
all who whole-heartedly aspire. All who share the Masters’ aims, all who wish to work for their
cause, can work for it; and, in working, find guidance, companionship, help and teaching.
Ch61aship exists, and can be attained.
These first two steps in the formation of our Society—these first two principles of the reli¬
gious life, which our history inculcates—are, as we see, very positive things: the claiming of
powers; first, the power of courage and undaunted will to achieve the impossible; second,
the power of communion and service with the great of soul; the claiming of the right—no, not
the “right”, the aspirant has no “rights”, but—the will to labour in the Masters' cause, and
the faith that by fidelity in such labour will come, through their grace, knowledge of them
and of their teaching.
The third step in our history was, from one point of view, negative where the first two had
been positive; that is, it was outwardly against something as the others had been for something.
But from another point of view, and in reality, it was as far from negative as anything well
could be. It was a most aggressive attack upon all that enslaved the soul of man and held it
back from the pathway of the spirit. It was a taking up of arms, and an entering into battle
with the world, for the salvation of the world; and it was, in reality, but a projecting outward
of the inner warfare that the first two steps require the aspirant to wage against himself.
There is no claiming of powers but by conquest; and no conquest without conflict. That con¬
flict must be against the evil in oneself, before it can be successful against the evil in others.
Consider all against which H.P.B. hurled herself, single handed and undaunted, in the early
days of our Movement: the dogmatism of religion, the materialism of science, the prejudices
of ignorance and superstition, the provincialisms of society and caste. Church, state, science,
entrenched custom,—nothing of falsity, nothing of evil, nothing that trammelled the spirit
of man, was free from her attack.
Have we not proved our point? Could the religious life dispense with any of these great
lessons that have been taught us from the beginning of our history? Read them simply in
terms of courage: the courage to put aside natural law for spiritual law; the courage to essay
the “impossible”; the courage to stand alone, to discipline and conquer self in the service of
what is greaterjthan self; the courage to attack the wrong and the false wherever they are
found, and to combat the world for the salvation of the world. Must not these be proper part
of the “comer stone” of all future religions, even as they have been of every religion of the
past?
T. S. ACTIVITIES
61
Let us turn back now to our stated objects, examining them, in the light of the
Maha Chohan’s letter, for their significance in the foundation of religion. “To form the nu¬
cleus of a universal brotherhood of humanity.” What religion was ever concerned with the
individual alone? Was there ever one that did not call upon each man to labour for others,
to spend himself for the good of all mankind, for the triumph of right over wrong, of the
greater self over the lesser? We must recognize that the religious consciousness is a shared
and collective consciousness; its adventure a common adventure, one that concerns the whole
race and is undertaken for the whole race. It starts from that sense of solidarity as its basis;
it leads up to it as its goal; and it uses it as a means of passing from its base to its goal. So
it has been said that Buddha reached enlightenment through the efforts of a million men.
So all, who have attained, have attained for others and by the help of others. Brotherhood,
solidarity, unity, harmony, synthesis, sympathy and tolerance,—they were watchwords given us
by H.P.B. and Judge, and we have never ceased to stress them; though they are echoed back
to us from the world in strange and ghastly fashion, having been made the opposites of all
we mean by them. There is a vast difference between the theosophic ideal of brotherhood and
that of the world. To us the brotherhood of man stands only, and can only be found and
realized, in the fatherhood of God; to large sections of the world it is acclaimed as a substitute
for all thought of the Divine. To us it is a brotherhood of the spirit, reached and known as
the life of the spirit triumphs over the life of the separate and separating personality. To
the world it most commonly stands for a denial of the spirit and of every law of spiritual
being. To the world it means a dragging down to one dead level; to us it means a lifting up
to height after height in endless succession. “Liberty, equality , fraternity”,—by the world,
“brothers” are conceived as all of the same age, all standing on the same level; but with us,
our very concept of brotherhood was given us by the “Elder Brothers”, by the Masters them¬
selves, so that from the beginning it has meant to us a brotherhood in which there were
“younger” and “older”, in which we were included with those infinitely above us, who stooped
to lift us. It is but the psychic counterfeit of brotherhood that implies democracy; true
brotherhood involves aristocracy, and the hierarchical principle.
Does this seem paradoxical? Theosophy embraces paradoxes and rests upon them as the
piers of a bridge rest upon the opposite banks of a stream. Its platform is the most demo¬
cratic in the world. The spiritual world, the brotherhood of the spirit, whose nucleus the
Society seeks to form, is open to every one, “without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste or
colour”. Be he sweeper or king, the Path is open to him; and, for each, takes its start from
precisely where he is, leading upward, without limit, to the heights. But there are heights,
and their existence is the reason for the Path. It does not turn meaninglessly through a swamp,
losing itself in one dead level; it rises steadily from height to height; and on each we find those
waiting for us who reach down a hand to help us up, and who call themselves our “brothers”
Consider our subsidiary objects: “The study of ancient and modern religions, philosophies
and sciences, and the demonstration of the importance of such study; and the investigation
of the unexplained laws of nature and the psychical powers latent in man.” The religions
of the future must know and conserve tradition, must gather up and bring forward the attain¬
ment of the past; buttilso they must investigate for themselves, must stand firm and unshak¬
able on first-hand personal experience. Religion is first and foremost an experimental science,
and its laws must be put to the proof of experiment. It is very needful to learn from the
experience of others, to listen and store in memory what we hear; but we must be able to do
more than merely repeat what we have heard. Faith is requisite; but it must be the faith that
leads to and supports experiment. To believe in the finer forces of nature and in the un¬
developed, latent powers of man,—yes, surely yes,—but belief is not enough unless or until it
leads us to put our faith to the test by living it; by trusting ourselves to the laws of the spirit
rather than of the flesh, and by calling forth and exercising the powers of the spirit latent
within us. Let us never confuse belief with knowledge; and let us never be content until
we can speak of the things of life and the spirit with the first-hand knowledge of personal
experience.
Mr. Johnston, in his “Notes and Comments” of twenty-one years ago, makes it very clear
62 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
that The Theosophical Society will not have accomplished its task until it has accomplished this.
Then, as now, it is easy to point to changes in the tenor of the world’s thought, suggesting
a powth in tolerance and of scientific and religious breadth. Some of us think to-day that it
might be better for the world were such tolerance less in evidence; for tolerance based upon
ignorance and indifference is not gain but loss. Nevertheless there has been gain in many
directions, and it is easy to see it; but as Mr. Johnston pointed out, we have only to think
of the Maha Chohan’s letter in order to see how much more must still be done. Let me quote
one paragraph, as true to-day as when Mr. Johnston wrote it.
Broadly, what has to be done would seem to be this, and the task is as tremendous as it is
inspiring: We must come to understand, by direct and authentic experience, the verity of the
spiritual world, of spiritual law, of the spiritual man, so that we can give an account of them as
trustworthy as a skilled botanist could give of the plants in a suburban garden. We must be
able to tell these things because we have seen and known them. Only thus can men be once
more taught to believe and know the things of their immortality. Only thus can the great
burden of evil be lifted, by showing the divine reasonableness, potency and immediate presence
of the immortal good. We have to some extent popularized the lore of spiritual things. There
remain spiritual things themselves, to be learned, not from tradition and hearsay, but in their
living reality, so that they can be taught for the saving and illumining of mankind.”
There is a four-fold description of Theosophy which has become very familiar to many,
since it was given us years ago: “Intellectually an attitude, practically a method, ethically a
spirit, religiously a life”. Sometimes it has been thought that the “life” was not so much part
of the Society itself as of that to which the Society led, so that, if one were talking of the T. S.
as such, one might properly confine oneself to the first three—the attitude, method and spirit.
I do not think that view can be wisely held to-day; and I hope to return to this point and
show that only as the life is lived can the Society live,—live, that is, in any true sense. But
let us now begin at the beginning and see what the theosophic attitude and method have to
teach us of foundation principles.
We all know the attitude and method which the Society inculcates: the looking toward the
centre, which centre is found where views converge—not where they diverge. Many different
opinions can thus point to the truth, though they point in different or even opposite directions,
as the spokes of a wheel point to the nave; and by stressing agreements, rather than disagree¬
ments, synthesizing rather than dissecting, we can draw nearer to the truth. Let us again
borrow an illustration of Mr. Johnston’s. He asks us to think of a globe—such as is used
to teach a child geography. We take it in our hands and look at it. If we see the region round
the north pole, the south pole is hidden from us. If we turn it round to see the south pole,
the north pole vanishes. We can see England only by losing sight of Australia. Whatever
side we look at, the other side is hidden. No one view-point can show us, at one time, all the
solid truth. To see it all, we need to see from many different angles; and if this is to be done at
one time, it must be done by many eyes. Therefore we put an observer to the north and an¬
other to the south, and others around the equator, so that, between them all, the whole surface
of the globe is seen; and if these different observers will have faith and confidence in each other,
and put their observations together, each man may see how his own partial view fits into the
concept of the whole. That is what our Society does, and what distinguishes its methods
from those of most other societies. Our discussions are based upon the assumption that every
honest view, however limited, may still be, from its own angle, a true view, and so have some¬
thing of truth to give to us all.
Mr. Johnston makes his illustration very graphic; and the more we reflect upon it, the more
we may learn from it particularly of how we can (and must) aid one another in our initial
search for troth, and how necessary are mutual faith and confidence and loyalty in all that
concerns religion. As the brighter the light, the deeper is the shadow which it casts, so, by the
association of opposites, the very graphicness of this illustration leaves upon the mind the out-
hnes for another-of the same form, but of reversed content. We see what at first appears to
be the same round globe,.at which many men are gazing from different angles; but now each
man holds a lighted candle, whose light, falling on the surface of the globe, causes it to glitter
T. S. ACTIVITIES
63
and become glamorous and reflective, so that the lines and colours graven on it disappear.
The beholders no longer see the actual globe, not even a real map of the real earth, where
at least the true contours of England and Australia and the other countries of the world might
be traced. What each sees is a glamorous shining, and in the midst of it the reflection of his
own countenance, lit by the light which he himself carries, and in belittled and distorted
perspective,—as a spherical mirror does belittle and distort, and as does the mirror of the world.
Each man sees but an image of himself, of his false and lesser self, which he takes to be his
real self, and which, no less, he takes to be a real map of the real world. This is the Maya,
the glamour, of the personal self and of the world. Where it exists, it nullifies the theosophic
method; for no two beholders are looking at the same thing and none is looking at anything
more real than his own fancies of himself. Not unity, but dissension must result. Synthesis
here would be meaningless; it could yield but a composite picture of the delusions of as many
nightmares as there were beholders. We have passed from the world of truth to that of psychic
fancy. No truth can be found in that way; no wisdom or religion live where the light of self
is dominant.
This brings me to the second part of what I wish to say; and just as I, personally, owe so
much, in what I have said, to Mr. Johnston’s “Notes and Comments” and other articles, so,
In what I want to speak of now, I owe more than I can ever express to Mr. Griscom’s thought
and writings, and to the many, many talks we had together. We all remember Mr. Griscom s
articles in the Quarterly, —the “Elementary Articles”, the articles on the Theosophical Move¬
ment in other centuries, the biographical sketches of saints and seers, and analyses and com¬
parative studies of the rules of discipleship as found in the world's great religions. It is of
these last that I wish particularly to speak, reminding you of how Mr. Griscom pointed out that,
wherever found, these rules were startlingly the same. Whether we turn to the Bhagavad Gita
or the Imitation of Christ , to Shankaracharya’s Crest Jewel of Wisdom or to the I inaya Texts
of Buddhism, however different the form and imagery, the essence of the teaching is exactly
the same: He who would be a disciple, he who would enter the path of liberation, he who
would know and serve the Truth and the Masters, or any Cause whatsoever, must learn to
love and gain the power of love; and to gain the power of love he must free it from the chains
of self. The secret of Truth and Religion and Immortality, of Ch£laship and service, is as
simple as that: to strip away the glamour and lusts and chains of self, that we may gain the
power of love and of whole-hearted self-giving to the object of our love. That is the theme and
the object of all ascetical rules, of the rules of all the religious Orders of every race and time.
Mr. Griscom summed them all in three words (as in monasticism they were summed in the three
vows): renunciation, purification, obedience; or, in the terms of the three vows, poverty,
chastity, obedience.
Think of the rules of Light on the Path, with its opening sentence: “These rules are written
for all disciples: Attend you to them.” “Before the eyes can see they must be incapable of
tears. Before the ear can hear it must have lost its sensitiveness. .. . Kill out ambition.
Kill out desire of life. Kill out desire of comfort. Work as those work who are ambi¬
tious. . . .” One by one we are bidden to free ourselves from all that fosters the “great heresy
of separateness”, that wraps us in glamour and shuts us away from the real, that holds us im¬
potent, the slaves of desire and of fear. And it is the same, as Mr. Griscom said, whatever be
the devotional book or religious treatise that we select. It is the same, too, in our own
experience—the'book that is always open to us but which we so rarely really read. Page after
page points to the same causes of our mistakes, our failures, our griefs and hurts. Always
it comes back to something of self,—to some neglect of the discipline that might free us from
self, some breach of these rules, or some refusal to believe that they are necessary for us.
Why are feelings hurt by what may be said or done to us? Because some fancied right has
been violated or denied. The poor in spirit does not think he has “rights . Why do we
misjudge men and situations? Because of the mirage of our fears and desires: the projection
of what lies within the self upon what lies without the self. Why do our powers fail us, the
mind flag and the hand weaken? Because they have not been trained in obedience. He who
has accepted the “three vows” is freed from a great mass of suffering and error and impotence.
64 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
He has begun to leave behind him the world of illusions and stands at the threshold of the world
of the real.
Do we not now see that if the Society would live to accomplish its purposes, and to fulfil
the high destiny of which the Maha Chohan wrote, we cannot dispense it from the “religious
life”? It cannot be enough to adopt an intellectual attitude and practical method, or even the
ethical spirit which Theosophy inspires and which at least desires to love and to serve, to turn
from self and to give self. There must be more than the desire; there must be the power and
the accomplishment. There must be the life; and until that life is ours we dare not trust
ourselves, dare not take into our own hands what we love and would preserve. So long as we
are wrapped in self, while we are vain, ambitious, clinging to rights and swayed by hopes and
fears and personal desires, so long shall we be unconsciously and unintentionally traitors to
the causes we profess. Until we have achieved the rules of discipleship, ih their deep inner
reality, we cannot be loyal, cannot be trusted, and dare not trust ourselves. We may love the
Movement, but we shall betray it,—unless we move with it to the “life” which is its reason and
its goal. The religious “life” is necessary; and to it we are called more and more insistently
as the cycles turn. Only so can we achieve the powers that we need—the power of devotion,
the power of self-giving, the power of loyalty, the supreme power of love.
Let us think of these things which we have called to mind: our work, our purpose, the pur¬
pose for which we, as a Society, were called into existence by the great Lodge of Masters, the
purpose for which Madame Blavatsky and Mr. Judge, our predecessors in the past and our
companions in the present, have laboured and sacrificed and poured themselves out in self¬
giving of all they had and were, the purpose and work which have now come to us and for which
we stand to-day responsible: to become “the corner stone, the foundation of the future religions
of humanity”.
All things that are born come to birth in the same way. The theosophical doctrine of corre¬
spondences shows us that whether it be the birth of an infant or a universe, of a Manvantara,
or the creation of mankind, or the founding of the future religions of humanity, all must come
into being in the same essential way. That way has been outlined for us in Madame Bla-
vatsky’s writings. It may help us to consider it and to see what guidance it may have for us.
It is described as a dual process, a dual gift—the giving of the form, and the giving of the
life or spirit to animate it. We remember what is said in The Secret Doctrine of the Lunar
Pitris and the Solar Pitris. The Lunar Pitris gave their chhayas; the Solar Pitris breathed
life into them. Out of the past has been given us the chhaya , the mould or model, the image
or ideal, which must somehow be filled, made living and real with a life that will make it the basis
of the future religions of the race. It is not a new mould; it is as old as the ages, and was given
us by the Masters, who are the custodians of the wisdom and achievements of the ages. It
was filled and made living for us also by gift from the Masters, but by a gift called down, like
fire from heaven, by the love and devotion within the Society,—the devotion of those who,
seeking ch£laship, attaining ch&aship, took that mould for their rule of life and filled it with
their own life, and so, by induction, with life from above. It was not always done perfectly,
not without spot or blemish; they had not attained the end of the Path; but they had attained
its beginning, in their love and in their will; and it is in love and will that the truth of things lies.
There is the reality—the real life and being of our Society. They filled the mould, the
chhaya, made it solid, gave it substance from their own substance, life from their own life,
spirit from their own spirit; and so enabled the great Lodge to give it of their spirit and their
life. And because of what was thus done, through the power of evocation, of selflessness
and devotion, the Theosophical Movement was carried over the turn of the cycle and is here
to-day, fifty-seven years since its birth in this incarnation, thirty-two years further than it was
ever carried before. So it has come into our hands; and we too, if we are to keep it alive, must
gain the power of evoking and re-evoking that on which it lives.
Our trust imposes a two-fold demand. On the one hand we must preserve the chhaya,
on the other we must ceaselessly vivify it anew. We must preserve the teaching whole, and
pure, and undistorted. We can do this only as we ourselves master it. We must make sure
we understand, make sure we let nothing slip away neglected and forgotten. But study alone
T. S. ACTIVITIES
65
will not preserve even the chhaya. It must be lived as well as studied, must be taken into
our life and made part of our being. If there be any truth which you know, but nevertheless
ignore, any injunction which you have received but do not strive to obey, having rejected it
from your will you will inevitably strive to reject it from your mind. Unconsciously, if not
consciously, you will try to forget it; and you will succeed. It will become lost, because not
used. In this way the chhaya, which you received whole and complete, will become fragmen¬
tary and incomplete, unsymmetric and so distorted,—a monstrosity, lacking essential limbs
or features, instead of the perfect man to which future religions should lead the race.
Therefore, although we must study and take every means open to us to gain a true under¬
standing of Theosophy, in order that we may preserve the knowledge of it in the world and
be able to pass it on to our successors, we must realize that we cannot succeed, even in this
half of our task, unless we strive with our whole hearts to fulfil also the other half,—to make
our knowledge living knowledge, by filling it with our own life and love and will. If we do this,
if we give ourselves whole-heartedly and with all that we are, disciplining and exercising our¬
selves so that we may be able to give more, freeing our wills and the powers of our nature
from their slavery to self, and thus gaining the powder to love, and by love to evoke the divine
fire from above,—if we kindle our wills by this fire, and hold them fiery, firm and unflagging,
refusing to be daunted by what seems the impossible, never wavering in faith, indomitable
in effort and perseverance, then it matters not what else may come to the Society or to us, we
shall achieve. We shall be true to our trust; and the Movement—now in our hands—will
live, to fulfil its high destiny. It is to this that we are called to-day.
The Chairman then called for the report of the Executive Committee.
Report of the Executive Committee
Mr. Hargrove: Mr. Chairman and Fellow Members, I am beginning to think that the
Washington parade was a blessing in disguise—as most obstacles and most difficulties are.
It is indeed a blessing to be in a place w r here one can make oneself heard, and w r here one almost
wishes not to make oneself heard so that one might enjoy something of the stillness and the
silence of nature. As we are talking among ourselves, I feel free to say I suspect that some of
you came here this morning quite prepared to see Saint-Germain or his equivalent walk into
our midst and sit dowm. And why not? Why not? All of you are familiar with the story of
H.P.B. who erupted, unexpectedly, at a meeting in London, arriving from Paris, and, as she
put it, following her occult nose to the law chambers of somebody whose name I have for¬
gotten. Dr. Keightley saw her on that occasion for the first time. Things that happened
then, may happen again. But one step at a time. It may be that the first step has been taken.
In any case, even if the outer event does not seem to happen, let us be perfectly sure of the
inner reality.
None of this is any part of the report of the Executive Committee, but the truth is that
the Executive Committee has very little to report. I shall not refer again at this stage to our
loss of Mr. Johnston. To fill the vacancies caused by his death, it is my duty to announce
that your Committee elected Mr. Saxe as a member, elected me to serve as its Chairman, and
Professor Mitchell as Vice-Chairman.
So far as other things are concerned, we have had no troubles, no upheavals, no disturbances
—partly because w’e have not looked for them. A great many people go through life seeming
to be looking for troubles. In any case, strict obedience to the warning in the Gita that the
duty of another is full of danger, has saved your Committee from what might have developed
into quite a lot of conversation, if not trouble—and really, conversation sometimes is equiv¬
alent to trouble.
There was a very active correspondence among other societies calling themselves theo.
sophical, in which we were invited to participate. Point Loma, instructed by a Mahatma to
do so, invited us and invited Adyar, and invited everybody else, to assemble on White Lotus
Day at Point Loma. And Adyar fin other words, Mrs. Besant), by order of the Maha Chohan
—because a Mahatma would not do, as Point Loma had used that already—Mrs. Besant
66
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
accepted the invitation. This worried Point Loma, made it nervous—it may have thought
Mrs. Besant would bring the Maha Chohan along! At any rate, Mr. Leadbeater was to be
brought along, so Mr. G. de Purucker, who calls himself “Theosophical Leader and Teacher ,
had himself interviewed, and explained that he did not want Leadbeater. That made trouble,
so the Maha Chohan changed his mind, and the acceptance was withdrawn. We were invited,
but we just sat still—quite still—and watched the other people entertain themselves. So
there was no trouble so far as we were concerned.
Mr. Box, as President of the Los Angeles Branch, received the following invitation from
a joint committee for White Lotus Day, addressed to the “New York Lodge” Theosophical
Society, American Bank Building, Los Angeles. It reads:
“Dear Fellow Theosophists: In commemoration of the death of our revered founder, Helena
Petrovna Blavatsky, the New Century Lodge of Point Loma and the Los Angeles Lodge of
Adyar are planning to hold a White Lotus Day Memorial Meeting, Sunday, May 8, 1932, at
8 p. m., at 504 West Fourth Street, Los Angeles, California. As H.P.B. brought to us all the
divine gift of Theosophy, we thought it appropriate that all Theosophists should unite in
giving homage to her, our Teacher. We sincerely trust that you will join us. In case that
you are holding a similar meeting in your own headquarters, we would appreciate it if you
could send a representative of your Lodge to be present with us, and, if possible, give one of
the customary readings.—Fraternally yours, Joint Committee for White Lotus Day Celebra¬
tion, By Theron R. Winston, Chairman.”
Mr. Box came to the conclusion that he ought to reply. So he called a meeting of his mem¬
bers, who, I am glad to say, endorsed his proposed letter. He wrote:
“Dear Mr. Winston: In reply to your letter of April 14th, we the members of the Pacific
Branch of The Theosophical Society beg to remind your Committee that the Adyar organiza¬
tion, of which some of you must necessarily be a part, still stands back of Mrs. Besant’s foul
betrayal of William Q. Judge, which was practically a betrayal of H.P.B. too, since they were,
and still are, inseparable. Therefore, the effect of the attendance of any one of us at your
memorial meeting would be but an endorsing and re-enforcing of that double betrayal, as the
Point Loma organization is now doing; this, whatever we, or you, or others might then say
in praise of H.P.B., and, for our part, we suggest that one of you read this letter at that meet¬
ing.—Yours truly, The members of the Pacific Branch of The Theosophical Society, per W. H.
Box, President.”
[Applause.] I am glad you like it: so do I.
Of course, all of our members, during the past year, have suffered more or less by reason of
the present financial depression. That is inevitable. It is hardly to be expected that mem¬
bers of The Theosophical Society, by some miracle, should be made exceptions to the general
rule. There is no reason why they should be. Everybody has suffered. Everyone’s income
has been greatly reduced. But there have been no complaints. The suffering, whatever it
may have been, has been accepted with splendid courage so far as I am aware, and everyone
is doing his very best to help others—sometimes by valiant endurance, sometimes by direct
contributions; occasionally by employing labour which otherwise would not have been em¬
ployed, often at considerable sacrifice.
I want to speak, if I may, of certain fundamental principles of Theosophy which cannot be
emphasized too often. This is in line with what Professor Mitchell has just said. I think
it is part of the function of your Executive Committee not merely to supervise the general
management of the Society between Conventions, but to do what we can to keep alive a clear
understanding of the purposes of the Society and of the principles upon which it is based. I
am going to read the following, because I want to make it part of the record, and there is nc
need to elaborate it. It is a brief, clear-cut statement of a vital theosophical principle. “The
trouble with the modem world, what lies at the root of all its confusion and contradictions, is,
briefly put, this: A failure to consider life in terms of spiritual value, and, growing out of this,
the consideration of life in terms of rights ,—a right to life, a right to freedom, a right to hap¬
piness, and so forth. No view of life, no civilization, no government based on a theory of
rights can ever succeed or endure; they are doomed,—carrying their own seeds of destruc-
T. S. ACTIVITIES
67
tion. Instead, they must be based on a theory of duties , each class and each condition having
its own, but all springing from the same principles,—of reverence, obedience, self-sacrifice,
and devotion to the tasks of the individual environment and station.”
Great emphasis was laid upon the same idea at the last Convention, and I think at the
Convention before last. But repetition is necessary. We ought to repeat the same thought,
in some form or other, Convention after Convention, so that no one will have the slightest
chance to forget it. Then every one of us, between Conventions, ought to do what he can
to bring that great truth to the attention of our acquaintances. There are not many direc¬
tions in which we can afford to be dogmatic—very few, except when it comes to principles—
but there is a principle for which we must fight to the last ditch.
There is another point, and that is the need of all students of Theosophy to find the hair¬
line between faith and superstition. We must not forget that we are human; that, far too
often, we are personalities, with all the limitations and tendencies inherent in personality,
and that we are liable to err. Faith and superstition: we must have faith, but we must not
be superstitious, and there is always a tendency to be either superstitious or skeptical,—
the opposite poles of the same thing on the same plane. The rank materialist, as was said
not long ago at a New York Branch meeting, is identical, in essence, with the man who is
credulous.
The method of Theosophy, in one respect, is exactly the same as the method of science.
A student of chemistry should choose a professor in whom he has confidence, and should
listen to the teaching of that professor, and should obey his orders, and should carry out the
experiments as indicated or prescribed by his professor. Now if the student of chemistry, as
occasionally happens, confuses things that he has heard, with things that he has done and has
proved—he will be making a very serious mistake. Suppose, for instance, that because his
professor has told him something, he asserts, for that and for no other reason, that he knows
so and so is the truth: actually, he does not know anything of the kind, unless he has put
it to the test, unless he has experimented. Once he has experimented and has gained first¬
hand knowledge, he may claim to know ,—as, for instance, that three chemical elements in
combination will produce a substance of such and such a kind.
The same principle applies in the study of Theosophy. Those whose habit it is to think
themselves wiser than their instructors, will never learn. On the other hand, those who think
that because they have read something in The Secret Doctrine , they know , should try to realize
that they do not know anything at all, except that H.P.B. said it, and that they will know
something only if they will do as H.P.B. prescribed, and make the experiment, and so find out
from first-hand experience that she was telling us the truth. Faith is absolutely necessary,,
but it must be the right kind of faith and not the wrong kind; it must not be the kind that
is comparable to swallowing a mental pill. We must think and meditate; we must dig into-
our own experience for analogies; if we cannot find spiritual analogies in our experience, we
must find them in lower nature, on the principle of Demon est Deus inversus: for things mus
be acted upon , as well as believed. That is of supreme importance. It is the man who mis¬
takes book-learning for knowledge, who is dogmatic; and dogmatism is in bad taste and is
detestable.
Mr. Judge was constantly telling us to “use discrimination always”, not to accept statements
merely because they are made. For instance, somebody says: “In view of the fact that H.P.B.
states the Kumaras are identical with the Destroyers, would it not follow that the reason we
grow senile so rapidly and go to pieces physically is because we have too much of the Kumaras
in us—what are we going to do about, that?” There are students who would at once accept
the premise that H.P.B. said the Kumaras are the same as the Destroyers,—though, so far
as I am aware, she said nothing of the kind. Moral: be sure of your facts; challenge state¬
ments, and when they are accompanied with “H.P.B. said”, ask for chapter and verse,—and
then be sure she did not say next to the opposite on the following page, which frequently
happens,—her blessed effort to keep us straight.
We must not allow The Secret Doctrine or Isis or the Mahatma Letters to become a sort of
dead-letter Bible. When it comes to the Mahatma Letters , I wish to go further, because,
68
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
in simple fact, that book is thoroughly misleading. Those Letters should never have been
published. It was a most dishonourable proceeding, and the book inevitably has the Karma
of that betrayal. Those letters were written to certain individuals, at a certain time, for
certain specific purposes. It is stated in them that they must never be published, and then
someone, having obtained them after the death of Sinnett, took it upon himself to think, not
only that he knew better than the writers (whoever they were), but that he had the right to
violate their expressed wishes. The book contains letters supposed to have been written by
the Master M. and the Master K. H., which are as foreign to the purpose and spirit of those
Masters as anything conceivably could be. There is no need to go into details at a Convention.
Perhaps some day it may be written about. But there is no question whatsoever about the
facts. I can give you one instance. There is a letter signed K. H. in which Sinnett is asked
to edit a newspaper to be published in India, and to pretend to a certain attitude which he
did not actually have—quite the opposite; to pretend that he was sympathetic to a certain
party in India, in order to raise money for the newspaper’s publication. Of course, any one
who could suppose that a Master could make such a contemptible and dishonourable sug¬
gestion, would prove that his understanding of the Masters was a minus quantity. Fortu¬
nately, it so happens that H.P.B. wrote at the same time to Sinnett (published in her Letters ),
saying that if Sinnett were to listen to any such proposition, it would be, from her point of
view, utterly wrong and outrageous.
Let us, then, avoid blind acceptance of statements made in books. Do not let us deceive
ourselves and imagine that we know something because we have read something. We must
work these things out in terms of first-hand experience. For too much of the time we are
personalities, and personalities have a tendency to materialize everything. We must beware
of that in ourselves. The universe is not a mechanism; it is a poem. I do not mean a jazz
poem, not vers libre; but a poem, based necessarily upon the laws of rhythm, of sound, of
music. The Secret Doctrine will never be understood, except as a great poem. It contains
many references to science and to all sorts of things; but these are only incidental. It is a
poem, because it describes the universe truly, and the universe is a poem. We have had enough
of the mechanical interpretation of history, of life, and, incidentally, of Karma. Most people,
when told that “rigid justice rules the world”, immediately see scales and weights: here is a
sin, and there a penalty, and one equals the other. That is not Theosophy! Karma is perfect
justice, but poetic justice—thpnk heaven! where should we be, otherwise? You remember
what H.P.B. says in the Notes to the Voice of the Silence about the wall formed by living
Masters, who keep away from us and from the world the evil Karma which humanity has built
up—and we among humanity. What does that mean if not a temporary “vicarious atone¬
ment”? And how can you reconcile the idea of vicarious atonement with a mechanical inter¬
pretation of Karma? How reconcile the mechanical interpretation of Karma with the facts of
life as you know them? For instance, the self-sacrifice of a mother, saving her child from all
kinds of evils by the power of her unselfish love. She has the right to give out of her own
Karma, to contribute,—to save, to help, to spare, and she does it just as Masters do it. Do
you suppose we are all judged on our “merits”? No, fortunately we are not!
It has often seemed to me that, so far as women go, the more worthless the child, the more
the mother cares for the child. Often the same is true of husbands and brothers—the more
worthless, the more loved. Perhaps we men, instead of feeling superior, should be thankful.
And perhaps the Masters partake of feminine nature to that extent, combining in themselves
all perfections; and perhaps that is why some of us are here this morning. Pity has a great
deal to do with love in some cases—for there are all kinds of love, just as there are all kinds
of people, all kinds of universes, and all kinds of universes within this universe. It is part
of the splendour and glory of life that it is so. To all appearance, we are personalities and
no more,—and often, I fear, very unpleasant. I should say that almost any personality must
be that, just because it is personality. But these personalities are veils, or hiding-places.
You may remember one of the Threnodies of Pindar, in which he quotes from the Orphic
Mysteries, and where he sings: “I am a child of Earth and of Starry Heaven, but my race
is of Heaven, and it is from the pure that I come”. That is true of us: in spite of faults and
T. S. ACTIVITIES
69
failings, and in spite of personality, that is what we are. It is from the starry heavens that
we came forth, and it is to the starry heavens that we are destined to return. So we must
learn to look behind the appearances of things, to look into the heart of things, into the soul
of things, to listen to that divine poem which every soul among us sings.
You know what Emerson said: every man must become a new-born bard of the Holy
Ghost. Yet it is not a question of becoming; we are that thing, and we must enter into that
world of dream—the dream which is the only reality—and find ourselves there, living instead
of asleep.
Just one word more—practical rather than theoretical. We have been told these things
from the very beginning, and when the next Lodge Messenger comes (something that we
think about a great deal), I really cannot believe that he will give us any more instruction .
We have had so much instruction,—and, alas! have done so little about it. \ ou will remem¬
ber that in Isis and again in The Secret Doctrine , H.P.B. speaks of Vishnu “thinking of him¬
self as the father of the world”. She adds, This thinking of oneself as this, that or the other
is the chief factor in the production of every kind of psychic or even physical phenomena. In
what way do we think of ourselves? Are we or are we not perpetually identifying ourselves,
perhaps with the body, its pains, its deficiencies; or with the mind or with our emotions, in¬
stead of identifying ourselves with that child of the starry heavens? What we need is to think
of ourselves as being what we are. More than that, we need to see ourselves as doing that
which we know we ought to do. Too much emphasis is laid sometimes on the will. Far more
use needs to be made of the imagination. Some French writer on psychology pointed out
that if you want to get up in the morning promptly, see yourself the night before as springing
out of bed,—rather than, by mere effort of will, trying to decide that you will do so.
That is the practical suggestion that I have to make: use imagination more. See yourself
as doing the thing that you want to do, that your own higher nature tells you that you ought
to do—and it will become easy, instead of difficult, to do it. Remember H.P.B. s original
advice, repeated constantly ever since: that if you want to produce magical phenomena
within yourself, think of yourself as being this, that or the other, see yourself as doing, think¬
ing, feeling, this, that or the other. It is a method based upon faith, upon conviction; but
if ever we are to escape from the bonds of the personality and its limitations, from wrong self-
identification and from all the folly that goes with it, there is only one way in which that
can be accomplished,—the way of right self-identification, of deep, immovable faith in that
which we really are. By making that faith vivid and constant, we can become consciously
alive in the world of reality, in the world of Masters and the Lodge.
The report of the Executive Committee having been accepted with thanks, the Chairman
called on Miss Perkins to report as Secretary T. S.
Report of the Secretary T. S. for the Year Ending April 30TH, 1932
Miss Perkins: Mr. Chairman and Fellow Members: I have the honour to submit the follow¬
ing report:
Branch Activities
In the survey of Branch work, the reports of which have been full of interest, it seems fitting
to speak chiefly of Branches not represented here by delegates, since from the delegates we
shall hope for personal reports, later. Let us start with England, where the difficulties of
present conditions are greatly intensified by the disrepute attaching to Theosophy there be¬
cause the name is associated with the Adyar Society and with other pseudo-theosophical
organizations. The Newcastle Branch, which has carried on its usual lines of work, with
sustained interest, notes, regretfully, that this is the third successive year when the Society
records the death of one of its older members; this year, Mr. Johnston; last year, Dr. Keightley,
the preceding, Col. Knoff: all of them remembered with deep gratitude. On Convention day,
the Branch meets “to get more in touch with things”. Personal distribution is made of the
sum which would be sent to Headquarters for dues, had not the Executive Committee directed
that the European Branches should, instead, devote the amount to Allied relief work; one
70
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
portion went to the family of a stranger who after four years’ war-service subscribed, from
an Army hospital, for the Quarterly which he had found in some library—his wife wrote,
“You are the only ones from whom I have ever had anything”. The Norfolk, being a Branch
that meets only through correspondence, takes a stated portion of some book for a month’s
study; each member writes comments and asks questions that are answered by all the others
—an interchange which, they say, “has created greater unity and comradeship, one advantage
of the correspondence plan being that personalities do not enter into it”. They devote the
month of April to preparation for Convention, and August to study of the Convention Report.
The New York Reports are circulated and greatly appreciated. Their book of the year, Letters
that have Helped Me, Vol. II, has been of special interest in connection with the letters from
Mr. Judge appearing in the Quarterly; they feel that more life has been evident this year,
greater interest, and more thoughtful study. The Branch in South Shields reports the presence
of many inquirers at their public meetings; in their meetings for members they are “seeking
to help each other to live the theosophic life and to create a centre of right thought”; on Con¬
vention Sunday they are to hold a special meeting to which they have invited the members
of our near-by Branches. In Whitley Bay, the Branch has completed the Key to Theosophy,
and begun The Secret Doctrine at the request of their newer members; they are working earn¬
estly, striving to learn, and to help one another to live up to their ideals. Beside the infor¬
mation contained in the Reports of the New York Branch meetings, members welcome in them
an opportunity to unite with their fellows in oneness of purpose; and have resolved that on
Convention day all members shall be there, in thought. Gateshead Branch has one of the
Whitley Bay members for its President; they report that they are getting well grounded in
Theosophy.
On the Continent, members consider it part of their duty to learn the language in which
the Masters chose to transmit the teaching, through H.P.B. and subsequently. Regarding the
Branch in Arvika, the newly-elected President writes: “Most of us wish above all to live
the theosophic life, to increase our devotion to the Cause; the encouraging factors we see,
are the love we already have for it and for each other”. Mention is made of the widow of the
founder of the Branch who, in spite of her eighty years, writes to them every week and, from
her distant home, follows their studies. Mr. Johnston’s visit of many years ago is still a
vivid memory. “We have”, the writer says, “his articles and scriptures, things which never
die. Mrs. Amy Zetterquist has left us too, but we may be thankful for all we get from such
persons—and that they have lived." In Oslo, half the meetings are public and half for members;
they have completed their study of Mr. Griscom’s “Elementary Articles”, and have taken up
the Convention Report and the fortnightly ones from New York. They begin and end meet¬
ings with a period of silence; the reading of a selection from “Fragments” always precedes
their discussion, which is devoted to some phase of the art of “living the life”. The Aussig
Branch has studied the Reports of Convention and of New York meetings, the Quarterly
articles on H.P.B., and Mr. Griscom’s “Letters to Students”; those letters have given them
new incitement and courage in their united endeavour to help all Germans by striking hard
at what is German in themselves, conquering their wrong tendencies, striving to “grow holy”.
Regarding the purposes of Germany, they say: “It is very madness for the Allied nations to
discuss equalization of armament with Germany and countries that are her partisans, without
considering moral defects and their previous experiences. The best way for us to help the
Lodge under such circumstances seems to be to discern the real character of the German
nature in all domains of life,—recalling that 'to see is to enable others to see; to repent is to
bring others to repentance . A German Catholic magazine, Die Allgemeine Rundschau, has
published four special issues about the Belgian cruelties; its editor made a pilgrimage to the
well-known Belgian villages where the worst crimes were perpetrated, and published the
evidence he collected. There was also a remarkable article on Goethe, giving his significant
opinions about his own nation, some of which are very bitter for German ears.” The Secre¬
tary of one of the Berlin study classes, which has maintained its meetings throughout the
year, writes. As far as our country is concerned, there has been no improvement; the veil
of darkness is growing more and more dense,—no repentance.” From another Berlin study
T. S. ACTIVITIES
71
class comes expression of gratitude for having been taught to see the moral guilt of their
nation; they declare: “We cannot say how thankful we are to the editors of the Quarterly
and all workers for it; especially in the ‘Screen of Time’, we have seen what has occurred in our
country as we could never have seen it except for those clear statements of the issue.”
Turning to American Branches: In Cincinnati, they meet weekly, studying on alternate
evenings The Secret Doctrine and Patatijali's Yoga Sutras; both have proved of vital interest.
Satisfactory attendance has been maintained, the Branch library, over which Miss Hohnstedt
presides, is in active use, and in spite of hardships their work is going forward, steadfastly.
The Middletown Branch, a small band of devoted members, has had a number of inquirers
to whom books and other help have been given; their immediate effort is to make as much
united progress as may be possible. Mr. Box reports that the Branch in Los Angeles has con¬
tinued the study of Mr. Johnston’s edition of the Yoga Sutras. “In Books III and IV”, he
writes, “we find much that we do not understand about the highest levels of consciousness;
yet this shows clearly that only so far as our own increasing effort takes us toward the higher
life of which they treat, can we draw nearer to the Masters of whom they give a glimpse:
this we regard as the season’s lesson.” The Yoga Sutras has also been studied by the Branch
in Denver, desiring “to cement Mr. Johnston’s close relation to the Branch, and to express its
appreciation and deep regard”. Their discussions have included Professor Mitchell’s Medi¬
tation; material from the Quarterly; and the New York Reports, of which they say: “Beside
the interest of their subject matter, acquaintance with the names of those speaking is beginning
to create [among newer members] a sense of solidarity with the Society as a whole; they have
become more responsible in relation to our own meetings: this the older members regard as the
greatest accomplishment of the year.” The Toronto Branch report comes from Mr. Harris, a
member of our Executive Committee, who records that their fortnightly meetings were carried
on through the summer, at the request of members; chief attention being given to the devo¬
tional aspects of Theosophy, in which the New York Reports have been of great help. He
writes: “The most encouraging feature has been the real effort to study Theosophy as a guide
in life which supplies the incentive to right living, which many have failed to find elsewhere.
Most members take active part in the meetings; many books are being lent.”
The Branch in Caracas, Venezuela, is deserving of the highest credit for their self-sacrificing
publication of El Teosofo, which invariably contains matter of value and which is a real con¬
tribution to Theosophy itself, as well as to the Spanish-speaking world.
Headquarters’ Activities
TheosopJiical Quarterly
With the July number, our magazine will enter its XXXth volume. From a modest begin¬
ning in 1903, Mr. Clement Griscom had built a periodical of such worth and standing that on
his sudden death at the close of 1918, his associates found its continuance both a necessity
and a fitting memorial of his devoted service. Thus, for 29 years the Movement has had an
organ in which its original purpose, spirit, and aim are embodied with ever increasing clarity
of presentation, and with an intensity of devotion which expresses the life exfoliating from
within the Society. Ten invaluable volumes of The Path record Mr. Judge's work; the pro^
ductive term of the two magazines started by H.P.B. was even shorter, for her ideals \vec^
abandoned when she had to leave their editorial expression to others. The 29 volumes of owr
magazine are a still more remarkable achievement, in that they cover the first quarter of the
century when there could not be the same kind of outpouring that characterizes the last
quarter. It is the few who plan and produce the magazine—inspiring other few to contribute
all they can: we of the rank and file are the beneficiaries, and may therefore, with no shade of
self-gratulation, openly rejoice in such a periodical. Many are the readers who turn to this
magazine for light—as one wrote, “I would not miss any of its numbers; their incentive and
inspiration is greatly needed as the confusion of existence increases, making right thought and
action difficult to determine”. A wide range of possible readers is reached through the libraries
which make our issues accessible in their periodical room; and an edition on “imperishable
paper”, the gift of a member, is preserved in libraries at the principal world centres; the donor
72
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
hopes that in future days the Quarterly may there speak to the hearts of men, servants of the
Movement in past ages, who will be groping their way back.
Book Department
While the Book Department is a separate organization, the Society not being responsible
for obligations it may incur, its object in publishing books is to be of help to the Work. Were
this generally understood, some members would be better supplied with books needed in their
studies. Financial difficulties need be no barrier to securing our books, for if the one desired
costs Si.50, and 50 cents is all the member can spend, arrangements can be made through a
special fund, already in operation in the Secretary’s office, for the purchase of needed books.
During this year there has been the customary sale of books, somewhat diminished in volume
because of the financial depression. Special interest in the books by Mr. Charles Johnston
was shown in the months following his death.
Secretary's Office
This winter many letters have been received from members who wished to pay tribute to
the memory of Mr. Johnston and to give some expression to their gratitude; it is evident that
his loss is widely and deeply felt; also that many are sensible of the additional load that must
now be carried by the remaining older members, for there was frequent record of determina¬
tion to contribute one’s very best to the Society, through the right performance of daily duty.
An important addition to our “travelling library” is a bound set of the early volumes of the
Quarterly which have long been out of print. There must be many members who have never
had opportunity to read these—and now it is offered to them. In addition, there is at the
disposition of members a set of the volumes of The Path , temporarily loaned for that purpose.
Since transportation charges may be paid by those who borrow from this library, there need
be no hesitation about using these facilities.
There are many to whom the Society is indebted for w^ork gladly undertaken on its behalf—
too many to be named here, but all are gratefully remembered. The Assistant Secretary,
whose stenographic notes give us such full record of the Convention addresses, also takes
notes of the New York Branch meetings; these are condensed by another member, skilled
in the art of laying hold upon essentials and reproducing the atmosphere of each meeting.
Certain parts of the distribution w’ork for each issue of our magazine were again done by the
two who have assumed this for a number of years. With great generosity, a member secured
funds from which to pay the salary of a competent stenographic assistant in the Secretary’s
office; and another member repeated, through this office, a special contribution to the general
T.S. fund—more than covering the sum which dues from foreign members formerly brought
into the treasury. The Secretary is grateful for so much help; is grateful, above all, for the
great privilege of serving the Society as Secretary, with the resultant opportunity not only
to observe how our ship is steered and handled in all kinds of weather, but to seek guidance
and counsel from those older members, u r ho are so ready to give of their best to the humblest
among us if he be seeking to learn in order to serve the Theosophical Movement.
Respectfully submitted,
Isabel E. Perkins,
Secretary , The Theosophical Society.
The thanks and appreciation of the Convention having unanimously been voted to the
Secretary, for all the services which she so faithfully renders, the Chairman announced the
appointment of the three standing committees as follows:
Committee on Nominations: Dr. Clark (Chairman), Mr. LaDow, Mrs. Regan.
Committee on Letters of Greeting: Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell (Chairman), Mr. Kobb<§, Mrs. Arm¬
strong.
Committee on Resolutions: Mr. Hargrove (Chairman), Dr. Torrey, Miss Hohnstedt.
The Convention then adjourned until the afternoon session, all members and delegates
being invited to lunch as guests of the New York Branch.
T. S. ACTIVITIES
73
Afternoon Session
The first business being the Report of the Treasurer, Mr. Hargrove took the Chair, Mr.
H. B. Mitchell then submitting his report as follows:
Report of the Treasurer T. S.
APRIL 25TH, 1931— APRIL 30TH, 1932
Receipts Disbursements
Printing and mailing the Theo-
sophical Quarterly (4 num¬
bers). $3,718.92
Stationery and Supplies. 76.56
Printing. 122.75
Rent. 150.00
Telephone and Miscellaneous.. . 112.56
Current Dues.
General Contributions and Do-
S33741
nations to the Theosophical
Quarterly.
869.82
Subscriptions to the Theosoph¬
ical Quarterly and Propa¬
ganda Fund.
1,976.22
Special Contributions.
900.00
Special: Refund of Rent.
150.00
4 . 233-45
1933 Dues, prepaid.
196.00
Total Receipts.
4.429 45
Balance, April 25th, 1931.
226.86
$4,656.31
Total Disbursements. 4,180.79
Balance, April 30th, 1932. 475-52
$4.656.31
^4sse/$
On deposit, Corn Exchange Bank
Trust Company, April 30th,
1932 ...
$ 475.52
Liabilities
1933 Dues, prepaid. $196.00
Excess of Assets over Liabilities. 279.52
$ 475-52
Henry Bedinger Mitchell,
Treasurer , The Theosophical Society .
The Treasurer, after expressing his thanks to the Assistant Treasurer, Mr. Kobb£, called
the attention of delegates to the discrepancy between the cost of the Theosophical Quar¬
terly and the price at which it was sold. “I do not think”, he said, ‘‘that it is sound business
or sound morals or sound Theosophy to sell for twenty-five cents, what it costs forty-six cents
to manufacture, with the cost of postage in addition. As you know, nobody is paid anything
in the making of the Quarterly, except the printer.” He suggested that the annual dues of
the Society should be maintained at $2.00, but that a separate charge of $2.00 a year, or fifty
cents a copy, should be made for the Society’s magazine.
Mr. Hargrove reminded members that if anyone cannot afford to pay his dues, he need
only inform the Treasurer or the Secretary of his inability, whereupon his dues would at once
be remitted, without impairment to his standing as a member; and that exactly the same prindjj
pie would apply to a subscription to the Quarterly. ‘‘Poverty is no disgrace, and to fw
ashamed to ask for a remission of payment would be a surrender to false pride.”
Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell moved that the subscription to the Quarterly be $2.00 for mem¬
bers and non-members alike; that members shall be under no obligation to subscribe, especially
if English be not their native tongue, and that annual dues to the Society shall be as in the
past, $2.00 a year, although non-American members should continue to transmit their dues to
some responsible organization for the relief of Allied soldiers or sailors who were disabled
during the Great War. He added that this change should go into effect at once, except for
non-member subscribers; in their case, following the usual custom, they should be notified of
the increased rate prior to the expiration of their subscription. He expressed the hope that
if any members should find it impossible to pay the additional $2.00 for the Quarterly, they
would notify the Secretary promptly, for otherwise Headquarters would be put to the trouble
and expense of writing to inquire the cause of any delay in payment. Inability to pay could
74
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
not be assumed by the Secretary; there should be frank, prompt and explicit statement, when
necessary, of financial stringency.
This motion, having been seconded, was discussed by Mr. Ganson, Mr. LaDow, Mr. Saxe,
and Dr. Woodworth, and, when put to the vote, was carried unanimously. The Treasurer’s
report was then formally accepted, with thanks to the Treasurer and Assistant Treasurer,
after which Mr. H. B. Mitchell resumed the chair and called for the report of the Committee
on Nominations.
Report of the Committee on Nominations
Dr. Clark presented the following nominations: for the two vacancies on the Executive
Committee, Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell and Mr. Auchincloss to succeed themselves; for Secretary
T. S., Miss Perkins; for Assistant Secretary, Miss Chickering; for Treasurer, Mr. H. B. Mit¬
chell; for Assistant Treasurer, Mr. Kobb6.
It was voted that the Secretary be instructed to cast one ballot for the election of officers
as nominated, and that the Committee be discharged with thanks.
The report of the Committee on Letters of Greeting was then called for.
Report of the Committee on Letters of Greeting
Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell: You will remember the “Fragment” that speaks of the chGla taken
up to a high point and showm the darkness of the world—then little points of light appear, with
connecting lines between them. I like to think of these greetings as coming from centres of
light all over the world, lines of light from them to this Convention.
Mr. Mitchell then read, amid frequent applause, the letters and other greetings to the Con¬
vention, extracts from which are printed at the end of the Convention report.
The report of the Committee on Letters of Greeting having been duly accepted with the
thanks of the Convention, the report of the Committee on Resolutions was called for.
Report of the Committee on Resolutions
Mr. Hargrove: This is going to be a very brief report, so far as the Chairman of the Com¬
mittee is concerned, but there are certain resolutions that must be put before you. I am going
to ask Dr. Torrey to represent the Committee, and to speak for the Committee; its Chair¬
man, later on, may perhaps have the privilege of speaking as a member of the New York
Branch, if there is time, though there are a number of people present from whom we want to hear.
No formal resolutions have been sent in by Branches, therefore it was not necessary for your
Committee to have a very long conference, because we agreed automatically and, let us say,
from habit, upon the following:
First, that the Chairman of the Executive Committee be authorized and requested to acknowl¬
edge, on behalf of this Convention, the letters of greeting to which we have had the great
pleasure of listening.
Second, that the officers of the Society be authorized to visit the Branches.
Third, that the thanks of the Convention be extended to the New York Branch for the
hospitality shown during the Convention.
These resolutions were carried unanimously.
Dr. Torrey: At these Conventions it is a custom to take note of the thought of the world,
and particularly as regards its approach to the Theosophical philosophy expounded by Madame
Blavatsky and others. So at this time I wish to speak of a scientific matter whose note was
sounded in an editorial in last October’s number of the Quarterly.
It appears that not long ago Dr. Alexis Carrel contributed an article to the Journal, Science ,
in which he points out that the science of cytology has not made the advance commensurate
with the great labours which have been expended upon it, and suggests that this unfortunate
situation is due to the fundamental error of treating the cell as though it w ? ere dissociated from
its environment. That the fact to which he refers is true, any biologist can bear witness.
Our text-books abound with pictures of the ideal cell where, within a closed cellulose membrane,
is represented a full equipment of nucleus, chloroplasts, chondriosomes and the other cytological
T. S. ACTIVITIES
75
elements. Indeed, it is even uncommon for the student to be told that the separate protoplasts
of the plant cells are actually connected by minute plasma chains which pierce the rigid cellu¬
lose walls.
This dissociation and abstraction of the cell from its true place in the environment of the
body is but another instance of the disease of Nineteenth Century science. It was a time of
"‘hardness, primness and precise limitation of ideas”—a time of limited exactitudes in which
the measure of the intellect was regarded as the measure of reality. Faced with a complex
system, either physical or mental, the mind dissociates it into its simplest elements and proceeds
to study each element separately. Then it reverses the order of its activity and through
synthesis strives to create the original situation. But unfortunately the original situation is,
in this way, never really recreated. For in order that the mind may grasp the simple elements
of the situation it has reduced them to their central foci or points. It deliberately rejects all
that tends to obscure the precision of the view. As a consequence, all that makes for true
significance in the elements; all the values which we attribute to the things of the world, such
as better or worse, socially beneficent or inimical, pleasant or unpleasant—in a word the “field”
which surrounds the elements as well as the totality—falls out of sight, and in the synthetic
reconstruction we have only a mechanical aggregation of discrete parts.
I am very sure that we have here the basis for the age-long quarrel between the scientist and
the intuitionalist. The latter affirms that science kills everything which it touches; the
former retorts that the intuitionalist drifts about in a cloud of vagueness and rhapsody.
The matter is definitely paradoxical, and the practical solution, as in most cases of the sort,
is to choose “a seat which is neither too high nor too low”. The'Nineteenth Century chose its
seat too low. Having analyzed matter into hard, massy, impenetrable particles (which it
never could have done had it not deliberately neglected the field of the atom), it built the
universe out of separate atoms and was forced to import the “logical fiction” of an ether to
explain interaction. Such a view will not explain the chemical compound even, to say nothing
of life and mind. Mechanism in biology was the outcome of the view which holds that the
whole is equal to the sum of its parts.
Dr. Carrel’s paper marks a growing tendency to recognize that no element of a system
lives to itself alone. As the editorial in the Quarterly suggests, it attacks the “dire heresy
of separateness”. The cell is only the focus upon which play the forces of the whole organism.
The lymph in which it is bathed and which forms its liquid medium of exchange with the
blood, is never for two seconds the same, since it is constantly being altered by the secretions
of the cell itself and by the secretions and excretions of every other cell in the body. The
changing electrolyte content of the lymph alters the permeability of the cell membranes and is
evidenced by increased or decreased metabolism. In addition to this, the cell, as Carrel
points out, is the result of what it has passed through individually and racially; so there is ^
temporal as well as a spatial factor in the environment.
All this comes close to a doctrine which is appearing in modem biology and which is varioiA^
known as Holism (a term used by General Jan Smuts), or Emergent Evolution. Some of us
may have known it as the Hierarchical Principle. In the words of General Smuts: “A Whole
is a synthesis or unity of parts, so close that it affects the activities and interactions of those
parts, impresses on them a special character, and makes them different from what they would
have been in a combination devoid of such unity or synthesis. It is a complex of parts but so
close and intimate, so unified that the characters and relations and activities of the parts are
affected and changed by the synthesis”.
In this concept lies one of our most intimate Theosophical doctrines. It is neither more nor
less than the doctrine of the Unity of Being. Implicit in it is the teaching of the Lodge and
its Wholeness, as well as the relations of Masters and ch£las. A study of natural wholes will
reveal the key to the mystery of the organism.
Biological science, then, is approaching in hesitant fashion this fundamental Theosophical
doctrine. Her present position, however, is scarcely advanced beyond the recognition of the
physical environment as the field of the organism. We have noted this in Dr. Carrel’s con¬
tribution. He sees, indeed, that the time factor as well as the chemico-physical properties of
76
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the environment, is involved in the matter, but the importance of the time factor in the present
world-field was recognized by Laplace over a hundred years ago when he wrote: “Nous devons
done envisager l’£tat present de l’univers comme 1’effet de son 6tat ant^rieur.”
A second illustration will indicate how the principle of Holism is making headway in various
biological fields.
One of the aspects of biology is what we call ecology- It is the study which concerns itself
with plants or animals in relation to their physical and biological environments. The plant
ecologist saw very early that his unit of study should be the plant community,—that is, a
group of plants living under a well defined condition of climate and soil. Such, for example,
are the salt-marsh formation, the sand-dune formation, the Arctic-tundra formation. I am sure
that the earlier concept of the formation was, as a philosopher would say, nominalistic. It was
only a useful classificatorv term for a mechanical assemblage of plants in a given environment.
The study consisted in refined measurements of soil and water factors, in taxonomic identifica¬
tions of the plants, and in the formulation of a host of barbarous terms for old facts. In
other words, the whole method of study was of the analytic-synthetic type.
Some ten years ago Clements put forward the suggestion, regarded at that time as fanciful,
that the formation is an organism; that is, Clements had come to the holistic conception of the
formation, just as Carrel has come to it for the tissue. In his own words: “The concept
of the complex organism was formulated as a logical consequence of recognizing that the
development of the community is an organic process, carried on by means of functions and
resulting in structures, essentially as in the individual plant or animal. The community
thus came to be regarded as something more than the mere sum of its parts, as an entity in
which the component individuals bear much the same relation to themselves and the whole
as do the cells of metaphyte or metazoon. To biologists such a view appeared novel and
startling when first proposed, and it was in consequence much criticized. In spite of this it is
steadily gaining a wider acceptance and by dynamic ecologists generally is recognized as the
corner stone of developmental ecology. This recognition has been hastened by its more or
less independent use as the basic idea in the philosophical system of the emergent evolutionists .’ r
So, in its own notion, science has made a new discovery. Through the New Physics the
bolder spirits such as General Smuts are drawing close to the Theosophical position. They
have’ recognized a space-time continuum and have seen that the organism has its wholeness
in the new medium—that it is, so to speak, a hyperspatial entity, and that its “field” embraces
conditions of existence which cannot be grasped through sensuous experience. The human
senses, moreover, do not report accurately even that which is amenable to their reach, since,
as has so often been pointed out, the perceiving mind is limited by desire. Furthermore, with
the recognition of the organic nature of all Wholes, the fact of cyclic law as the method of all
development is slowly coming to the fore.
Yet the scientist is still far from the Theosophical position. Though he recognizes the fact
that organic evolution continually creates new wholes, he does not recognize the preexistence
of the thing created. Life, to him, is creative along the border of the advancing time wave.
He has yet to understand the words of Krishna: “With one portion of Myself I establish this
whole universe, yet remain separate.”
The report of the Committee on Resolutions having been accepted with the thanks of
the Convention, the Chairman called on Mr. Rivero to speak for the Rama Venezuela of
Caracas.
Mr. Rivero: Mr. Chairman and Fellow Members, This is again the propitious day, the great
solar day! The Venezuela Branch has done me the high honour of designating me as its
delegate to “this assembly of men and gods”. I have accepted humbly and with emotion the
noble charge, realizing the high opportunity, the high responsibility it represents,—animated
deeply by intense, disinterested fervour in serving the Masters.
With that character, therefore, and in that spirit, I have to-day the privilege of greeting
the members of The Theosophical Society in Convention assembled, with the fraternal voice
of their Venezuelan companions.
T. S. ACTIVITIES
77
For some time I have been residing in this country, and know of the works of my Branch
only through its organ, El Teosofo , and through the correspondence I have exchanged with
my fellow-members in Caracas. I have just received a summary of the work done during the
official year in behalf of the Great Cause, by the members of the Branch, and I am permitted
to speak to you clearly in their name. My exposition here will be by no means a mere broad¬
casting, for my heart is ever a true receiver of the wave initiated by the effort of my companions,
as if I were present there with them. This has been, in truth, an unprecedented experience
for me. But is not Theosophy the total experience of life, whose synthesis includes in itself
all consciousness, from its least significant manifestation to the most transcendental? Conse¬
quently, I am going to talk to you of the work of my Branch, lived by my companions there in
one form, and by me, with them in spirit, in another.
To begin with, El Teosofo is opening a cycle of pre-Colombian investigations, of a mystic-
religious character, with its study of the Popol Vuh. Quetzalcoatl is mentioned more to-day
and one feels him nearer,—even the painters have placed him on their canvas; and Junapup
and Ixbalamque, the heroes of the book, are thought of as living gods.
Among the collective studies undertaken by the members, I should mention (a) The letters
of Mr. Judge to Mr. Hargrove and the luminous commentaries of the recipient, all of which
form in one firm harmonious entity the historical epilogue of The Theosophical Society as seen
from within, and superbly reveal how much we owe to Judge. In this connection, my fellow-
members have asked me to let you know that in spite of the immense spiritual love for the
figure of Judge, awakened in us by that admirable account in the columns of the Quarterly,
in our Branch it was impossible to make that love any greater, for there it had already reached
the apex of its fullness. Gratitude is the root of our Branch, (b) The three fundamental
objects of The Theosophical Society—golden triangle of all activity, individual and universal
—always are of a renewed actuality for our members, (c) The themes on the perpetual war
between Good and Evil with its black progeny—extreme socialism and its horrifying sequels,
for example—arouse frequently the most alert consideration, (d) The reports of the meetings
of the New York Branch are read and fruitfully commented upon. The Venezuela Branch
looks upon the New York Branch as on a guide, and endeavours to follow its direction and its
programme, (e) Finally, at the meetings of our members, they read Light on the Path in the
original,—and almost all continue with ardour to learn English.
Further, among the events of the Branch there stands out the commemoration of the cen¬
tenary of the birth of H.P.B. It is opportune to mention also the homage rendered on that
occasion to the glory of the Masters’ Messenger by the important journals of Caracas, in pages
of the warmest admiration. It was perhaps the only Capital of the whole world where, in that
manner, she received a tribute so spontaneously significant.
An event of profound repercussion for the Branch was the passing of Mr. Johnston, whom
many of the Venezuelan members had the rare privilege of knowing and loving. The Branch
is grateful to him for that synthesis of his life in accepting with his death the will of the Masters
as well as for his worthy resolution “to begin all over again”. That is the legacy of his spiritual
testament. May the intrepid servant repose in the militant peace and the eloquent silence of
the Masters, while we hail him with the very words of the Popol Vuh that he cited, for our stimu¬
lation, in the first edition of El Teosofo: “Let the seeds germinate! Let the dawn arise!”
I could speak at greater length of the activities of the Branch, but I do not want to take
advantage of your kind attention. Permit me only, for my companions ask it, to touch on
one final point of profound significance for the Venezuelan members. It is this: they under¬
stand that at the head of every vital activity is one of the Masters of the Lodge as its repre¬
sentative and as its perfect incarnation. His work consists of awakening the human soul
by means of his august guidance, by which is realized that evolutionary line in the heart of man.
Our companions of Caracas direct me to tell you that, the two nights of meeting on which such
a subject was discussed, inspiration rained upon them like a Pentecostal descent. Each mem¬
ber had discovered how his own destiny conducted him to an ideal, and how the Lodge of
Masters was the sum divine of all the ideals of the heart of man.
In conclusion, if the Venezuela Branch could be represented by a sign, it would be that of
7«
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the swastika: perpetual motion; if by a motto, “Routine is the stupefier of Theosophy”; if
by an immediate programme: The Lodge requires that we make ourselves disciples. Let us
respond!
This is the propitious day, the great solar day!
The Chairman: I do not know how many of us have had the privilege which has been mine,
of actually seeing the magazine which the members of the Venezuela Branch produce. It is
the greatest tribute to them that they can produce such a magazine. I think all of us feel a
debt of gratitude to them, and of very sincere appreciation of the work that they are doing.
[Applause.]
Miss Hohnstedt (Cincinnati): Like Mr. Rivero, I feel it a great privilege to be here, and
realize the responsibility that is laid upon me. I think Conventions are always a time of
solemnity, when our love and loyalty to the Masters is confirmed. I have with me something
written by my brother which I was to read: “At a meeting last summer, when the work for the
season was outlined, the members felt they would like to have a deeper understanding of
Theosophy. A systematic study was suggested, and Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, translated by
Mr. Johnston, was unanimously chosen. This, in connection with The Secret Doctrine, which
we have been studying for a number of years, seems to supply our needs, particularly and
generally. At that time it was pointed out that, owing to conditions existing in the material
world, the faith, will, intelligence and endurance of every member would be tested during the
coming season. Happily, our knowledge of Theosophy has enabled us to meet these condi¬
tions with confidence, and to see somewhat the guiding hand of the Masters behind the affairs
of the world.”
Mrs. Rose (Providence): I am asked to bring greetings from those members of the Hope
Branch who could not come. I think their regret was perhaps more than in any other year,
but it was not possible for them to come. We have felt the strain on our small section of the
firing-line, perhaps more than usual. During the past year we have been exceedingly grateful
for the reports of the New York Branch meetings. We have used the reports for the main
part of the work in our class; we have used, in addition, some of the articles on the Holy Spirit
in the old Quarterlies. What the Branch feels at the present time is gratitude that we know
even a little of Theosophy; and to express something of that gratitude, we have tried to keep a
cheerful face and not be downed by this wall of depression which seems at times almost tan¬
gible. My last word is: gratitude.
The Pacific Branch of Los Angeles was represented by Mr. Saxe, who read the following ex¬
tract from a letter from Mr. Walter H. Box: “In any event, what we should most like is that,
at the Convention, you think of us as often as you can, and, of course, hold us as near to your
heart as you can; this, as we do the same for you and for all who will be there, as well as for
those who like ourselves will not be able to attend. ... I have imagined there will be more
than one heartfelt, appreciative mention of Mr. Johnston; and if that should be so, and you
care to speak for us, will you please say as from us all: that we beg and beg as, doubtless, every
one who knew him has done, for a ‘double portion’ of his spirit, of his vision, power, and love,
—of his ‘mantle’, as its simile was to Elisha at the passing and glorification of Elijah; this,
as well as for an ever-increasing or.overflowing measure of the inner light, life, and fire which
must have burst forth radiant and vicarious and compelling from the Lodge to both far and
near, at his passing; because he was as he was, as Cave’s January ‘Fragment’ so plainly shows.
So that we may love and serve as he did.” Mr. Saxe added, “I think hearing this will make us
all wish more than ever that Mr. Box could have been here.”
The invitation to speak was then extended to any other delegates who might care to address
the Convention. As none volunteered, the Chairman said that “this Convention should
not, because of shortness of time, curtail what we usually hear from the Chairman of the
Committee on Resolutions on the state of the world”. [Applause.]
Mr. Hargrove: I should suppose you would have had sense enough to be tired of the state
of the world! However, so far as the state of the world means the so-called financial depression,
the conviction of most of us is that nine-tenths of it is due to psychic causes. In this countrv,.
T. S. ACTIVITIES
79
the situation is not the same as it is in certain parts of Europe, because there is no doubt
that, physically speaking, the wealth is here, the labour is here, the gold is here. (By wealth,
I mean the natural wealth,—the corn, the wheat, the metals, the timber, and so forth.) Those
in combination, ought to produce business, and one of the primary reasons that they do not
produce business at the present time is a psychic fear that possesses so many people, which
is merely nervous reaction, after the unnatural “boom” period which culminated and dis¬
appeared toward the end of 1929.
However true that may be, I want to suggest this for your consideration: If this country
had done the right thing after the Great War, if it had recognized that its loans to the Allied
countries had been made, not as business loans, but as a form of apology for not having
entered into the war before,—I do not believe, myself, that there would have been any
depression. There would have been nothing like the existing depression in the Allied countries.
There would have been no such unwholesome “boom” as we had here in 1929. My point is
not a political point, but the fact that if we try to do the right thing nationally, politically,
and in our own lives, the results will take care of themselves. It is when we consider matters
in terms of expediency that we become confused and almost inevitably do the wrong thing.
After the Armistice, or in the beginning of 1919, if this country had considered solely what was
the right thing to do in connection with these huge sums of money that England, France, Italy
and other countries owe us; if this country had been ashamed of its long neutrality, and of its
failure to take part at once in that war, which was a war for civilization, a war for justice, a
war for righteousness,—there could have been only one decision; and, as I say, I do not believe
there would have been a crisis in Europe to-day, or even in this country.
Another mistake was made, as I venture to see it, and that was the adoption of the theory
that the present generation must be taxed sufficiently to pay for the war. Was that war fought
only for the benefit of the present generation? Was it not fought for the benefit of future
generations also? After the Napoleonic wars, on the theory that England had been right
in fighting them, English statesmen agreed that the next dozen generations should, if necessary,
help to pay for them.
In the case of the Great War, there was deplorable confusion of thought in this country as to
why it was fought at all. The war began at the end of July, 1914. We were at once told, and
were told with increasing emphasis, to be neutral in thought and in act,—told officially. Some
people even tried to he neutral, I suppose—it should have been very difficult—while others
were actively pro-German, and a few as actively pro-Ally. The country as a whole tried to
make whatever money it could, by supplying ammunition, raw materials, foods and so forth
to the Allies, and also to Germany when it could get things through. There were terrific
outcries when the Allies interfered, as it was declared, with "the freedom of the seas”. What
right, it was asked, had England or France to prevent this country from selling munitions, food
or anything else to Germany? So it went on, with complete failure, except on the part of a
very few, to see the real issue, to understand what it was all about. Not until April, 1917,
was there a sort of last-minute waking-up to the idea that when all was said and done this
country was concerned as to the outcome of the war—a brand new revelation, apparently.
The sinking of the “Lusitania” had not precipitated our entrance into the war. It irritated
people, but in itself was not regarded as a reason for war. No, it was instinctively felt at long
last that Germany had become a danger even to this country, and that the American voter was
sufficiently irritated to be willing to go to war—no recognition, even at that time, of what it was
all about. “To make the world safe for democracy”! I do not believe a man in any army fought
for any such reason. The idea was invented in Washington. It was not a human motive;
it was—I was going to say a professors’ motive, but stopped in time! Fortunately, the pro¬
fessors here present will know exactly what I mean. Naturally enough, as the result of a
complete lack of understanding, this country adopted the attitude, when the war was over,
that it had to collect all it possibly could from the Allies, who had fought throughout those
terrible years without the slightest help from us—millions of lives of the Allies sacrificed, as
against less than a hundred thousand of Americans killed.
Another physical cause: while England has the Dole, we have our War Veterans. That is
So
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
one of the worst of scandals. We are asked to worry about scandals in New York, but what is
going on in New York is child’s play in comparison with the great American Dole system.
From a carefully prepared statement in The New York Times , we learn that for the benefit of
World War veterans, this country has paid out five and a half billions of dollars since the
Armistice; and that sum does not include the interest on the money that has been borrowed in
order to do it; nor does it include a billion and a quarter already advanced in the form of
loans, nor two billions, three hundred and ninety millions of issued service certificates that are
going to be redeemed sooner or later. So things have come to a point where, even on a five-
and-a-half billion basis (only about half of what has been spent), the annual expenditure on
World War veterans to-day amounts to one fourth of the total expenditure for all Government
services. Things have been carried to this extraordinary point because, while the original bills
were bad enough, politicians, wanting to catch a few more votes, have “improved” on those
original bills. At the present time, under an amendment of 1930, a veteran injured by a taxi¬
cab in Forty-third Street, acquires privileges similar to those of a veteran wounded by gun¬
fire in the Argonne. As long as a veteran lives, if he crushes his finger in his daily work, he
acquires at least as much as a veteran wounded in the Argonne! When the country is vam-
pirized like that, how can you expect it to be prosperous?
Those are three blunders which I think contribute largely to the physical causes of the present
depression: the insistence on the repayment of Allied war loans, the folly of trying to force
the present generation to meet all the costs of the war instead of distributing the cost over
future generations, and this iniquitous “steal” that has been perpetrated by politicians in order
to get the votes of the organized body of veterans.
People find it very difficult, somehow, to recognize facts. The world as a whole simply will
not look at a fact, when an emotion of any kind is not in line with the fact. Take the question
of disarmament: you know the feeling there is in this country for disarmament, and that Mr.
Stimson is in Europe at the present time, working for disarmament. You know the feeling
that France is an obstacle to disarmament; that her criticism of it is wicked, and must neces¬
sarily mean evil and hidden and imperialistic designs, though all that France asks is that we
take the facts into consideration. America says: Look at us! “Look at our example: there
is Canada, and that vast frontier-line with no forts, no guns: have we an army of half a million
men, protecting ourselves against her!” America seems to think this an analogy for the
situation in Europe, when the fact is that France has been invaded by Germany at least ten
times in the last few hundred years.
What does disarmament mean? Suppose two men are neighbours, and that one of them
owns one gun, and the other, three; suppose the man with three guns is compelled to surrender
two, or even that both men are persuaded to surrender all their guns: is peace between them
assured? If one of the men by nature is a robber and a thief, will he not take advantage of this
“disarmament”, provide himself with weapons surreptitiously, and attack his neighbour
unawares? Not long ago I saw two taxi-cab drivers, not standing up and fighting, but rolling
over one another on the pavement, blind with rage, trying to gouge out one another’s eyes.
They had no weapons except their hands.
Obviously people are going to fight if they feel like fighting, and you can go through all the
motions of so-called disarmament without accomplishing a thing,—except an added exposure
of peace-loving, treaty-observing, law-abiding nations, to attack. The disarmament programme
is a complete refusal to recognize facts, and as it is one of the purposes of Theosophy to help us
honestly to look facts in the face—not to deceive ourselves, not to permit ourselves to be hypno¬
tized by shibboleths—it is important that we, as members of the Society, should never lose
sight of the truth in this connection.
I should like to add something on a very different subject, if I may. I realize once in a
while that some of us are growing older, and also that, as we grow older, life does not of neces¬
sity become easier. I connect that with what Mr. Johnston said about the last year of his life
having been the most fruitful of any. My subject is Purgatory. What are the facts there?
Every religion in the world teaches that, after death, man passes through a state or condition
in which he is purified, before he can enter into the full possession of his higher consciousness.
T. S. ACTIVITIES
81
There is only one exception to that general rule, and that is the Low Church section of the
Protestant Churches, and they repudiate Purgatory for purely historical reasons. There was
a time, as you know, when the Roman Catholic Church used the doctrine of Purgatory to col¬
lect money from the deluded, by the sale of "indulgences”. That led to a revolt and to a reac¬
tion, and as part of the reaction, the extreme Protestant washed his hands of Purgatory,
said there is no Purgatory. But such sweeping gestures do not touch the facts. Buddhists,
Hindus, Zoroastrians, Mohammedans believe in Purgatory, in some form or other. Even
Protestants do, although they will not call it by that name. One of the books on theology
which the Protestant Episcopal Church in this country requires to be read by candidates for
the Ministry, was written by a Danish clergyman, the Rev. Dr. Martensen, a Lutheran. He
has much to say about "the Intermediate State,” as "a realm of progressive development, in
which souls are prepared and matured for the final judgment”, and he frankly admits that his
objection to the term, Purgatory, arises from its abuse by the Roman Catholics,—an objection
which I, for one, cannot regard as blameworthy.
All the great religions agree—esoterically in any case—that Purgatory, or purification, can
be experienced here, while incarnated, as well as on the other side after death; and Purgatory,
according to those who have "been there” (and there are plenty of people who have "been
there”—Saint Catherine of Genoa perhaps the best known among them),—Purgatory is a
process of purification which may become akin to a state of ecstasy, because of what is being
achieved. Purification: a state of longing for the love not yet realized, for the vision not yet
seen; intense suffering, yes, but suffering with open arms, pain welcomed, and in any case
endured gladly because, somehow, to long is to possess; to desire to love, is to love; to suffer
intensely, for love’s sake, is to know love. Therefore, if life becomes harder, as it may become
harder, there are two ways of looking at it: we can think of it, if we choose, as "bad Karma”;
can think that we are "hardly put upon”. That would be a feeble attitude. But we can think
of it differently. Whose life has been perfect, whose personality is so transparent and clear
that it will transmit the full light of the soul? Is it not better to welcome the purifying process
in this life, rather than accept it only on the other side? Sooner or later it cannot be escaped.
How can it be? Purification must take place. I am not speaking, of course, of the major
purification, which leads to the "terrace of enlightenment.” Reincarnation takes care of that,
by providing purification extending over many, many lives. I am speaking now of what
might be called the intermediate process: getting rid of the worst of the lower strata of the
present personality, so as to be able, when we come to die, to see the truth once more, to see
before us our real selves and the real selves of other people, to be able to pass those gates with
open eyes, and to greet our friends when we get there. I speak of it because there is comfort
and courage in the thought that the sufferings of the present are as nothing compared with
what we ought to be able to achieve by means of that suffering; and that if more suffering
awaits us, instead of anticipating it with dread, we should see in it an expression of the ever¬
lasting mercy, a provision by that mercy for our enlightenment and true joy.
The standing committees having been discharged with thanks, and the thanks of the Con¬
vention having been voted to its officers, the Convention adjourned.
Isabel E. Perkins,
Secretary of Convention.
Julia Ciiickering,
Assistant Secretary of Convention.
LETTERS OF GREETING
Aussig, Czechoslovakia.
To the Members in Convention Assembled: In the name of the Branch I am asked to send
our warmest greetings with heartfelt thanks, wishes and hopes for the future in all works
for the Masters.
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
It was told us that Mr. Judge used to say that if, as a result of his life’s work, he were to
know when dying that as many as seven people had understood him, he would feel that his
work had been a success; but of course he meant to bring seven people into conscious disciple-
ship.
All our efforts may be directed to that great success of him and his followers, to grow in that
living power that can bring dry bones to life.
May the blessing of the Masters come over all members of the Society.
Hermann Zerndt,
President , Aussig Branch.
Newcastle-on-Tyne, England.
To the Members of The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled: Once again it is my
privilege to convey to you our heartiest greetings and good wishes; we shall be with you in
heart and mind on this occasion, bridging the distance of physical separateness, for the special
meeting we held on Convention Day last year was so successful—spiritually speaking—that
we decided to make it a permanent institution. May you then feel our aspiration, our deter¬
mined will to give, to serve, to the utmost, as we shall be grateful and joyous for the inspira¬
tion and encouragement it may be our privilege to receive.
We eagerly look forward to your deliberations each year, and we feel sure that the same
warrior spirit, the same stand for truth and righteousness will prevail, as it has done so magnifi¬
cently in the past. The call to arms was never greater, and when a valiant chieftain has
fought the good fight, has kept the faith, and finished his course, it is for us more vigorously to
press on to the objective that lies ahead. We therefore heartily welcome this gathering together
of the individual spiritual force of the Society, that our souls may be stirred and refreshed for
the warfare at our gates. We can appreciate the opportunity for retrospection that the
lessons of the past may be learned, as we would seek those keynotes for the future which vision
and understanding alone provide.
Let us then awake and come to life as we have never done before. Let us gird on our armour
for the fray, and determine that we will be more worthy warriors in so great a Cause; that
“from the stronghold of our Souls we will chase all our foes away—ambition, anger, hatred,
e’en to the shadow of desire.” In some such way as this can we alone repay the debt of loving
service rendered, of consecration and self-sacrifice made manifest. In this spirit we gladly
send our humble contribution of disinterested effort, of “embodiment”, during the past year,
and our best wishes, to the Convention. We trust that your deliberations may be strong in
faith and purpose and blessed with the Masters’ insight. It cannot, then, fail to be a day of
joyful and thankful remembrance and an inspiration for the days to come.
E. Howard Lincoln,
President.
Aylsham, England.
Mrs. Bagnell wrote: As you know, our Norfolk Branch, for the last few years, has tried
by means of a special study in April to prepare for Convention, so that we may be more fitted
to take part in it spiritually and mentally, as we are not able to be there in person. I believe
that we all find this very helpful, and when the comments on the special study come in, they
are generally the best of the year.
In mai^y ways this must be a sad Convention, for there are gaps in the ranks of our Leaders
that must be painfully felt; but Convention, unless there is something very wrong with it,
can never be anything but an occasion of deep gladness, of gratitude and rejoicing, and I am
sure that this one will be the same as all the others have been. Indeed I am sure that it will be
better still, for each succeeding one must be that; and I hope and pray that it may be a very
wonderful one, and that its spirit will not only be felt all through the T. S., but will permeate
the whole world and help greatly the work that the Masters are striving to do in it. It seems
a very sick world just now, and one that needs help badly, but I think the very fact that so
many nations are suffering acutely at present is really an encouraging sign, for it is only by
T. S. ACTIVITIES 83
suffering, by a real agony, that they can hope to rise out of the slough of materialism in which
they have been sunk, and to regain spiritual light and life.
... In all the tangled welter of world events, it seems to me that w T e must always try to see
the working of the Lodge, and what it is trying to do for the nations; and so it would appear
that much which at the time seemed a catastrophe, is being turned wholly to good.
Our Norfolk Branch, by a happy coincidence, began a study of Vol. II of Letters that have
Helped Me about the same time as the Letters of Mr. Judge appeared in the Quarterly, and
of course the latter have been of inestimable help to us. They have made much in the history
of the T. S. far more clear than ever before, to those who did not actually live through it from the
beginning, and it is impossible not to feel the most ardent gratitude to Mr. Judge for all he did
for the Movement, and for all he suffered for it; and an intense desire to do one’s best to help
in carrying on the work for which he literally gave his life.
In sending our greetings and good wishes to members assembled in Convention, I feel sure
that all our members here will be resolved to send out to it all the aspiration, all the spirit of
unity and true spiritual brotherhood of which they are capable, so that in a very real sense
they may be present, and later on may be able to grasp and to put into practice all that is
given out in it.
Miss Bagnell wrote:—At this time our thoughts turn constantly towards Convention, and
there is now the desire to prepare for it by every means in our power. Recently I read, in
the February number of Blackwood's , an article which gave a vivid account of a hazardous
enterprise undertaken in the true spirit of brotherhood. The task entrusted to a band of
some twenty Englishmen, under a splendid leader, was to establish and hold a movable
frontier in North Eastern India, and to maintain order among a set of debased native tribes,
in the jungle. The work, which called on the utmost resources of courage, loyalty and en¬
durance, from one and all, was accomplished by the united response of the band to the plan
of the leader. Such a narrative gives us some understanding of the close ties which unite com-
rades-in-arms engaged in any true adventure, and it served to illustrate vividly, for me, that
bond which underlies the Brotherhood in the T. S. To maintain the frontier line, to hold the
outposts of Empire, is a task which must demand incessant vigilance, the result of long and
arduous training, gladly undertaken.
There is always, of course, the reverse of the picture, and I find this illustrated in a verse
of the prophet Baruch which I can never read without a pang of regret: “Young men have
seen the light, and dwelt upon earth, but the way of discipline they have not known, e nor
understood the paths thereof.” The regret comes, of course, for the opportunity wasted
through weakness of will, through failure to concentrate on the essential discipline which is
provided by the adventure of daily life.
So, whether we read the narratives of adventure with enthusiasm, or the account of failure
with regret, both must evoke a renewed determination to concentrate energy on that discipline
which is the basis of effective, united action.
At Convention time our thoughts are brought to a focus, in the union of intention and
aspiration. May we all gain that illumination of the understanding, which will enable us
(individually and as a whole) to work out the details of the task set us.
Our heartfelt good wishes go to Headquarters, and to all who will meet in Convention^
whether present in New York, or united in heart throughout the world. May the Masters
find true response from one and all, both at Convention time and in all the year that follows.
Oslo, Norway.
To the Secretary T.S.: To-day (April 9th) it is three weeks only, and the day of our annual
Convention will have come once more. To me, as surely for many others amongst our mem¬
bers, it appears as if each coming Convention is of growing significance, and such surely must
also be the fact, seeing that we are all striving towards a goal, and once in the course of time
this goal shall be attained, presupposing only that we never cease striving. And so we may
trust that with each coming Convention we are nearer our goal. On the other hand we are
8 4
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
feeling, I think, that this goal is beyond time and in a sense we may be there e/ery moment.
Such a feeling we have in our higher moments, when all within and without is Silence and oitr
hearts are going in love to all being. I think the Convention day is a day when we all are
striving in common to unite in this feeling in which there is no sentimentality, but surely a
Prayer: Thy Kingdom come! Thy will be done! and in every single member the Prayer:
May I too be faithful to my trust in the coming year and more and more from moment to
moment! Then once the moment shall come when the said feeling is no more limited by time,
but having found our Master we understand and realize words such as these: “My meat is
to do the will of him who sent me, and to finish his work”. And then we are living in Eternity,
although working still in time.
We intend to have a meeting on the Convention day, and surely we shall with you remember
also our “living dead ones”, amongst whom is this year also to be numbered Mr. Charles John¬
ston. And I trust our hearts will go with thanks to all who give their life to our Cause, whether
they are in or outside this body of earth. Kindly forward to all members in Convention as¬
sembled the sincere greetings of the Oslo Branch.
Henning Dahl,
Chairman , Oslo Branch.
Toronto, Canada.
To the Members of The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled: Toronto Branch sends
fraternal greetings and best wishes for a most successful Convention.
At the very end of the Key we read: “If the present attempt, in the form of our Society,
succeeds better than its predecessors have done, then it will be in existence as an organized,
living and healthy body when the time comes for the effort of the twentieth century. The
general condition of men’s minds and hearts will have been improved and purified by the
spread of its teachings, and, as I have said, their prejudices and dogmatic illusions will have
been, to some extent at least, removed. Not only so, but besides a large and accessible litera¬
ture ready to men’s hands, the next impulse will find a numerous and united body of people
ready to welcome the new torch-bearer of Truth. He will find the minds of men prepared for
his message, a language ready for him in which to clothe the new truths he brings, an organi¬
zation awaiting his arrival, which will remove the mechanical, material obstacles and difficulties
from his path. Think how much one, to whom such an opportunity is given, could accom¬
plish.”
Yes! Let us think of it and work for it; for does not the making of this splendid ideal into a
living reality depend much on our efforts to-day?
There is a saying which is not always true, but is in this case, that nothing succeeds like
success. Thanks to our leaders, and the sincere efforts of members everywhere, there is no
doubt that The Theosophical Society has had a fair measure of success. In life, success often
means failure, one reason being that while the outer man has succeeded, it has been at the
cost of the inner; high ideals have been sacrificed to expediency. This is not true of the T.S.,
and we have cause for thankfulness in the fact. But let us remember that the moment we
attempt to rest in the success we have attained, that moment we commence to die.
It is always a great pleasure to read the greetings received from foreign lands where English
is not the national language. We think of the different modes of life, and in some cases, limited
opportunities as compared with ours, to whom even the use of the language in which so much
of our literature is written is a great advantage; and yet do we not feel in their message a lan¬
guage common to us all—the language of the Soul? Salutations to them all.
It has been said of Gautama Buddha that he rose on the shoulders of a million men. We
may apply this even to our Convention. The smallest efforts for Theosophy, if sincere and
from our hearts, all go to the building up of that force which helps make possible the success
which attends these Conventions. One pictures in one’s imagination the continuation of these
annual gatherings unto that time when the new Messenger arrives. What a Goal to work for!
Albert J. Harris,
Secretary.
T. S. ACTIVITIES
85
Whitley Bay, England.
To the Members of The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled , the members of the
Whitley Bay Branch send fraternal greetings. As the date of the Convention draws nearer,
we have the feeling of travellers returning after a long voyage. We seem to have gone out on
a voyage of discovery since the last Convention, and at last we have returned home to the
meeting place of kindred souls. We have a sense of completeness, of unity, which brings with
it a feeling of serenity and peace, and underlying it all is gratitude and appreciation, that as
members of The Theosophical Society we belong to something great, something really worth¬
while, something which is true and is therefore everlasting. The Wisdom Religion requires a
definite attitude towards life, and this requires definite knowledge, and the hours of Convention
give us renewed energy for another voyage of discovery and aspiration, with the confirmed
knowledge that we are going in the right direction.
Further, we know that this directed aspiration of the members, or even of one member, into
the realms of spiritual consciousness, will draw all of us nearer the ideal of Universal Brother¬
hood through the gateway of the Lodge. To-day we are standing with you shoulder to shoulder,
facing in the direction of this gateway, and with hope that the Convention will again mark
another step forward in our pilgrimage.
Fredk. A. Ross,
President, Blavatsky Lodge.
Berlin-Wilmersdorf, Germany.
To The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled: Once again that you are congregated
for a solemn purpose we beg to transmit to you our heartiest greetings and sincerest wishes
for a successful Convention.
We are looking back upon a year of quiet and harmonious work. In this connection we avail
ourselves of the opportunity afforded by this day to express our deepest gratitude towards all
contributors to the Quarterly who have given us through its columns every support and en¬
lightenment.
With all friends united at the Convention we think at this hour—with our hearts filled
with gratitude—of our leader Mr. Johnston, for us gone home too early, to whom we German
members feel especially indebted. His spirit and labour educated us to that spiritual heroism,
not even to complain at his death. What a consolation is our belief in the living dead, which
fills 11s with renewed vigour to follow them through the door thus opened!
We are still occupied with the study of the Convention report of 1931, which keeps our
hearts and minds open for the influx of its wisdom.
The darkness about us is getting more dense every day; the spirit of opposition is growing;
the will “to make reparation” is, to the majority of our people, equal to High Treason. Maybe
the ever-growing sorrow and despair will bring about a change, and lead all those who are
of good will on to the Right Path.
Our hearts are turned to the Masters. We pray that They may help us—in spite of th«
darkness surrounding us—to do our work in accordance with Their Will. Convention-Day
will find our hearts and souls united with yours!
On behalf of the Wilmersdorfer Studv Class,
Oskar Stoll.
Alfred Friedewald.
Post-Raubling, Germany.
To the Members of The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled: In knowledge of the
great privilege and favour it is to share in spirit, heart and mind on this occasion, we send
fraternal greetings and good wishes for a successful Convention in 1932.
Afflicted and heavy of heart, we must report that, in Germany, there is no spark or sign
of turning to God and his Law, through repentance and expiation, but quite the opposite.
Permit us to speak of Mr. Charles Johnston, whom we came to know personally in 1911.
His visit at that time left a continued impression,—the spark in our hearts, which came from
86
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
his heart. During the catastrophe of the World War, as darkness overcame us, this spark was
living, and although it was almost impossible to see the truth, the interior voice told us: "Mr.
Charles Johnston and his friends cannot be wrong; he is right, he is right”. The spark became
a light by which to see “the waving Colours on the walls”: that advance H.P.B. and W. Q.
Judge; that advance Jeanne d’Arc 500 years before. We are deeply thankful to all these
Messengers of the Lodge, deeply thankful to Mr. Johnston, as members living in Germany,
to whom he was once of such great help, and is also to-day. We believe we owe it to him that
we are to-day still members of the T.S. We feel painfully his loss in the visible world, but
must turn this into devotion and humility, into enthusiasm for the invisible world, thus follow¬
ing his example to us, and accomplishing the will of the Masters and their workers, and becom¬
ing worthy of those “waving Colours on the walls”.
Max Kolb.
Else Kolb.
Trieste, Italy.
To The Theosopliical Society in Convention Assembled ,, New York: Dear Fellow Members ,
Since my last greeting, the world’s affairs have become every day w'orse by the absolute spiritual
blindness of mankind. Not one can distinguish between the good and the bad, and com¬
promise with the Black Forces is our every-day experience.
I look far over the ocean to you with the hope that the spark of heavenly light may not be
permitted to perish and may become in the future the flame, which shall help mankind to find
again the hidden Path to the Higher Self, at present completely lost and forgotten.
We are at this time with you, heart and soul, and are sure that the blessings of Convention
will be felt by all Members present or far-away.
A. Plinio.
Th. Plinio.
Hamburg, Germany.
While recently reading a book bearing on psychical matters, I came across the following
challenge in a discussion between the tw’o opponents:—“If he is in touch with angelic beings,
let him give us a philosophy which is higher than mortal mind can evolve”. Although it had
no allusion to Theosophy, it struck me, on reviewing what I had read in the past 12 months,
as applicable to Mme. Blavatsky: That is just what H.P.B. did! The Theosophical philosophy
brings to mankind the most beautiful conception of Life, here and hereafter,—the understand¬
ing of its sublime character merely being limited by our own limitations. Even the little
glimpse I have so far succeeded in obtaining, has been sufficient to convince me of that.
Thinking of the loss of my Father, in the light of Theosophy, and the death of Mr. Johnston
and Dr. Keightley, and w'hat was written in the Quarterly on these occasions, not to mention
the articles in connection with the Centenary of the birth of H.P.B., the book “In Memory of
H.P.B.”, etc.—Theosophy certainly removes altogether the terrible sting of Death. That
alone would be sufficient to wish and pray that mankind would and could accept the comfort
and understanding offered in the doctrines given forth in the Wisdom Religion.
Harry Knoff.
Oneal, Arkansas.
To the Secretary T. S.: Next Saturday will be Convention day, a day we all look forward to as
a day of great privileges to those able to attend; also to those whose hearts and thoughts are
true to the purposes of the Movement, and to the Ideal set before us. And if our privileges
are great, greater are our responsibilities as representatives in the outer world of the Great
White Lodge, and to the extent that we assimilate the Lodge Ideal, and serve its purposes,
we are its representatives.
I just wanted to send a w'ord of sincere greetings to all members at Convention; and how
proud I shall be to know of the Unity of heart and purpose w’hich will characterize this most
important of all Conventions! I feel that great events are approaching, and may appear sooner
than some of us expect.
T. S. ACTIVITIES
87
No need for me to praise the Quarterly, —I do not know how to do so—to me, each issue is
better than the last; I can but try to be grateful for its teaching, and its influence in the world.
I very greatly appreciate “Reports of proceedings of the N. Y. Branch Meetings”.
“Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be
added unto you”, is said to be the “rule and doctrine of Masters of Wisdom”,—may it be ours
also.
Wm. E. Mull in ax.
Aussig, Czechoslovakia.
To the Secretary T. S.: You may believe me this letter I am sending to you comes out of a
heart full, full of thankfulness. Thankfulness and love I wish to give with all the longing of
my soul, for all the great help and kindness that I have received between Christmas and now.
But my gift is small and humble I know—I will trust it to that Master who fed five thousand
people’ with only five barley loaves and two small fishes. It was all his disciples were able to
produce—but by his blessing the food was multiplied and the Master stilled the hunger of so
many people.
In this way I have faith and trust in the coming Convention, and like the Christian disciples
I give all my thankfulness, all my love—as much as I am able—to the great Masters and com¬
batants,—to H. P. Blavatsky, to Mr. Judge, to Mr. Griscom, to Mr. Johnston, and to the
leaders of the Society in this time in the outer world—all, all I have so much to thank, including
the Quarterly.
My letter would not be quite clear to me, if I did not think also of one thing to which every
Convention points; it is: to grow into a real combatant for Masters! May the light of the
Convention help us in this during the coming year, so that if the Master were to come to us,
he may find us watching, and fighting with light and understanding—soldiers in reality!
Marie Willkomm.
Delegates and members showed deep interest in the reading of Letters of Greeting, including,
in addition to the foregoing, letters from Mr. Arthur W. Barrett (Massachusetts); Mr. Birger
Elwing (Texas); Miss Evans and Miss Wallace, President and Secretary of the Branch in Den¬
ver; Miss Eleanor Evans (England); Miss Anna Fjaestad (Sweden); Miss Gorich and Mrs.
Box (California); Mr. Herman F. Hohnstedt, President of the Branch in Cincinnati; Miss E.
Howe (England); Mr. 0 . Ihrke (Germany); Mr. R. Jager, Treasurer of the Aussig Branch,
Czechoslovakia; Mr. Gonzdlez Jimenez, Secretary of the Branch in Caracas; Miss Jennie B.
Tuttle (California); Mr. Richard Walther (Germany); Mr. Percy W. Ward, Secretary of the
Branch in Gateshead, England; Mr. Friedrich Weber (Germany); Mrs. Rossie Jane Whittle,
Secretary of the Branch in Middletown; Mr. Franz Willkomm (Czechoslovakia); cablegrams
from Mrs. Graves, Mrs. Bagnell and Miss Bagnell; from Mrs. Raymond (Japan), and tele¬
grams from Captain E. W. Hamlen and Mrs. H. P. Moser.
REVIEWS
General Botany for Cclieges, by Dr. R. E. Torrey, Assistant Professor of Botany, Massa¬
chusetts State College; The Century Biological Series, Century Co., New York; price, S3.50.
This book was written by an expert who undoubtedly understands his subject as few do,
and who owes his understanding in large measure, we believe, to his refusal to regard his “field”
as isolated from the rest of the universe,—the stultifying habit of most specialists. The
result is a treatise which cannot fail to be of interest and value to everyone who would study
life as a whole, as well as to those who make a special study of Botany. Dr. Torrey’s con¬
clusion expresses the hope that readers will have derived from his pages a better, deeper,
broader vision of evolutionary processes. He adds: “It is not possible or desirable that all
of us should become botanists, and in this book the needs of the cultured humanist have been
kept in mind, as well as those of the scientist. All of us are human beings first and scientists
afterwards, and the laws of evolution which we have seen written in the plant world are the
laws of evolution of all life—of your life and of mine. In studying these laws in their universal
application you may, if you will, find some of the deepest satisfactions which life has to offer,
and, as the years go by, you may slowly win to the concept of a living, organic universe whose
highest values are not alien to those of human nature.” T.
The Secret of the Golden Flower , a Chinese Book of Life, translated and explained by Richard
Wilhelm, with a European Commentary by C. G. Jung; Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co.,
Ltd., London, 1931; price, 12s. 6 d. net.
The late Richard Wilhelm was a German Sinologue who must have had exceptional endow¬
ments, for according to his friend, Dr. Jung, he became “a pupil of a Chinese master of the old
school” and “an initiate in the psychology of Chinese yoga.” He explains that The Secret of
the Golden Flower comes from an “esoteric circle” and that it is based upon an oral tradition
going back to the Eighth Century. It is supposed to record the instructions of Lii Yen,
one of the Eight Taoist Immortals and the reputed founder of the religion of the Golden
Elixir of Life. In its actual state, however, the little treatise is clearly a fusion and a mixture
of many elements. There seems to have been a deliberate attempt to blend certain Taoist
and Buddhist metaphysical teachings. There are also passages which might be Chinese
translations of some Indian tantric work on Hatha Yoga or Pranayama. This is not sur¬
prising, when one recalls the history of Northern Buddhism. The pure Mahayana doctrines
have been frequently travestied by partisans of tantric magic, and when the great Buddhist
missionaries entered China they were followed by other missionaries who did not teach Bud¬
dhism but a perversion of it. It would have been miraculous if the Chinese had always chosen
rightly between the two.
The book offers another difficulty. It is written in a cipher which is susceptible to various
interpretations. One must pay due tribute to Wilhelm for the way in which he has unravelled
a consistent metaphysical scheme from its sentences. Thus he identifies the “Golden Flower”
with the elixir of life, the secret of immortality. “Each individual contains a central monad
which, at the moment of conception, splits into life and essence, ming and hsing. ... In
the personal bodily existence of the individual they are represented by two other polarities,
88
REVIEWS
89.
a p'0 soul (or anima) and a Jtun soul (or animus). All during the life of the individual these
two are in conflict, each striving for mastery. At death they separate. . . . The anima
sinks to earth as kuei , a ghost being. The animus rises and becomes slrtn, a revealing spirit
or god. ... If the life-forces flow downward .... into the outer world, the anima is victorious
over the animus; no ‘spirit-body* or ‘Golden Flower’ is developed and, at death, the ego is
lost. If the life-forces are led through the ‘back-flowing’ process, that is, conserved and made
to ‘rise’ instead of allowed to dissipate, the animus has been victorious, and the ego persists
after death. ... A man who holds to the way of conservation all through life may reach the
stage of the ‘Golden Flower’, which then frees the ego from the conflict of the opposites, and
it again becomes part of Tao, the undivided Great One ” (p. 73). There are remarkable analo¬
gies between these concepts and the theosophical teaching concerning Buddhi-Manas and
Kama-Manas, the spiritual and animal souls in man.
The work prescribes certain yoga exercises which are intended to initiate the process of
the “interiorization” and immortalization of the ego. One may give the Chinese “esotericists”
the benefit of the doubt and assume that they attributed a mystical and spiritual meaning
to the description of these exercises. But the practices outlined in the text can only be de¬
scribed as tantric, in so far as they are ostensibly concerned with the methods of stimulating
certain nerve-centres in the physical body. The literal and obvious meaning of the words
suggests that the “Golden Flower” may be cultivated by the control of the breath and by
“fixing one’s thinking on the point which lies exactly between the two eyes.” The dangerous
illusions which are nourished by such injunctions are fortunately lessened by the incomplete¬
ness of the instructions, as also by the fact that the average Western reader will not have the
slightest idea as to what it is all about.
Dr. Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist, has his own private key to the cipher of this “Book of Life”.
He has the highest praise for the Chinese sages whom he greets as brother-psychiatrists. Their
object, he believes, was the same as his,—to reconcile and to harmonize the demands of the
subconscious instinctive self with the demands of the self-conscious and rational ego. The
psychic conditions which accompany the process of reconciliation “are expressed symbolically
in our text, and in the very symbols which, for many years, have been well-known to me in my
practice” (p. 93). He is not concerned with the possible objective reality of the “Golden Flower’ ’
or with the actual technique of Chinese yoga, for he has the circumscribed mind of the specialist
and tends to assimilate only that aspect of an idea which can be adapted to his specialty.
It follows that Dr. Jung’s commentary is a very interesting revelation of Dr. Jung’s theories,
but that it has very little to do with the mysterious reaches of consciousness to which the
Chinese book points, because those reaches are beyond the narrow domain which the psy¬
chiatrist lights up with his little lantern.
There is one point which cannot be passed over in silence. Speaking of the Occidental
who ruins body and spirit in the attempt to take over Oriental yoga practices, Dr. Jung says
that “Theosophy is our best example of this mistake” (p. 79). It is a regrettable fact that man^
people who call themselves Theosophists have by their behaviour given others a very fal^F
view of Theosophy. Dr. Jung may rest assured that members of The Theosophical Society^
founded by Madame Blavatsky and W. Q. Judge are not in the habit of practising Hatha Yoga
anywhere at any time, for they have too much respect for the Wisdom of the East to imagine
that it can be acquired in this way. S.V.L,
Moral and Religious Aphorisms, by Benjamin Whichcote; Elkin Mathews and Marrot,.
London, 1931; price 7 s. 6 d.
After an interval of nearly two hundred years, this devotional treasure of the seventeenth
century is republished. An introduction by Dean Inge—in his better manner, entirely free
from “modernistic” suggestions—gives the historical setting of the book, and indicates its
value. In seventeenth century England, there arose two groups of men—laymen and ecclesi¬
astics in each group—who inherited the Renaissance tradition (see “Eastern Influences in
Mediaeval Christendom”, Theosophical Quarterly, April, 1932), and made it their endeavour
to win recognition for the realities of Christian thought and life as distinct from theological
go
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
dogma . “They tried to knit again the threads which had been severed by the long isolation
of the West from the East” (p. IV). One group, Royalist and High Church, centred at Ox¬
ford, around Lord Falkland; the other, Puritan and Low Church, worked at the sister uni¬
versity, Cambridge, and hence is known as the Cambridge Platonists. Dr. Benjamin Which-
cote (1609-1683) was the leader of the second group. As head of Emmanuel College (Cam¬
bridge), Whichcote directed his own pupils to the study of Plato and Plotinus, for the elucida¬
tion of St. Paul, his general aim being to “recall the Church to her old loving nurse, the Platonic
philosophy” (p. VI). The influence of that seventeenth century movement was silent, but
potent, and “no one can doubt”, Dean Inge writes, “that Coleridge and Wordsworth were in
the line of succession” (p. IX).
As a result of the unusual stand made at Oxford and at Cambridge, for experience as distinct
from dogma , in the last quarter of the seventeenth century there were produced many works of
a mystical character. Sermons of Bishop William Beveridge (1637-1708) are one example.
Another example is a small treatise entitled The Life of God in the Soul of Man, by Henry
Scougal (1650-1678), an obscure Scotch clergyman who died in his twenty-eighth year. That
the writings of Beveridge and of Scougal should be studied by the brothers Wesley (John
was bom 1703) while students at Oxford, is not surprising. It does surprise, however, to learn
that Scougal's tiny volume was carried to Virginia by Scotch emigrants, was noticed there by
Anglican missionaries who had the book reprinted at Philadelphia, first in 1725, and again in
* 795 - A copy of that later edition found its way to Emerson (born 1803, one century after
John Wesley), who studied, marked, and annotated it. Truly, as Tennyson has so beautifully
said, “the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.”
Books by Whichcote are scarce, and could hardly be expected to circulate widely. The
present edition gives an opportunity to obtain, “in black and white”, from an orthodox An¬
glican ecclesiastic, words that support and reinforce certain theosophical teachings,—for
xample: “Both Heaven and Hell have their foundations within us. Heaven is an internal
reconciliation to the nature of God, and to the rule of Righteousness. The guilt of conscience,
and enmity to Righteousness, is the inward state of Hell. The guilt of conscience is the fuel
of Hell.”
Some sermons by Whichcote and his associates were republished in 1901 (after one hundred
and sixty years) by the Clarendon Press, under the title, The Cambridge Platonists , E. T.
Campagnac being the editor. Those interested in the subject should watch in old book shops
for that volume, which now is out of print. C.
The Vision of God: The Christian Doctrine of the Summum Bonum; The Bampton Lectures
for 1928, by the Rev. Kenneth E. Kirk; Longmans, Green & Co., 1931; price, Sio.oo.
This book is of great interest and value. It is addressed to serious students of Christian
thought; and though its method is that of German “thoroughness”, it fortunately is without
German pedantry, and contains justly severe strictures on some German scholarship. The
unfolding of Christian history at its very heart and centre—the Vision of God—draws us
closer to the hidden springs of merely outward action, and so, for students of Theosophy,
gives something of a perspective of Lodge activities and Lodge achievements. The literature
covered is enormous; there are acute critiques of ancient and modem writers; fundamental
principles are not lost to sight in the wealth of illustrative detail; and, as a result, the final
conclusion, so far as it goes, gathers irresistible force: “Worship stands out as the only means
by which service can be purged of a self-centredness which renders it all but unserviceable;
and the doctrine that man s first duty is to look towards God in the spirit of worship, which
is the fundamental truth implied in the Christian thought of the vision of God, receives its
vindication (p. 463). At a time when many in the Theosophical Movement are looking for
God-instructed men to lead the nations”, the formal and conspicuous reassertion in Chris¬
tian terms of such a need for Vision first, and only then of “service”, is important and sig¬
nificant.
Nevertheless, the limitations imposed by certain fundamental conceptions in this out¬
standing book, would almost certainly bring about once again the rejection of men of true
REVIEWS
9 i
Vision, and the denial of their message, if they should appear conspicuously among us to-day.'
These eight lectures, elaborated after delivery, survey the history of Christian thought and
action on the main purpose and avowed aim of all Christian endeavour. That purpose, and
that end, are epitomized in the phrase, “The Vision of God”. This ideal is all-embracing,
because it includes “salvation”, it includes “the kingdom”, it involves “eternal life” (p. 466).
“The pure in heart shall see God”, and, as Irenaeus paraphrased: “The glory of God is a living
man; and the life of man is the vision of God”. But what was meant by “seeing God”? And
above all, by what discipline and course of life might such a vision be attained?
Christianity, like Hinduism or Buddhism, has provided many answers, from extremes of
mere Formalism to extremes of Asceticism and Mysticism, arising out of the widely varying
mental and spiritual degrees of development of its followers. Looking back over nineteen
hundred years of Christian thought and experiment, Dr. Kirk is convinced that a compromise
between the extremes of mysticism on one side, and of a mere Protestant “system of moral
law” (p. 429) on the other, has evolved the highest conception yet conceived of what the
Vision of God should really be. It may now be seen as proved from the Christian experience
so ably traced in this book, that a rich and fruitful life in the world, a life of true “service”,
cannot be attained unless based on “worship”, and actuated first and foremost by the high
and true experience of some Vision of God. This is an advance on the earlier attitude of the
Church;—but Dr. Kirk fails to point out that this earlier attitude was in itself a compromise,
was what virtually amounted to a lowering of its colours. When persecutions ceased, and
men became Christians by a simple affirmation of adherence and the administration of an
outer rite of baptism, the high ascetic ideals and rigorous discipline of, let us say, a St. Paul,
were utterly beyond the understanding, let alone the attainment, of the worldly majority.
An almost inevitable consequence was the acceptance of a “double standard” or “two lives”
—the active and the contemplative—rendered classic in St. Augustine’s “Two Cities” (p. 330),
—though it is noteworthy that this compromise was rejected by the Theosophical Schools at
Alexandria, and notably by the theosopher Clement of Alexandria (p. 314). Already men
were perforce acting in the light of their own best knowledge, because full and higher under¬
standing of the Master Christ’s teaching had been overlaid. The Buddha had founded his
Order—a specially selected group within the Buddhist community, which latter, like the
Christian community, split up into churches—and the highest mystical teachings, and Vision,
could be sought and found in the Order by those desirous of devoting their lives to that end.
But Christianity failed to maintain outwardly the original foundation of the Master Christ.
In the course of time, the exoteric Religious Orders provided a partial substitute; but these
were one and all founded by men—however wise and devout—and were, moreover, regulated
and supervised by the ecclesiastical hierarchy, their rules and discipline modified by its de¬
crees. A thousand years of actual experiment with monasticism followed, during which time
the Contemplative Life was held up as the only safe way and true means of attaining the
Vision of God in this life. But the actual institution was not an unqualified success; corrup¬
tion became scandalous; and the very nature of the ideal excluded the ordinary man and
tended to deny him the possibility of genuine, independent attainment. The experiment of
the “Two Lives”—the life dedicated to Vision, and the life dedicated to action—was seen
to be inadequate. In effect, both, each in its own way, had become largely “Formalist”.
So finally Benedict XIV officially proclaimed, what Bernard of Clairvaux and Ignatius Loyola
first popularly taught, that the “Mixed Life”, was the ideal life, conforming to the teaching
and example of Christ himself.
But here a new difficulty had to be met; and Dr. Kirk does not solve the problem: he meets
it—with virtually all the Churchmen of to-day—by a compromise. Because the Church as a
whole cannot vicariously transmit its own highest vision (as still exemplified by its contem-
platives and “mixed-life” religious), the practical ideal of the Mixed Life has been lowered to
accommodate the limitations and demands of the majority of men, who are worldly-minded
and who intend to remain so. Moreover, where, to-day, are there Churchmen who dare to
appeal to actual vision , to first-hand experience? What reception would they get if they did?
Where are the seers officially recognized as such? It is true, as Dr. Kirk concludes, that:
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“Like can only be seen by like—it is therefore only as worship creates in him some likeness
to the character of Jesus that the Christian can achieve his goal” (p. 467)—but the ideal of a
possible achievement is actually as limited as the words “some likeness” are indefinite. The
Vision of God has been, for practical purposes, lowered to the level of an ordinary man’s
comprehension. Fortunately, Dr. Kirk not only does not decry, he staunchly maintains
the validity and desirability of higher, of mystical, experience. But he can only see Plato’s
doctrine of “reminiscence” as “mythical” (p. 212); he describes "Christian gnosticism and
the theosophies of contemporary paganism” as “not so much an endemic disease” as “an
epidemic of the whole of contemporary thought” (p. 212); and, sympathetic as he means to
be, he is so led away by modem hard-headed “scholarship” that he writes: “The most gen¬
erous appreciation of Philo, or the apocalyptists, or the mysteries, or the ‘Hermetica’, must
admit that here and there at least they may have been victims of illusion—it was not always
God with whom they had communion, when they thought they saw Him. . . . Sometimes
they merely reproduce the conventional jargon of contemporary theosophies. . . . Their
quest was primarily a selfish one; their motive to secure for themselves, either here or here¬
after, an all-absorbing religious experience. For reasons which become clearer as we proceed,
the Church undertook the amazing task of transforming this self-centred cult of the divine
into an ideal of disinterested worship and service. In doing so she altered the entire doctrine
of the vision of God” (p. 54).
This last statement is a true one, though its writer fails to appreciate its significance. Of
Occultism he knows nothing; for him it is completely swallowed up in its counterfeits. In¬
sisting that the counterfeits are the only real, it becomes inconceivable that Christ should be
an Occultist, with all that that implies. Because he does not see the logical necessity of a
Lodge of Masters—of “just men made perfect”—even in the sense of a vital and acting com¬
munion of saints, with its corollary of chdlaship and the path of discipleship; because he
denies reincarnation; and because he sees a man’s opportunity here only in terms of one life,
Dr. Kirk can write about “turning the other cheek, about taking no thought for the morrow,
about laying up no treasure on earth, about forsaking parents and possessions, about bearing
the cross”, as extremes: “The spirit which pervades them constitutes an erratic block in the
teaching of Jesus whose provenance—other than his direct intuition of supernatural truth-
must for the moment remain unknown” (p. 63); or again: “S. Luke included the wife among the
list of persons whom the disciple must ‘hate’, or ‘leave’—a very sinister addition to the Marcan
source” (p. 75; italics in both instances ours). How could it be otherwise? Rule out The¬
osophy—“The Wisdom of God and the Power of God”—rule out Masters as custodians and
interpreters of that Wisdom, rule out the full significance of the Incarnation in the light of
the ancient teaching of Avatars, rule out the training of chSlaship and the inner development
and age-long evolution of the spiritual man as the goal of human evolution, rule out the very
possibility of coming to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven for the simple reason
that there really are no such mysteries to know—at least not here and now—and why should
not common sense and an enlightened worldly wisdom pronounce judgment on the extreme
intuitions of “supernatural truth”, vaunting the elimination of inexplicable or inconvenient
texts as “higher criticism”; and why should one’s vision be directed wholly away from “this”
world, and centred wholly in that “other” world?
One puts down this book grateful to the author for his intellectual integrity, his stimulating
erudition, his life-long labours, his sound worldly sense. But with the light of Theosophy, as
restated and interpreted for us by Madame Blavatsky and Mr. Judge, this book makes one
realize anew the present-day need for Theosophy itself, and why it was that the Movement of
this century re-emphasized just the teachings that it has. There is something tragic in the
thought that so much labour, such erudition linked with sterling honesty of purpose, should,
for lack of certain keys which were the common property of the priesthoods two millenniums
ago, serve to confirm Churchmen in the rightness of their ignorance. One comes to realize
also something of the magnitude of the task the Lodge has undertaken in striving to show
men a way out, and “to make men wish to walk in it when shown”. S.
REVIEWS
93
Ancient Civilizations of the Andes, by Philip Ainsworth Means; Scribners, 1931; price, $7.50.
One has fascinating but vague notions about the Incas. One has heard that they had a great
Empire, that they built magnificent forts, and temples where they worshipped the Sun under
the image of a huge disk of pure gold, and that their buried treasure is still undiscovered.
If one should wish to find out everything so far known about the civilizations of the Andes,
the Empire of the Chimus and the Empire of the Incas, he should read Mr. Means’ book. At
a time when the body politic of the West seems so sick, it is helpful to read of the rise and fall
•of ancient nations. Mr. Means draws some very interesting comparisons and contrasts
between their problems and our own. His book is written in a charming style, with a gaiety
and humour all too rare in archaeologists. St. C. LaD.
Thought Transference (or What?) in Birds, by Edmund Selous; London, Constable & Com¬
pany; price, 7 s. 6 d.
Based on years of exceedingly careful and thoughtful observation, this little volume studies
the collective or mass movements of birds, and comes to the inescapable conclusion that:
“Thought-transference, so it seems to me, in so far as it can be held to explain, is the only
explanatory hypothesis that can be offered” (p. 61). The author goes even further in his
most suggestive hypotheses: “I am considering only the problem of collective action, and
would ask how is it possible for an extended troop of hundreds of birds to rise all together
from the ground, at one and the same instant, as though threaded on a labyrinthine wire,
except through an impulse acting upon them in their entirety, as upon one individual? At
the least there must be thought-transference, but perhaps it is even something more, the
units of which the flock is composed seeming here to take the place of the different cells in the
brain of such single units, so that the impulse to action comes, as one may say, from the flock
brain to the flock body” (pp. 42-3). He argues also that if thought-transference can be
•shown to exist in nature independently of man, it removes all scientific prejudice against its
appearance in man as a normally possible development of his faculties. By way of com¬
mentary on this unusually interesting book, we might quote Madame Blavatskv ( Transactions
of the Blavatsky Lodge, I, p. 13): “Even on this plane of ours there are other and various intel¬
lects, besides those of man, in creatures visible and invisible, from minds of subjective high
and low Beings to objective animals and the lowest organisms, in short, ‘from the Deva to the
elephant, from the elemental to the ant’. Now, in relation to its own plane of conception and
perception, the ant has as good an intellect as we have ourselves, and a better one; for though
it cannot express it in words, yet, over and above instinct, the ant shows very high reasoning
powers, as all of us know. Thus, finding on our own plane—if we credit the teachings of Oc¬
cultism—so many and such varied states of consciousness and intelligence, we have no right to
take into consideration and account only our own human consciousness, as though no other
existed outside of it.” Q.
The Samaritans of Molokai, by Charles Dutton; Dodd, Mead and Company, New York,
1931; price, $3.00.
Most people have heard of the leper colony on Molokai, one of the Hawaiian Islands, but
few realize that they have heard of it because of the heroic work of Father Damien and Joseph
Dutton, who transformed it from a veritable hell into the “model leper colony of the world”.
All of us have a private collection of heroes whom we love personally, and we shall place these
two men in our own.
Father Damien, a Belgian priest, hearing of the horrible state of the lepers exiled on Molo¬
kai, volunteered to go to them and left that very day on his mission. He found the lepers
living in almost indescribable conditions of misery, starvation, filth and degradation. En¬
tirely alone, he organized the colony, built them houses, tended their wounds, ministered to
their needs, material and spiritual, and wrested from the authorities food, clothing and sup¬
plies. He himself contracted leprosy. When he discovered it, he simply began his morning
sermon “We lepers”, instead of “Brothers”, as before.
Joseph Dutton was an American who had served with a magnificent record in the Civil
94 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
War. Reading of the work of Damien and of the needs of the lepers, he went at once to Molo¬
kai. For practically forty years he never left the colony. He says, “Seek a vacation? Why,
I have a vacation all the time, every blessed moment of the time, every moment of all these
blessed years, in doing what I like, what I think my soul needs. Anything else would be
slavery.” He did not contract the disease, but lived to the age of eighty-seven to carry on
the work. When he died in 1931, the colony had become what it is now, as healthy and pleas¬
ant a place as possible in such circumstances.
Students of Theosophy can read this book with profit, for they may learn from the lives of
Father Damien and Brother Dutton something of the qualities required in the work of the
Great Lodge. St. C. LaD.
The Person of Evolution , by W. D. Lighthall, LL.D. (McGill); Macmillan, 1930; price,
S2.00.
Dr. Lighthall has adopted, as a working hypothesis, the idea that the living organism is a
“model of the make-up of the known universe”. His “Person of Evolution” is a sort of Plan¬
etary Spirit, the synthesis and united life of all creatures upon this earth. But though it is a
synthesis, it is also to be regarded as a defined and individual consciousness. It is, therefore,
both transcendent and immanent, unknowable by all lesser entities because it is, in a sense,
distinct from them, but also knowable in as much as it is “so closely associated with the indi¬
vidual self as to raise the question of a larger Self” (p. 26). As the physical body of an animal
or plant is both a colony of cells and an organized unit, so the “Person of Evolution” is both
a Person and a colony of many lesser persons. He avoids theological implications by refusing
to identify the “Person of Evolution” with Deity, but he is convinced that it is a “Directive
Power”, a “vast consciousness-structure (in the universe] operating upon and through its
physical structure, whose urge is towards the achievement of measureless happiness” (p. 106).
It provides “a new element for guidance in discussions of the nature of the Outer Universe.
The physicists are naturally limited to structure and order, the biologists to conditions of
terrestrial life. The Directive Power comes straight out of the outer universe and gives
meaning, intelligence and resource to Energy” (p. 200).
Dr. Lighthall’s theory has many affinities with certain fundamental tenets of mystical
philosophy. Mystics and occultists have always affirmed that “the universe is everywhere
conscious and organized in higher and higher circles of life, of which the nearest to us is our
globe itself, of which we and all things upon it are organs”. However, the arguments of the
mystic are more convincing than Dr. Lighthall’s, because the mystic bases his assertions
upon the data of a genuine science of consciousness. Dr. Lighthall seeks the main support
of his thesis in modem physics and biology. It is impossible to “prove” the fact of con¬
sciousness by any reference to the data of these sciences, for the simple reason that the mod¬
em scientist deliberately disregards consciousness as a factor in his calculations. His purpose,
which he effectively achieves within certain limits, is to record and to measure the phenomena
of the objective world. There is only one way of gaining certitude about any state of con¬
sciousness, and that is to have an immediate experience of that state in one’s own conscious¬
ness.
However, Dr. Lighthall has written an interesting and valuable book. He has failed to
prove his theory, but this does not mean that his theory is not a good one. Above all, he
has proved that he possesses the precious faculty of intellectual intuition. V. S.
Fragments , Volume One, by Cav£; Quarterly Book Department, New York; price, Si.50.
All students of Theosophy will welcome a new edition of this book. The Mosher Press has
been very successful in duplicating the original edition which was printed by the DeVinne
Press of New York. To cover the cost, the price of each of the three volumes of Fragments
has been raised to Si.50. There can be no need to speak here of the immense value of these
little treatises on discipleship and the spiritual life. It is a hopeful sign that there is a steady
demand for all three volumes. E.T.H.
Question No. 371 .—When striving to escape from a stereotyped il saying of prayers" into real
praying, to whom should one speak,—to the Logos, or the Higher Self, or each to his own Master if
he knows who He is?
Answer. —Prayer presupposes, always, the recognition of a power higher than oneself.
The real concern of the one who prays is not the name'by which to identify this power, but to
turn the prayer, which with the ordinary man is merely petition, into will prayer. This de¬
mands, not the craven asking of a Higher Power to do this or that in behalf of the one who
prays, but postulates, on his part, a desire to share in the will of that Power, and an unflinching
determination to carry out that will in whatever degree it may be indicated. As he loves
and seeks to do this will, it will be revealed to him. As he makes his co-operation conscious and
continuous, he will begin to distinguish to What or to Whom he speaks, through having earned
the right to such knowledge.
Such is the attitude and prayer of the disciple. He does not attempt to shift his responsibility
as does the ordinary man of the world. He does not ask some Power arbitrarily to solve his
problems for him. He co-operates manfully and whole-heartedly in working them out. To
the extent to which he co-operates, he puts himself on a footing with his comrades of the
Inner World, and comes to know them as they are. G. M. W. K.
Answer. —The simpler one keeps it, the better. Real prayer is communion, an interchange.
If one is striving to escape from mere repetition of words into real praying, one is only, in a
sense, at the starting-point of effort. At that stage, is it conceivable that there can be com¬
munion with the Logos? At that stage, too, fancied communion with the Higher Self may
turn out to be only a brisk interchange of words with the Lower Nature.
The first step would appear to be identification with the Higher Self, the constant holding of
the thought that, in the words of Mr. Judge, “I am the Higher Self”. The ensuing step,
whether or not that identification is final and complete, would be the attempt to reach one’s
own Master, whether or not one knows who he is; and, having made that attempt, the third
step would be to listen.
Stereotyped prayers, the following of ritual and the repetition of words hallowed and sanc¬
tified by the aspiration and devotion of countless numbers of people, possess a reality and and
efficacy of their own. They can be used to concentrate the attention, and the reality in the^
fortifies the effort, until there comes that movement of the heart which makes communion
possible. C. R. A.
Answer. —What makes one wish to escape from the stereotyped “saying of prayers”, to
real prayer? In that desire is the key to the answer. Real prayer is the longing for union, for
likeness, the yearning of the soul for its home. We should use our intuition, the intuition of the
heart. If one does not know the name of his Master, it is of no great consequence. A Master's
love for his children is not changed by their knowledge or ignorance of his name.
J. F. B. M.
95
•96
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Answer. —One cannot pray to an abstraction. Prayer is an intimate, personal relation wit
•one’s Master when one knows who he is; when He is not known, the aspiration and longing to
know Him would reach Him, as the Lodge is a brotherhood, and a real appeal would never
be lost or ignored. In that world, we are told, a real desire or need is always met.
G. H. M.
Answer. —There could surely be no fixed rule, for each soul has its own special needs and
aspirations; each soul responds to special conditions. The heart of each must be the guide.
“Prayer is a mystery, an occult process”, says the Key to Theosophy , where we read (pages
45-6) about “will prayer”, and that the occultist addresses his prayer to “ ‘our Father in
heaven’ in its esoteric meaning”. In a letter to ‘‘Mrs. S.” ( Quarterly , Vol. XI, pages 167-8),
Cav£ wrote: “My idea of prayer, personally, is conversation with the Master—very intimate,
adoring conversation, which leads to communion with him: an interchange, and then a sense
of union”. Is there any essential difference between these? The important issue is the
“spiritual transmutation”, by whatever approach that spiritual transmutation be attained.
T. A.
Question No. 372 —Although we are told that Masters do not always agree as to details of pro¬
cedure , is it not true that in all that pertains to the salvation of mankind they agree perfectly?
Answer. —Masters undoubtedly agree perfectly on what they are seeking to accomplish
for mankind. There is no difference of purpose or of opinion about the goal, but there may be
different views in regard to the wisdom of particular steps at particular times, when success or
failure depends upon the response from the world, or upon the continued fidelity of weak human
agents. The decision to entrust so much of the ancient wisdom to The Theosophical Society,
will only be justified if we, its members, prove ourselves faithful to our trust. While there
may not be agreement in advance among Masters about the expediency of any particular step,
we may be sure that, once it has been determined upon, every Master works to the uttermost
for its success. j. p. B. M.
Answer. —They must; otherwise they would be working at cross purposes. Take ourselves,
members of The Theosophical Society, for example. We do not all follow the same details of
procedure. What a cut and dried affair it would be if we did! But we do agree as to the main
object of the Society: “to form the nucleus of a Universal Brotherhood of Humanity.” If
we did not so agree we should be working at cross purposes, and the Society probably would
go the way of former outer expressions of the Movement. G. M. W. K.
Answer.— It would be difficult indeed not to believe that Masters see eye to eye in regard
to the real needs of humanity, the possibilities for spiritual growth and development latent
in men or in groups of men. Any failure on their part to agree among themselves, could only
be as to the most effective ways and means to adopt, at any given moment of time, for the
accomplishment of their united purpose. C R A
Answer— The salvation of mankind is the main interest of Masters in this world. Masters
differ widely in characteristics, as they have infinitely more forceful individualities than
ordinary men, which naturally and inevitably leads to differences in method; but this would
involve no real disagreement. G H M
XX, No. 2
OCTOBER, 1932
STANDARD BOOKS
Blavatsky, H. P. Isis Unveiled, Vols. I and II.doth. $10.00
Complete in one book.cloth, 7 .So
Key to Theosophy . c i oth# 2 .25
Secret Doctrine, The, Vols. I and II and Index .doth/ iu.oo
Complete in one book, without subject-index volume, 7.50
Theosophical Glossary .doth, 2.25
Transactions of the Blavatsky Lodge .doth, 2.50
Voice of the Silence .doth, 1.00
Cave. Fragments, Volume I.boards* t.so
Volume II.beams, 1.50
Volume III.board*, 1.50
Gerard, John. Letters to Friends .board*, 1.75
Hillard, Katherine. Abridgment of the Secret Doctrine, .doth, 3.00
Johnston, Charles. BHAGAVAD Gita .Translated, annotated; cloth, 1.25
limp leather, 1.75
Crest Jewel of Wisdom, The .doth, 1.25
Great Upanisuads, The, Volume I.cloth, 1.50
Parables of the Kingdom, The .paper, .51)
PaTANJALI S Yoga Sutras. ..Translated, annotated; doth, 1.25
Song of Life, The . paperf . 75
judge, William Q. BHAGAVAD Gita .Edited; doth, 1 . 25 ; leather, 1.50
Echoes from the Orient . pap er, .25
Letters That Have Helped Me, Volume I and II, each, .doth, 1.00
Ocean of Theosophy ....doth, 1.00
Patanjali’s Yoga Aphorisms .doth, 1.00
Keightley, Archibald. Theosophy as an Influence in Life paper,’ .20
LaDow, Stanley V. Plotinus .paper’ .50
Mitchell, Henry Bedinger. Meditation, Special edition, .20* paper, .50
Talks on Religion .doth, 1.60
Theosophical Society and Theosophy, The .paper, .20
Sinnett, A. P. Esoteric Buddhism .cloth, 2.50
Occult World, The .doth, 2.50
Walker, E. D. Reincarnation .doth, 1.75
Idyll of the White Lotus.cloth, 1.35
Light on the Path.. fabric, 1.00
Through the Gates of Gold.doth, 1.20
THE QUARTERLY BOOK DEPARTMENT,
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Devotional: Bhagavad Gita; Crest Jewel of Wisdom; Fragments; The Great Upani-
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able* of the Kingdom; The Song of Life; Through the Gates of Gold; Voice of the Silence.
Philosophical: Abridgment of the Secret Doctrine; Isis Unveiled; Key to Theosophy;
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Introductory: Culture of Concentration: Echoes from the Orient; Esoteric Buddhism;
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OCTOBER, 1932
ASBsm
Founded by f), P. Blavatsky at Dew York In 1875
HE Society does not pretend to be able to establish
at once a universal brotherhood among men, but
only strives to create the nucleus of such a body.
Many of its members believe that an acquaintance
IHgjJgg with the world's religions and philosophies will
reveal, as the common and fundamental principle
underlying these, that "spiritual identity of all Souls with the
Oversoul ” which is the basis of true brotherhood J and many
ot them also believe that an appreciation of the finer forces
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who are expected to accord to the beliefs of others that
tolerance which they desire for their own.
tinnnf w? P £^*^ a o 011 wasado ,P tecI at the Convex
Soaety, held at Boston, April, 1895:
The Theosophical Society in America by its delegates and
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CONTENTS OF VOL. XXX, NO. 2
October, 1932
NOTES AND COMMENTS.
FRAGMENTS...
page
BERGSON’S VIEW OF MYSTICISM
. io7
THE PARABLE OF THE PERSIAN BEGGAR
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE
VI.
RICHNESS OF LIFE..
PSYCHOANALYSIS: An Explanation and
Interpretation
. 130
THE MAXIMS OF RENE QUINTON
TREES.
WAR MEMORIES, XVII..
. 154
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
. r 59
REVIEWS..
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
. 181
-- —v a v/at KJU1CC at
Copyright, i 932 , by The Theosophical Society
THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
rel InV nb l * u- SUU T' ary 0,)JeCtS are: The stud y of ancient and moderr
of st d 5'n a SC ‘ enCeS ’ and the demonstration of the importance
the Zl b Ud f and I 6 ' nVestlgation of the unexplained laws of nature and
the psychical powers latent in man.
The Theosophical Quarterly is the official organ of the original
1 heosoplncal Society founded, in New York by H. P. Blavatsku
W. Q. Judge and others, in IS75. J '
We have no connection whatsoever with any other organization
calling itself Theosophical , headed by Mrs. Besant or others , nor
with similar bodies , the purposes and methods of which are wholly
foreign to our own . J
Editors, The Theosophical Quarterly.
-3
NOTES a*™ COMMENT;
OCTOBER. 1932
TK, Tims#.uolS^y, or «A .* ~j
in this magazine, by whomsoever expressed, unless contained m
Is There Purpose In Evolution?
i 4.* > o;- t Arthur Thomson, the eminent Scotch
tive answer, basing his arg of special interest—as it
scientifically determined fa f , i en exC essive respect for
seems to us—because he has sue ° the very different deductions which
established scientific methods. , scientific data. It is an
-is- * •-—
Beginning.” , “has been to ask whether the apparent
It is grotesque to call Orga . d Na tural Selection is discriminate
We hau#
shifting m reference to an < < > harmony with the trans-scientific
also noted a ^ ber J as originally endowed in a way that we should
idea that the Order * There seems to be a steady, though
call, in human affairs well thoughtout. a „ d ma „_ eve „ „„w-
inconceivably slow, a ° fmess of evolution has been such that it has
is no anti-climax. I he whole p . . it best We have become
had as its highest outcome a solution, solidary with the rest of
0f .”o“ tue'sti* has'been: Is the idea of pmpose congruent with the scientific
99
i
I; A
IOO
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
facts ?—nay, more: Do the scientific facts in any way suggest the interpretation
that Nature expresses a purpose ? Our answer has been in the affirmative, and
since the scientifically known System of Nature, being largely unconscious,
cannot be credited with a purpose, we are led to think of a Creator’s
Purpose. . . .
“We should suggest that if there is a purposefulness behind Evolution, and
if man is an instalment of one of the purposes, it may be our most urgent and
practical duty to try to discern more of the great evolutionary trends so that
we may assist in the fulfilment of more of the purpose. We must study the
tactics so that we may share more fully in the realization of the strategy” (pp.
362-364).
The Universality of Life
Sir Arthur’s view of life is in pleasant contrast to the materialistic and mecha¬
nistic interpretations of evolution which were so dominant in Madame Bla-
vatsky’s time and which she so heartily excoriated. It was one of her funda¬
mental propositions that there is no “dead matter” in the Universe; that the
so-called inorganic kingdom has a life and consciousness of its own. We find
Sir Arthur saying practically the same thing. He wonders what Huxley and
his contemporaries meant when they spoke ofliving organisms arising naturally
from non-living matter.
“If they actually emerged from the non-living, then the non-living is a subtler
thing than our forefathers supposed; and everyone knows that the old idea
of the deadness of non-living matter has gone by the board. It is of the very
essence of evolution to be integrative , to build up higher and higher wholes, and
as General Smuts puts it: ‘Matter, Life and Mind, so far from being discon¬
tinuous and disparate, appear as a more or less connected progressive series of the
same great process’. Perhaps we make the unsolved problem of the Origin of
Life more difficult than it really is by forgetting that it must have been not
merely a biochemical but a biopsychical synthesis” (p. 26). A student of Theo¬
sophy would add that we have not only made the problem difficult by neglecting
the biopsychical aspect of all living things; we have, in fact, made solution of the
problem impossible.
The Biochemical and the Biopsychical
We do not believe, however, that Sir Arthur has made sufficient use of his
own good advice. Like other scientific evolutionists, he limits his investigations
to the physical aspect of life. He seems to favour the so-called theory of “emer¬
gent evolution” in his effort to imagine a process whereby the purposes latent in
matter can become actualities in space and time. Thus, reflecting upon the
strange “emergence” of man in the evolutionary series, he remarks that “there
is reason to believe in a saltatory variation—a mutation of magnitude—which
lifted the early Hominoids from the pit” (p. 344).
It should be obvious, however, that an abrupt “emergence” of a new
form is as suggestive of chance or accident as of purpose. In appearance
it is nothing but an interruption of a normal sequence of cause and effect.
NOTES AND COMMENTS
IOI
Why do “emergences” and “mutations” and “saltatory variations” occur?
In our opinion the theosophical teaching alone offers a logical and consistent
solution.
In The Secret Doctrine , the evolution or manifestation of life is represented as
a dual process which cannot be understood unless due weight be given to each
of the two phases which constitute the duality. There is the physical or “bio¬
chemical” phase, the slow ascent of a “subconscious” life through a series of in¬
creasingly complex organic forms. This is the aspect of evolution which is the
exclusive subject-matter of biology and palaeontology. But, also, there is the
spiritual or “biopsychical” phase, the descent of a “superconscious” life into
matter. These two movements are said to be in constant interaction, and self-
consciousness in its infinite gradations is described as the product of that inter¬
action.
“Spirit and Matter, though one and the same thing in their origin, when
once they are on the plane of differentiation, begin each of them their evolu¬
tionary progress in contrary directions—Spirit falling gradually into Matter,
and the latter ascending to its original condition, that of a pure spiritual Sub¬
stance. Both are inseparable, yet ever separated. On the physical plane, two
like poles will always repel each other, while the negative and the positive are
mutually attracted; so do Spirit and Matter stand to each other—the two
poles of the same homogeneous Substance, the Root-Principle of the Universe”
( 5 . 1 D., I, pp. 267-268).
In terms of this conception, therefore, the purpose of evolution is definable as
the development and increase and refinement of self-consciousness. “The
Universe exists for purposes of Soul.” But it is not supposed that the “bio-
psychical” or superconscious factors in Nature are, in any sense, derivatives of
the “biochemical” or subconscious. Spirit seems to “emerge” from matter,
because its interaction with matter can only be “scientifically determined”
when this interaction becomes sufficiently intense to effect the embodiment of
some spiritual quality in physical form.
The Science of Consciousness
The meaning of the theosophical philosophy is missed if it be regarded merely
as one more metaphysical theory or creed, for it is founded upon the conviction
that real knowledge exists and is attainable. The student of Theosophy has
reason to believe that there are living men who have discovered and know, not
theoretically but actually, the purpose in evolution upon this planet, and who
effectively assist in the fulfilment of that purpose. But if the teaching of
Theosophy be an exposition of the knowledge of Masters, it is not a system of
dogmas pronounced ex cathedra , but a working hypothesis, a stimulus to experi¬
ment, a guide of experience, a way whereby all men can ultimately enter into
their heritage of real knowledge.
The way of real knowledge has been called the science of consciousness. As
in every science, the student is expected to accept tentatively certain axioms and
postulates before beginning his course of experiment. If the axioms be sound,
102
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
it must follow that they will become progressively self-evident, as they are
applied practically and in detail.
Such an axiom is the Hermetic proverb: “Man, know thyself, and thou shalt
know God.” It is postulated that the study of the purposes of one’s own soul
provides the key to the understanding of a Divine Purpose in the Universe; that
the nature of the human being, according to its degree and capacity, mirrors
the nature of Being in general.
This is the basis for the statement that Spirit and Matter “are inseparable,
yet ever separated” and “begin each of them their evolutionary progress in
contrary directions.” The two lines of evolution are discovered by the individual
in his own self, and through this revelation of the ground of his own existence
he gains the power to recognize the polarity of Spirit and Matter wherever
he looks in Nature. In other words, it is introspection which unlocks all mys¬
teries for him; but the success of the introspection is dependent upon the degree
to which he conforms his action to the vision of an ideal which opens for him.
Spirit and Matter release their meaning, in so far as he is able to personify
spiritual qualities in his own life and to provide them with a physical vehicle.
The Interpretation of Dreams
Riddles of Science is rich in illustrations of the queer by-paths into which
modem scientists so easily stray and get lost. In each instance, their difficulties
are caused by their effort to interpret every phenomenon in physical terms
alone. Sir Arthur Thomson himself has not escaped from the obsession that all
states of consciousness are effects of physical antecedents. The theories which
he records or proposes, to account for various human habits and qualities, are
often so bizarre that one wonders whether he takes them seriously. However,
one seldom notes what is bizarre in one’s own notions.
We give one extreme example, taken from the chapter on “Why do we dream ?”
Many people have had dreams of floating in the air, but probably very few have
taken the trouble to read what our best scientists have to say upon the subject.
“Various theories have been suggested to explain this sort of dream, e.g.
that it is related to the baby’s early experiences in the bath. One psychologist
of distinction has sought to relate it to the piscine chapter in the pedigree of
Vertebrates—some hundreds of millions of years ago! We would hazard the
suggestion that it is an organic reminiscence of floating in the amniotic fluid
before birth. All these theories have to face the obvious difficulty that the
dream experience is of floating in air, not in water. In any case, flotation may
serve to illustrate a primitive type of dream, which we may call ‘primary
reminiscence’ ” (p. 294).
To comment upon this would be as futile as to explain a joke. At any rate,
no theory of one’s own could possibly be any more grotesque. Therefore, one is
emboldened to suggest that “flotation” in dreams may sometimes be the effect
of a very different type of “primary reminiscence”. Thus Plato in the Phcedrus
speaks of the soul’s dim memory of its ancient glory, when “with the happy
band following in the train of Zeus or of some other God, it saw a vision and was
NOTES AND COMMENTS
103
initiated in most blessed mysteries, which it celebrated in the state of innocence;
. . . shining in pure light and not yet enshrined in that living tomb which we
carry about, now that we are imprisoned in the body as in an oyster shell."
The following question and answer were published in The Path (III, 21).
"During sleep I have a feeling that I can fly by an intense act of will. I
then float in dream over the ground, my body seeming rigid. The force ex¬
hausted, I have to descend. What is your explanation of this?"
"It is part of the effort of your inner man to demonstrate to your outer self
the existence and action of unrecognized and unfamiliar forces, which every
man has in him the latent power to use. Dreamless slumber is better."
The reader is free to choose any explanation which seems fitting to him.
But we invite him to consider which explanation of "flotation" is more fan¬
tastic—that the soul is striving to endow the personal man with some aware¬
ness of his divine possibilities; or that we are re-living in our sleep the experience
of some hypothetical ancestor who was a fish in the Devonian Age!
The Evil Eye
The following is taken from The New York Times (June 25th, 1932).
"Syracuse, June 24.—The ‘evil eye’ of ancient superstition has been found
by scientific experiment to have a definite basis in fact, it was reported here
to-day during the closing sessions of the summer meeting of the American Asso¬
ciation for the Advancement of Science by Dr. Otto Rahn, Professor of Bacteri¬
ology at Cornell University. He told of investigations conducted by him re¬
cently on ‘the influence of human radiation on micro-organisms’.
"The human eye, Dr. Rahn declared he found only a few days ago, emanates a
form of radiation similar in its action to that of ultra-violet rays and strong
enough to kill yeast cells if held sufficiently close. Not only the eye, according
to the speaker, but the tip of the nose as well emits ultra-violet radiation strong
enough in some instances to kill yeast cells or to retard their growth. The
strongest radiations obtained so far, Dr. Rahn stated, had been those from the
finger-tips, the right hand usually radiating more than the left, even in left-
handed persons. In fact, he added, it could be shown that the human body as a
whole sent out rays, from some persons more than others, so that the ten»|
‘magnetic personality’ might possibly involve a purely physical factor. 'IW
intensity of the radiation, Professor Rahn continued, varied with different indi¬
viduals and with the same individual under different conditions. Sex did not
seem to make any difference, he added. While the radiation from plants was
generally stimulating and beneficial, Dr. Rahn said, that from human beings
was usually destructive. The effect was not due to a difference in kind, but to
a variation in the intensity."
Professor Rahn’s discovery was a subject of much comment by the press.
For example, the New York Herald Tribune (July 3rd, 1932) published an edi¬
torial warning "would-be mystics" against the idea that anything out of the
ordinary had happened. It refers to the fact that science is already familiar
with several other phenomena of the same type.
104
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“Nine years ago, in Russia, Dr. Alexander Gurwitsch discovered that living
cells in the rapidly growing roots of an onion have power to stimulate the growth
of other onion roots placed near by. . . . The influences have been reported, too,
from animal muscles, from blood, from yeast cells and, perhaps, most interest¬
ing of all, from the growing cells of a cancer. . . . Dr. A. Neville has shown, for
example, that the onion root effect may damage the delicate membrane on the
front of a living animal eye. . . . Dr. Austin H. Clark of the Smithsonian Institu¬
tion, in Washington, has proved that dead and dried butterflies preserved in the
institution’s collections can be made to print their images on photographic
plates as though the insect bodies were radio-active. Cod liver oil and several
of the vitamins have been shown to possess, at least at times, similar photo¬
graphic potencies. Dr. I. A. Balinkin, of the University of Cincinnati, has
demonstrated invisible rays emitted from slightly heated and electrified alum
crystals. Only a few weeks ago there were reported to the Academy of Sciences
in Paris experiments suggesting similar actions at a distance emanating from
ordinary metals.
“Probably the truth is that there occur in living matter, and sometimes
in things that are not living, slow chemical changes which may emit either
ultra-violet rays or gaseous emanations. There would be nothing more mys¬
terious in this than in such well-known chemical changes as the hardening of
mortar or the slow toughening of the film of linseed oil in paint.”
There is nothing mysterious about it, although it is an important addition to
human knowledge. Fifty years ago, when the study of electric waves had only
begun and radio-activity was unknown, the idea that human and other bodies
are surrounded by a “photosphere” and send forth radiant energy, would have
been scientifically classified as a rank superstition.
It is natural to suppose that the human body emits rays for the same reason
that other physical bodies become radiant, as an effect of chemical or elec¬
trical action. In this respect, one may justly assume that there is no distinction
between human bodies and onions. But as one might expect, no scientist seems
to have considered the hypothesis that it may be possible for man to control or
to modify the stream of cosmic energy which passes in a rapid eddy through his
organism. \ et there would be nothing more mysterious in this than in the mus¬
cular and nervous control which we all exercise continuously.
A student of occultism does not doubt that the eye, like the spoken word,
can be used as a transmitter of will-power by certain individuals who are either
bom with special endowments or who have undertaken a necessary course of
training. Indeed, it has been said that every volition tends to manifest itself
outwardly through the body, with an energy proportionate to the conscious
intent which was put into the volition. “A good thought is perpetuated as an
active, beneficent power, an evil one as a maleficent demon. And so man is
perpetually peopling his current in space with a world of his own, crowded with
the offspring of his fancies, desires, impulses and passions.”
Doubtless, the average man’s thoughts and passions are so feeble or so un¬
coordinated that they can make very little objective impression upon any phys-
NOTES AND COMMENTS
105
ical substance. But if one be willing to look for it, there Is plenty of evidence
that a benevolent or malevolent desire of sufficient potency can greatly in¬
crease the intensity of the natural energies flowing through the body. As we
shall see, it is the occult theory that such a desire not only increases the volume
of a force but also modifies its nature—perhaps by quickening its vibrations.
So we come to the “evil eye”, the very doubtful discovery of which was hailed
with somewhat immoderate enthusiasm by the gentlemen of the press. Cer¬
tainly there is a great gulf between the vicious entity, who uses the jettatura or
mal'occhio with deliberate intent to kill, and the ordinary person whose eye
naturally emits rays which in a laboratory are fatal to a few bacteria. But
there can be little question that the “evil eye” is a terrible fact in Nature. In
Isis Unveiled , Madame Blavatsky speaks of people “who can kill toads by merely
looking at them and can even slay individuals. The malignance of their desire
brings evil forces to a focus, and the death-dealing bolt is projected, as though
it were a bullet from a rifle” (I, 380).
Physical and Spiritual Dynamics
Madame Blavatsky identifies the forces involved, with the “astral fluid’
which was used beneficently by Mesmer in his magnetic cures. In the theory of
Mesmerism, the astral fluid of animal magnetism has been described as a subtile
form of the same energy which imparts its attractive power to the lodestone,—
as if there occurred an actual transmutation of the gross energies of Nature
through their contact with organic bodies, and especially with a human body
galvanized by a determined will. In the nature of things, at the present stage
of human evolution, a determined will may be good or bad, altruistic or selfish,
benevolent or malevolent. It may send forth the bolt which kills, or its radiance
may strengthen and purify and heal.
Let us recall Sir Arthur Thomson’s distinction between the biochemical
and the biopsychical. Without doubt physiologists can analyze and define the
biochemical energies which are active in the physical body of man as they are
active throughout animate Nature. These energies man shares with the animal
and vegetable kingdoms, for he draws them from his food, and it is not like^j
that they are often greatly transformed when they pass out of his body. Bt^
why should there not be a real transformation of biochemical energies when they
are controlled and vivified by the biopsychical agencies of imagination, desire
and will?
A Master, whose letter is quoted in The Occult World , has referred to the
transmutation which takes place when any force is used with a purpose.
“In conformity with exact science you would define but one cosmic energy,
and see no difference between the energy expended by the traveller who pushes
aside the bush that obstructs his path, and the scientific experimenter who
expends an equal amount of energy in setting a pendulum in motion. We do;
for we know that there is a world of difference between the two. The one use¬
lessly dissipates and scatters force, the other concentrates and stores it. And
here please understand that I do not refer to the relative utility of the two. as
io6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
one might imagine, but only to the fact that in the one case there is but brute
force flung out without any transmutation of that brute energy into the higher
potential form of spiritual dynamics, and in the other there is just that. . . . The
idea I wish to convey is that the result of the highest intellection in the scien¬
tifically occupied brain is the evolution of a sublimated form of spiritual energy,
which in the cosmic action, is productive of illimitable results; while the auto¬
matically acting brain holds, or stores up in itself only a certain quantum of
brute force that is unfruitful of benefit for the individual or humanity. The
human brain is an exhaustless generator of the most refined quality of cosmic
force out of the low, brute energy of Nature; and the complete adept has made
himself a centre from which irradiate potentialities that beget correlations upon
correlations through ^Eons of time to come. . . . Nature consciously prefers
that matter should be indestructible under organic rather than inorganic forms”
(pp. 128-131).
“You are a philosopher , Dr. Johnson ”, said Edwards; “/ have tried , too, in
my time to be a philosopher; but, I don't know how, cheerfulness was always
breaking inf *— Boswell.
To the clear eye, the smallest fact is a window through which the Infinite may be
seen .— Huxley.
FRAGMENTS
W HATEVER the darkness and sorrow,—trust, for the Eternal ways are
sure; and though we seem engulfed in loneliness, we are in reality sur¬
rounded by that cloud of witnesses, who, one with us in heart and pur¬
pose, it matters not how humble our place, yearn over us in our struggles, guide,
encourage, urge us on, with infinite love and solicitude. Let us trust them also,
even though weak hearts may not discern them, for they are part of the Eternal
ways.
There is something finer than the ardour of youth, and that is the endurance
of experience. Ardour may turn to dust in the impact with disaster; but he
who has faced the worst and lived through it, not once but many times, lived
to know that he can live through it, and so meets serenely what fate may have
in store, goes forward undaunted, undismayed.
Experience is our best teacher, it has been said: why then shun and evade it?
Life is a serious matter, and the most serious thing in it is the doubt and inde¬
cision of our own desire. Hence the first part of the field that we must win is
that horizoned by ourselves. As we sail further, the horizon widens, until we
return to that from which we set forth. All nature emblazons our oneness
with the Divine.
One with the Divine, what trick of fate can harm us? Surely in our thought
of it alone can the evil lie, for it also is part of the Eternal ways.
What other ways are there?
Watch, with eager and steadfast eyes, for the dawn upon the hills. In good
time it will come, in the best, the perfect time, adjusted to Karmic law, laden
with blessing.
It will come with hush and coolness, with still and fragrant breath; with the
Master’s peace it will come, the peace he gives to the disciple who is as himself,
—a Warrior tried and true.
Not to the man who waits can it come, nor to him who avoids the conflict;
not to the fretful, not to the objector, not to the fear-ridden, not to the over-
sure; but to him who battles to the end,—with back against the wall and brokag
sword, it may be.
Watch, watch, I say, for the dawn upon the hills.
And what if you never see it, 0 you of most valiant heart! What matter were
that, so be the dawn come , and the Master see it, and the comrades see it, and
enter with him into its glory.
0 that were Dawn indeed!
Cav£.
107
BERGSON’S VIEW OF MYSTICISM
Remember , 0 disciple , that great though the gulf may be between the good man
and the sinner , it is greater between the good man and the man who has attained
knowledge; it is immeasurable between the good man and the one on the threshold
of divinity .— Light on the Path.
T HE publication of a new work 1 by Henri Bergson increases the debt
which Europe and America owe to this philosopher. For nearly fifty
years, he has borne witness to the spiritual powers latent in man. He
is almost unique among modem thinkers, in so far as his method of approach
to reality is essentially introspective. In this respect, as in others, the Western
philosopher whom he most resembles is Plotinus. His life, like that of Plotinus,
has been a progressive meditation upon states of consciousness, and as each of
his books has appeared, it has given proof of some new extension of his knowledge
of the inner world. It is a law of Nature which anyone can test for himself,
that no one can meditate upon a state of consciousness without increasing and
deepening it. Bergson himself has described meditation as a creative power
corresponding to the cosmic force which creates the successions of living forms
in Nature. He says somewhere that consciousness is that from which one can
always draw forth more than it seems to contain.
Bergson has generally avoided explicit reference in his books to mysticism,
but he evidently believes that the time has come to leave on record a state¬
ment of his sympathies and intentions. The Two Sources of Morality and
Religion is an unequivocal defence of the mystical tradition. It is more
than a defence, for he goes further, affirming that a renaissance of mysticism
is absolutely essential to the salvation of the human race, which is “half-
crushed beneath the weight of material progress”, and which is in danger of
destroying itself, unless it recovers some sense of spiritual values.
According to the theory which he set forth in Creative Evolution , the vital
force, the Han vital , attained one of the objectives for which this planet exists,
when after aeons of development a species at last emerged with a definite measure
of intelligence and self-consciousness. Wh'en man appeared, it might have
seemed that the creative process was complete, and that the Han vital could
do no more. Such an idea, as Bergson shows, harbours a serious illusion.
Intelligence and self-consciousness are invaluable acquisitions for the spirit,
but once they are attained, they must be continuously purified, transmuted,
re-created out of their own substance. Otherwise they will lapse into autom¬
atism and mechanism, like so many other “failures of Nature”, or they will
become agents of destruction. There are intelligent and self-conscious devils.
Therefore, a new victory must be won, or the advantage, which was gained
*Les deux sources de la morale et de la religion, by Henri Bergson; Librairic F 61 ix Alcan, Paris, 1932.
I08
BERGSON’S VIEW OF MYSTICISM
109
with the generation of the human species, will be lost. It is the r 61 e of the
mystics to lead humanity in the battles which must be fought. The elan
vital cannot accomplish the re-creation of man without the active cooperation
of individual human beings. It would be more accurate to say that it cannot
continue that re-creation, for every great cycle of history has been marked by the
emergence of men of genius who raised themselves above the mass of mankind
and by their example induced a new vision and a new will in those who came
within the range of their influence. These great personalities, according to
Bergson, attained this power to move others by virtue of their conscious self-
identification with the undivided creative power in Nature, the dan vital , the
source of all life and consciousness upon this earth. It is impossible then to
say who or what really continues the work of creation, whether it be the imper¬
sonal force of universal Life or the personal force of the perfected man, for the
two, the Father and the Son, have become one.
Doubtless, the reader will have already surmised why Bergson speaks of a
dual origin of ethics and religion. He refers to the duality of human character
which has been so consistently stressed by the mystics and occultists of every
age and of every race. For example, one recalls the Taoists of ancient China
who spoke of the two Ways always open to the human being, the Way of Heaven
and the Way of Man.
Bergson classifies ordinary ethics and ordinary religion as normal products of
human nature in its average condition. Why do most of us, even in New York
in the Twentieth Century, cause comparatively little trouble to the police?
Everyone has a right to speak for himself, for there are as many motives for good
citizenship as there are individuals, but one is constrained to agree with Bergson
that the general and fundamental motive is the sense of a social obligation.
A large part of the personal consciousness is centred in what he calls “the
social self”, le moi social. “It is society which traces for the individual the
programme of his daily existence. We cannot live in a family, conduct our pro¬
fession, . . . walk in the street or even remain at home, without obeying pre¬
scriptions and submitting to obligations. A choice is imposed at every instant;
we naturally choose what is conformable to rule. We are scarcely aware of what
we are doing; we make no effort. . . . Duty, thus understood, is performed al¬
most always automatically; and obedience to duty, in most cases, may be Jk
defined as a following of the line of least resistance. . . . There are evidently^!
cases where obedience implies an effort against oneself. These cases are excep¬
tional, but we note them because they are attended by the intense consciousness
which accompanies every hesitation. ... In a certain sense, it would be false,
and in any case it would be dangerous to say that duty can really be performed
automatically” (pp. 12-14).
A human society is an expression of a tendency that seems to be omnipresent
in Nature, the tendency to organize units into groups. Thus the physical
body may be defined as a society of cells, and the societies of ants and bees
are so perfectly integrated that the biologist feels justified in comparing the
life of the individual insect to the life of a cell in an organism. Bergson insists,
no
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
however, that human societies must be radically distinguished from these
others, inasmuch as they are not held together primarily by instinct or by
some obscure “magnetic” attraction. One must never forget that at every
moment the individual is free to accept or to reject the duty to obey any
social obligation. That is why human societies are less efficient than insect
communities, where crime and egotism are presumably unknown; but by
compensation they are incomparably more plastic, more susceptible to trans¬
forming influences.
Bergson believes that the natural function of non-mystical or “static” religion
is to reenforce the sense of social obligation by placing the check of irrational
fear or hope upon the egotistic tendencies which appear simultaneously with the
development of intelligence and self-consciousness. He also suggests that many
of the “superstitions” which are associated with myth and ritual have a definite
biological function, inasmuch as they neutralize the terrors which are supposed
to fill the life of primitive man,—the terror of storm and earthquake, of sickness
and death, above all, the terror of the unknown. Much that he says on this
point is open to serious question, for he accepts too readily the current theories
of anthropologists concerning primitive states of mind. It is really a “super¬
stition” of our own time, to believe that all magical rites are merely gestures
translating the desires of the participants, and that all myths are pure fables,
having no significance in themselves, but serving the purpose of heartening the
good citizen and of frightening the evil-doer.
“Of all the creatures which live in societies”, says Bergson, “man is the only one
that can deviate from the social order by yielding to selfish concerns when the
common weal is involved; everywhere else the individual interest is inevitably
coordinated with the general interest or subordinated to it. . . . Man cannot
exercise his faculty of thinking without imagining an uncertain future which
awakens fear or hope. He cannot reflect upon what Nature demands of him as
a social being, without saying to himself that it would often be to his advantage
to neglect his fellows and to think only of himself. In both cases, there would
be a rupture of the normal, natural order. However, it is Nature which has
intended him to be intelligent. ... It is impossible that she should have taken
no precautions to make certain that this order would be no sooner disturbed
by intelligence than it would be automatically reestablished. . . . [Static]
Religion is a defensive reaction of Nature against the exercise of intelligence,
in so far as this may be a source of depression in the individual or a cause of
dissolution in society” (pp. 218-219).
There may be truth in this, but it is inadequate. The available evidence
supports a different conclusion. A meditative study of mythology, for instance,
suggests that the original purpose of non-mystical religion was to symbolize,
to reflect, to foreshadow in imagination the “initiation” of the soul into the self-
conscious realization of its own powers. The perverted forms which myth and
ritual have so often assumed, are the work of impure human minds, not of
“Nature”. Even to-day, after centuries of corruption, non-mystical religion
may still be described as in essence a preparation for mystical experience. It is
BERGSON’S VIEW OF MYSTICISM
hi
particularly significant that the great mystics have habitually used exoteric
religious forms as the best available vehicles of their thought.
This does not contradict Bergson’s thesis that there are two distinct streams
of consciousness which are blended in the nature of man. If ethics and religion
have no source other than a semi-conscious recognition of social obligations,
interacting with the instinct of self-preservation, then man must be exactly
what the zoologists say he is,—an ape-like animal, with an abnormally developed
brain. But there are other motives in human life, as anyone will admit who is
not distracted by the desire to accommodate the facts to some materialistic
preconception. All men who are not debased beyond redemption, occasionally
are moved to act rightly by a spark of altruism, by some sentiment of sympathy
or pity or compassion for others, even when those others are not members of
the particular society to which they themselves belong. Very many have
imagined, if only in the abstract, though very few have attained, an ideal of
selfless love and aspiration. No interpretation of history is complete which
neglects the need of the human soul perpetually to re-create itself in the image
of the most perfect spiritual model which it can conceive.
Bergson has never failed to insist upon a spiritual origin for the spiritual
qualities which alone make man a real human being and separate him from the
lower kingdoms of Nature. Unlike the vast majority of modem psychologists,
he has not represented the veritable humanity of man as a sort of distillation
of inherited animal tendencies, for he regards that humanity as the elan vital
itself, incarnating in the human animal at a certain stage of its development.
The exceptional interest of his latest work is due to his recognition that spiritual
qualities are manifested through “privileged individuals” before they become
part of the common heritage of the race.
It would seem that Bergson himself does not fully realize the implications
of this interpretation of human evolution. Most people are so steeped in the
materialism of dogmatic biology that Bergson’s views must actually seem
radical, but in essence they are not far removed from the fundamental doctrine
of all the great religions of the world. Every great religion has been built upon
the tenet that there are mediators between man and the spiritual world, and the
founders of the various religions have been regarded as such by their followers.
In Theosophy, which is believed by many to be the Wisdom-Religion from which
the historical religions have been derived, there is what is known as the doctrine
of the Lodge, the Brotherhood of Masters, of those men whose evolution has
progressed farther than that of the mass of mankind. To this Brotherhood,
according to theosophical tradition, belong Buddha and Christ and all the
supreme spiritual heroes of the race, as well as all those who have constituted
themselves, in thought and will and deed, their disciples. It is, in the most
real sense, a Brotherhood of mediators between the earthly and the divine.
Much that Bergson says might be a commentary upon the doctrine of the
Lodge. Also one ventures to suggest that if he had himself known and studied
the doctrine of the Lodge, his own views would have been even more clear, even
more complete, even more comprehensive.
I 12
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“In every age there have arisen exceptional men in whom this [higher] mor¬
ality incarnated itself. Before the Saints of Christendom, mankind had known
the Sages of Greece, the Prophets of Israel, the Arhats of Buddhism, and others.
It is to them that men have always made reference, in order to visualize the
morality which is complete and which is properly called absolute. . . . This
fact makes us feel that there is a difference of nature, and not merely of degree,
between the [lower and the higher] moralities. . . . While the lower is the more
pure and the more perfect, in the measure that it can be more clearly expressed
in impersonal formulae, the higher morality, in order to reveal itself fully, must
be incarnated in a privileged personality who becomes an example. The
general dissemination of the former depends upon the universal acceptance of a
law; the general dissemination of the latter depends upon the common imitation
of a model.
“Why have the Saints been imitated and why have great and good men been
followed by crowds? They ask nothing and yet they receive so much. They
have no need to exhort; they only have to exist; their existence is an appeal.
For such is, indeed, the character of this other morality. Whereas a natural
obligation is felt as a pressure or an impulsion, in the morality which is complete
and perfect, there is an appeal.
“The nature of this appeal has been fully known only by those who have
found themselves in the presence of a great moral personality. Each of us,
on occasions when the habitual maxims of conduct have appeared insufficient,
has asked himself what such or such a person would have expected of him. It
may be a relative, a friend, ... or someone whom we have never known. ... It
may even be a personality which is coming to birth within us, drawn from the
depths of the soul into the light of consciousness, which we feel to be capable
of later invading our whole nature, and to which we wish to attach ourselves
for the moment, as the disciple attaches himself to the Master. In truth, this
personality begins to design itself from the day when one takes it as a model:
the desire to resemble, which generates in idea the form which one seeks to
assume, is already resemblance” (pp. 29-30).
Bergson says that the essence of the higher morality is universal charity, and
that such a state of consciousness is unattainable outside the domain of mystical
experience, for the lower morality is social and is primarily operative only among
the members of a social group. He believes that war is a wholly natural accom¬
paniment of the stage of evolution through which the human race is passing,
because mankind has always tended to separate and to divide itself into many
races and tribes and nations. Only the mystic is capable of a true international
sentiment, like the Stoic sage who could describe himself as a citizen of the world.
Even so, it must be pointed out that a great mystic may be also a great national
figure; certainly he will never be guilty of neutral or pacifist conduct when loyalty
to a principle means the willing acceptance of war. Jeanne d’Arc was a great
mystic.
“One may say that the second morality . . . differs from the first, in so far as
it is human instead of being only social. ... It is not by enlarging the city
BERGSON’S VIEW OF MYSTICISM
113
that one will ever embrace humanity: between a social morality and a human
morality the difference is not one of degree but of nature. The former is what
we ordinarily think of when we feel ourselves to be naturally obliged. Above
these very definite duties we like to imagine others. . . . Devotion, self-giving,
the spirit of sacrifice, charity,—such are the words which occur to us when we
think of them. But do we usually think of anything except words? No, without
doubt, and we fully admit it. It is only necessary, we say, for the formula to be
there; it will reveal all its meaning, . . . when an occasion arises. . . . Let these
formulae be filled with matter and let the matter be animated; then a new life is
about to appear; we understand, we feel that another form of morality is coming
into being. One might define this new morality as the love of humanity. And
yet one would not express its essence by this term, for the love of humanity is
not a motive which is sufficient unto itself and which acts directly. The teachers
of youth are well aware that they cannot conquer egotism by the mere recom¬
mendation of ‘altruism’ ” (pp. 31-32).
“If one were to say that the [superior] soul embraces [in Love] the whole of
humanity, one would not go too far; one would not even go far enough; since its
love is extended to include the animals, the plants, all Nature. However, its
attitude cannot be defined by any object, for it may divest itself if necessary of all
objects. Its form does not depend upon its content. We can fill it; and again
we can empty it. Charity would continue to exist in the man who possesses it,
even if there were no other living creature upon the earth” (p. 34).
One begins to understand why Bergson associates the moral regeneration of
the human race with its ability to give birth to mystics. The great and good
man (le grand homme de bien ), whose example moves mankind, is great and good
because his whole consciousness is a flame of universal charity. But this
sentiment of a universal charity is mystical; it is an experience which can be
known only by the awakened soul ( I'ame ouverte) through which alone can pass the
breath of the elan vital , the creative power from which the whole animate nature
of the cosmos has proceeded. ^
Unfortunately, as regards one important point, Bergson is not sufficiently^®
clear. Universal charity is, doubtless, the quality above all others which dis-™
tinguishes the Gods from mortals. But that cannot mean that even the Gods
love indiscriminately and equally any and everything in the Universe.
This becomes apparent, if we consider universal charity in its most practical
application, upon which Bergson places so much emphasis. As we have seen, he
attributes to the mystic a love of all humanity, contrasting this love with non-
mystical devotion which cannot transcend the boundaries of a social or national
or racial group. But what is the nature of this world-wide philanthropy?
One can believe that spiritual Heroes, like Buddha and Christ, turn with thoughts
of love towards every human soul which enters their presence; but there is no
evidence whatsoever that they have an infinite affection for the demoniacal and
elemental “personalities” of men which wage perpetual warfare with their souls
for the possession of their consciousness ^nd vital powers. It is one thing to
love in a man his divine possibilities; it is another, to love his lower nature as a
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
114
thing in itself.
It is, indeed, dangerous—for the Western mind, at least—to toy with the idea
of universal charity, unless this idea be properly qualified. Too easily it leads
to sentimentality, to moral indifference, to the atrophy of the faculty of dis¬
cernment between the Eternal and the non-eternal. Before one can love
humanity, as the Masters love it, one must learn to love them , and to love the
goodness and truth and beauty which they make manifest. More and not less
discrimination in love is needed, for one may justly assume that universal
charity is truly attained only when it is balanced by an equally universal force
of hatred directed against the iniquitous and the monstrous wherever these
exist.
The general drift of Bergson’s philosophy leads away from sentimentality
and moral indifference. Nevertheless one regrets that he has not been more
explicit in his description of the attributes of mystical love, for the unwary reader
is apt to draw conclusions which were not intended. It is quite possible that
if Bergson had been more definite in his thinking, he himself would not have in¬
dulged in certain vague speculations about international brotherhood and dem¬
ocratic progress which cloud his argument, especially in the last chapter of his
book.
These reflections are not intended to cast doubt upon Bergson’s testimony
that mystical love is, in quality as well as in degree, of a different order from
what is called love in ordinary human relations. He is justified in asserting
that the mystic’s compassion for suffering humanity is of universal essence,
being incomparably more intense and more profound than any emotion known
to a non-mystical consciousness. As he says, only the mystic is capable of a
religion that can be rightly called dynamic.
“Static religion attaches man to life, and consequently the individual to
society, by the repetition of stories comparable to those which put children to
sleep. . . . But surely life is a thing just as desirable, more desirable even for
man than for any other species, since these others exist as an effect produced
by creative energy in its passage through them, while in man life signifies the
success of creative effort, however incomplete and precarious that success may
be. Why should man not recover the confidence which he lacks or which
reflection may have shattered in him, by reascending the path in the direction
from which the Man has come to him, in order that he may recover possession
of that Manf He cannot do this by intelligence, in any case not by intelligence
alone; . . . intelligence has a special function, and when it exalts itself in its
speculations, at the best it makes us conceive of possibilities; it does not touch
a reality. But we know that around intelligence there has remained a fringe
of intuition, vague and evanescent. Can we not fix it, intensify it, above all,
complete it in action, for it has remained in the state of pure vision only by a
weakening of its principle? . . .
“A soul capable and worthy of this effort would not even ask whether the
principle with which it is in contact is the transcendent cause of all things,
or whether it is only the terrestrial agent of that cause. It would suffice to
BERGSON’S VIEW OF MYSTICISM
ns
feel that it is penetrated, without the absorption of its personality, by a being
of far greater power than itself,—as iron is permeated by the fire which reddens
it. Its attachment to life would be henceforth its inseparability from this
principle, joy in joy, love of that which is only love. It would give itself to
society by an overflow [of love], but to a society which would then be all hu¬
manity, loved in the love of that which is its principle. The confidence which
static religion brings to men, would be transfigured; there would be no more
concern for the future, no unquiet self-reference” (pp. 225-227).
‘‘True mysticism is manifested at a point where the [general] current of spirit,
projected across matter, would have probably wished to go, but which it could
not attain. For mysticism makes sport of the obstacles with which Nature
has had to compromise, and one does not understand the evolution of life, . . .
if one does not recognize it as the quest of something inaccessible to which
the great mystic attains. If all men, if many men could mount as high as this
privileged person, Nature would not have terminated its work in man, for the
mystic is in reality more than man. ... It is, then, not by accident, it is in
virtue of its very essence, that true mysticism is exceptional” (p. 228).
The mystic is more than man, but in part of his nature he remains human.
Therefore, he can still speak to mankind and can awaken in their consciousness
an echo of his own stupendous experience. Most often he uses the forms and
even the dogmas of static religion as vehicles of his thought, infusing into them
a new vitality and a new meaning. When a succession of mystics has thus
laboured in the field of some religion, they may succeed in changing its content
radically, for in such a case, the purifying work of each mystic is reenforced by
the energy which his predecessors have ‘‘deposited” in their efforts towards the
same end. Thus there may be established a true apostolic succession. Because
no expenditure of force by a mystic is ever necessarily lost, that force can
always be recovered by another member of the mystical ‘‘brotherhood”.
So Bergson speaks of ‘‘the mysterious power which the present exerts over the
past”. True time, the duration of which is, in one sense, identical with life itself,
is one and undivided; past, present and future are aspects of that which the
mystic perceives as the Eternal, the Enduring. The errors, the defects, even
the crimes of a life-time may be redeemed and may be made to give up an inval¬
uable lesson for the soul, by the efficacy of some extraordinary action which
converts the soul towards its proper end. It is true that most lives are crowde^
with insignificant and useless events, but it is within the power of everyone at
every moment to change the whole setting in which they are placed, to integrate
the useless and the insignificant into an ordered series in which no episode,
not even the least, is devoid of dramatic significance. This is the accomplish¬
ment of the mystic. He transmutes past failure into present success, for he is
the master of time. He has a certain affinity with the famous captains of history.
His greatest battles have been won after they seemed to be lost.
Bergson gives a brief sketch of the history of mysticism in Greece, in India,
and in Christendom. As it happens, he is not very successful. He underrates
both the Greeks and the Hindus, and, in particular, he has failed to seize the
116 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
essence of Buddhism, which he regards as an incomplete form of mysticism
because to attain Nirvana is “to remain suspended between two activities above
the chasm of non-being (dans le vertige du neant)". Such a state of consciousness,
if it existed, would undoubtedly lack “warmth”, and would be incompatible with
a complete mysticism, of which the elements are “action, creation, love (p.
241). One must assume, in this instance, that it is Bergson’s source of informa¬
tion which is incomplete. In any case, he has confused the form of the Buddha’s
teaching with its substance. A more careful study of the Buddhist scriptures
would have indicated that if the Buddha stressed the need for a progressive and
intensive detachment in his instructions to his disciples, it was not to lead
them to the chasm of non-being, but to divert to the use of the spiritual man
the powers of perception and action which are daily perverted and wasted by
the lower psychic or animal man. The spiritual man can only truly act and
create and love when those powers have been restored to him.
Bergson has a very definite predilection for the Christian mystics with whom
he reveals a somewhat unexpected spiritual affinity. He calls them “the great
mystics” and refers to them almost exclusively in his interpretation of the
attributes of a “complete mysticism”. The most beautiful passages in the
book are those in which he expresses the indebtedness of mankind to the Chris¬
tian Master and to those who have followed in his footsteps.
“When we consider in its completeness the interior evolution of the great
mystics, we wonder how anyone could ever have compared them to invalids.
Certainly, we live in a state of instable equilibrium, and the average health of
the mind, like that of the body, is hard to define. Nevertheless, there is a state
of rugged and exceptional intellectual health which may be recognized without
difficulty. It is manifested by the taste for action, by the faculty of adaptation
and of readaptation to circumstances, by firmness joined to flexibility, by the
prophetic discernment of the possible and the impossible, by a spirit of sim¬
plicity which triumphs over complexities, finally by a superior good sense. Is
this not exactly what we find in the mystics of whom we have spoken [St. Paul,
St. Theresa, St. Catherine of Siena, St. Francis, and St. Jeanne d’Arc]? Might
they not serve to illustrate a definition of intellectual robustness?” (pp. 243-244).
Bergson insists upon the fact that mystical experience is, in no way, analogous
to dreaming or to absent-mindedness; that in its true form it is preeminently
practical. He also points out that it is not primarily a state of abnormal visions
and adventures, for the psychic phenomena and the ecstasies and raptures
which mystics describe from time to time, are incidents upon their way, but are
not the essentials of their search. The one essential, the one objective, is union
with a divine consciousness. When the union is consummated, the mystic faces
again in the direction of the world, but he is no longer the same man. He is
an agent of the Divine Will.
“The mystical soul eliminates from its substance whatever is not sufficiently
pure and resistant and plastic for the use of God. The soul has felt the presence
of God, it believes that it has seen God in symbolic visions, it has even united
itself with Him in ecstasy; but all these things have not been durable because
BERGSON’S VIEW OF MYSTICISM
ii 7
they were only contemplation: when it acted, the soul returned to itself and
was detached from God. Now it is God who acts in the soul, by means of the
soul; the union is complete and, therefore, final. Then words, like mechanism
and instrument, evoke images which might better be left aside. One only uses
them to give an idea of the work of preparation. We shall learn nothing thereby
of the final result. Let us say that henceforth there is for the soul a super¬
abundance of life. . . . There is an irresistible impulse which drives it forward
into the vastest enterprises. The calm exaltation of all its faculties enables it
to see largely, and, however feeble it may be, to act powerfully. Above all,
it sees simply, and this simplicity . . . guides it through complexities which
it seems not to notice. An innate science, or rather an acquired innocence, sug¬
gests at once the useful step, the decisive act, the word without reply. Of
course, effort remains indispensable, and also endurance and perseverance. But
they appear and are exerted without strain in a soul at once active and acted
upon, whose liberty coincides with the divine activity. There is an enormous
expenditure of energy, but this energy is provided as it is required, for the
superabundance of vitality which is demanded flows from the very source of life.
Now there is no question of visions: the Divinity would have no object in mani¬
festing itself from outside to a soul henceforth filled with it. There is nothing
which appears essentially to distinguish such a man from his fellows. . . .
He alone is aware of a change which raises him to the rank of the adjutores Dei,
the helpers of God, those who are passive towards God, active towards men.
This elevation gives him no pride. Great, on the contrary, is his humility.
Why should he not be humble, since he has known, in silent intercourse, the
divine humility, meeting it face to face {seul d seul), experiencing an emotion
in which his soul felt itself to be altogether melted! . . .
“The love which consumes him is no more simply the love of a man for God;
it is the love of God for all men. Through God, by means of God, he loves all
humanity with a divine love. . . . Such a love is in essence metaphysical rather
than moral. With God’s help, it seeks to complete the creation of the human
species. ... Its direction is that of the dan of life; it is that dan itself trans¬
mitted in its integrity to the privileged among mankind whose desire is to impress
it upon the whole of humanity” (pp. 247-251).
If Bergson had known the doctrine of the Lodge, doubtless he would have been
more definite and more specific. It is a supremely significant fact that in the East,
from time immemorial, the relation of Guru and chela , of Master and disciple,
has been regarded as sacred. The “complete mystic”, the Master, toils for the
whole of humanity, but in particular he labours on behalf of his own disciples,
who are said to be, not figuratively but literally, the children of his own soul.
That Master is, in turn, the chela or spiritual son of another Master of still
higher degree, whom he loves and whose will he seeks to make effective in his
own work in the world. “I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman.
... I am the vine, ye are the branches.” This is the Guru-parampara chain.
Thus the ch£la finds his Higher Self, the Atman, in the consciousness of the
Guru, who is, therefore, his “Father in Heaven”. According to the doctrine
120
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
I had not thought to hear that story set into a sermon. Until then I had not
thought of it as a moral tale at all. To the boy in the hay-loft, with life all before
him, it had seemed mere comedy, sheer buffoonery; the beggar had been so silly.
But now, beyond the crest of middle age, facing the accounting that every man
must render for “the swift and solemn trust of life”, whose balance must so soon
be struck yet needed such wide change,—here, re-echoed from the pulpit of this
church, its irony graven deep in the world-worn faces all about me, it seemed
that in this story was the essence of all the sermons that ever had been preached,
the one lesson that all men needed and few learned, the one great all-embracing
tragedy of human folly. Closest of all, it seemed the too common story of
membership in the Theosophical Society.
What had been that beggar’s Karma that the great Haroun-al-Raschid should
have seen and stooped to him? It must have been a “good” day for him—his
sores more pitiful than usual, and pity more productive of pence—to have enabled
him to get so drunk; but of the golden chance the night would bring him, in the
converging of the deeper currents of his fortune, he could have had no premoni¬
tion. The tares and wheat that had grown so long together, life after life, the good
and ill so vacillatingly pursued, here together came unheralded to their harvest.
The feet of his lord turned toward him, and his lord’s eyes, looking down, found
him sleeping, drugged with wine. Yet even drunk, his luck had held. It was
still pity and not anger that moved the Caliph’s heart—such royal pity as would
make its object royal as itself. But how can the little receive the great? How
can the small and mean believe in magnanimity, or accept what it cannot con¬
ceive? Do not all creatures act according to their natures, and how could that
beggar’s suddenly be changed? When he waked on a silken couch within the
Caliph’s palace, clothed in fair, clean linen instead of his old, foul rags, when he
saw the standing courtiers, waiting to hear his will, was it strange that he should
have been fearful and suspicious? When he reached for his bottle and found it
gone, and nothing to assuage his thirst or deaden the torment of his nerves;
when he saw his sores all washed clean, and felt in vain within his girdle for the
brush and bag of colour with which to heighten his scars, was it strange that he
should think he had been robbed of all that made life bearable, his very means of
livelihood taken from him? We see him turn his head away and weep his sorry
fate, while the whole royal court wait to do his will, and the very princes of the
kingdom envy him his chance. How could he, who for all those years had begged
and tricked and cozened his way, know that here his will was sovereign; that
now there was no need to whine or to pretend, but that he could command what
he would, of high or low. And when at last the gentle kindness of those waiting
lords brought him some small measure of trust and faith, so that he began to
beg as he had always begged, could he have voiced other desires than those
that he had sought and taken for his own all his life long, and so possessed that
now they possessed him ?
What is it draws this veil of special pleading across the boy’s clear, impersonal
and uncompromising sight, turning sheer silliness and besotted folly into tragedy
and food for tears ? Do we recognize that beggar within our own worldly selves,
THE PARABLE OF THE PERSIAN BEGGAR
12 I
and hear in these questions the very tones of the whining self-excuse and plea
for pity that were his stock in trade? We are like him in more ways than one.
What was our Karma, the Karma of the members of the Theosophical Society
—of you, into whose hands this magazine has fallen—that out of all the world
the great Lords of Compassion should have seen and stooped to us? That they
should have come to us in our drugged sleep, in our pleasures and our blindness,
our moral squalor and self-pity, and lifted us up, unconsciously to ourselves,
to knowledge of them and of the Lodge, into the palace of Truth, into the house
of Life, where the Masters themselves call us “brothers” and offer us all the wealth
and wisdom of the Spirit that through the ages they have gained,—where all
•the powers of the universe are spread before us and we are bidden to take what
we can? What have we chosen? What have we taken? What willed and
commanded? What have we desired? For what have we prayed?
Man judges himself; no other judges him. The Lords of Karma bring him
to his choice; he makes it of and for himself. They can but wait upon it, and
carry it out when it is made. Day by day he makes it, in act upon act, decision
upon decision, struggling, striving, contriving, succeeding and failing, until at
last, in the day when the heavens open, it makes him , acting out its nature in
one swift, irrevocable stroke. To the Persian beggar, as to every man, the day
of his kingship was his day of judgment. In that day, when whatever he could
want was his for the taking, he wanted only wine—only the stimulus of the senses
which deadens them to insensibility, only the exaltation of the self which loses
self and life in dreams. That night they took him back, and laid him, drunk as
they had found him, in the gutter whence he came.
M.
And this is the condemnation , that light is come into the world , and men loved
darkness rather than light .— John III, 19.
And now , 0 Lord my God ... 7 am but a little child; I know not how to go
out or come in. And thy servant is in the midst of thy people which thou hast
chosen , a great people. . . . Give therefore thy servant an understanding heart .—
First Book of the Kings, III, 7-9.
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
VI
S TARTING from London on August 24th, 1895, I arrived in New York
in due course, and found this letter from Judge awaiting me:
August 23rd, 1895.
Dear Boy,
When you get this, I shall probably be in Cincinnati with Buck. That will
alter the tone of former letter. For if you wish you can arrange to see me there—
unless I go to New York. So, better find out by wire or otherwise first. It is
not far. Have no hurry.
Best love,
A few days later, this letter reached me:
Cincinnati, Ohio, September 2nd, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
My wire not to come yet, was sent because a letter of Griscom’s hinted that
you would come right here. Privately (entre nous) it is not convenient here now
because of absence of a person and ill health of another, and that there is no
place for you to sleep. You and Claude [Wright] have hurried matters, although
I asked you not to do so, and to wait until we could communicate. It is true
my second letter spoke of coming here, but I did not then know what to do.
That did not alter the suggestions of the first.
Second. It is a $50. outlay, when poverty is the mode,—and for no good
reason.
Third. There is no telling where I may go, at this critical point [“critical”,
in view of Judge’s physical condition].
Fourth. No possible T.S. work can be done here; all people still away. And
the other plans proposed are the same now. You had better do as I said first—
don’t alter my original plans—that is, work around Aryan [T.S.Branch],
H.P.B., Brooklyn, Newark, Yonkers, etc., which will use up a couple of weeks
or so. In the meantime, we shall have heard from each other.
I want to see you as much as you do me, and was very near running over to
New York, but we must wait. There is no telling what may occur. So have
patience. I must (again entre nous) ask you to beware of the precipitancy of
C. F. Wright, even in this matter of route. If anything definite has been said to
them (T.S.Branches, such as Toledo, etc. named), you had better have wires
sent calling off arrangements until later.
It is best to work around New York until September 15th or 25th, and then
you can arrange other places. People in this country stay away from towns
122
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
123
until September 25th to October 1st. Consequently you could do nothing
valuable. Besides, I want you, ab initio , to become acquainted with (all if
possible) our N.Y. and vicinity members before you go anywhere. That is
our solid base of persons, and I don’t want you to skip off as proposed. This
is the real inside reason, and now you will know how to proceed. Time enough
must be taken for it; and it being the beginning of things, it is of vastly more
importance than coming here.
As ever thine,
Meanwhile I was doing my best to carry out Judge’s instructions, speaking at
the Branches in New York and vicinity, and meeting as many members as
possible. In those days, we went from Branch to Branch, often giving the
same lecture, with the same title, in each, and attempting to answer all questions
that might be put to us by people in the audience. It appears from a notice in
The Path that typewritten copies of a lecture entitled “The Brethren of the
Flaming Heart”, which I gave at a meeting of the “H.P.B.” Branch, were sold
at 50 cents “for the benefit of the Headquarters Lecture Fund”. I should like to
obtain a copy.
It was not until long afterwards that I more than half understood Judge’s
“inner reason” for wishing me to meet all the people in New York—his “solid
base”. Judge had plans the execution of which was made impossible by his
premature death.
The next letter I received from Judge was postmarked Cincinnati.
September 4th, 1895.
Dear E.T.H.,
Just got your first letter since you “struck” America. The enclosed [a letter
from Burcham Harding] will also give you an idea. You see he is regularly with
the Central States Committee, and we must not muddle the work. He will
get to the places in Ohio (also on the Central States Committee) by the right
time of year. So (no matter what we may do about our meeting) I think after
you have thoroughly done the work of connecting with all—if possible—the^j
units at our centre, plans may be by way of New England and Canada instead
of these centre states. No telling and no hurry.
Of course do not tell my inner reason for your meeting all there,—but you
can say that you wish to know as many as you can.
As to cash: O.K. We’ll discuss that.
I want you to know some of the people well —E.A.N., C.A.G., Spencer,
Dr. Guild, Patterson, Main, etc. Also, diplomatically, pay some little attention
to Elliott B. Page [an old and valued member, in charge of the book and publish¬
ing department, who was inclined to be touchy].
By following my suggestions on your intuition, you will see it work with a
long reach forward.
As to cash again: even so, my boy, you must learn to know how to make
124
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
all your dollars do the most work. Hitherto you had no chance that way.
That is one reason why I have had so much done on so little money.
As ever with love,
William
My health-chances better. I’ve almost paralyzed the bacilli tuber’s
The next letter was addressed to me, “care of C. A. Griscom, Jr., Esq.,
Flushing, Long Island”, who had opened his home to me at Judge’s suggestion,
and with whom my relations were always of the closest.
“The G.D.” mentioned by Judge was “The Hermetic Order of the Golden
Dawn,” of which Dr. W. Wynn Westcott (“W.W.W.”) was one of the leading
lights, with MacGregor Mathers as “Supreme Magus”. The G.D. specialized
in “magic”,—astral and not always innocuous. Many members of the T.S.
who resided in the north of England—Pattinson among them—were affiliated
with it. H.P.B. had tolerated this sort of double allegiance in the hope that an
understanding of Theosophy would end in the conversion of those who had
been misled. Judge had no use whatever for the G.D., and none for its leaders.
Bulmer was at that time the editor of The Northern Theosophist.
[Postmarked] Cincinnati, Ohio, September 7th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
Just have yours. I go very carefully in those cases where I can’t see the
people. Bulmer is partly what he (C.) says. The G.D. should be called G.D.
with an F. added. W.W.W. hates W.Q.J., and Pattinson is queer with a liking
for W.Q.J. I know most of them. They are players.
Ah! Glad you helped C.F.W. Help when you can.
Each time you go to meet people be inside of Kew heart and strongly see
Master and -with you. You see already you have caught a hair line out
to the N.W. 1500 miles by meeting those people.
Am glad no definite plans had to be revoked.
Yes, my boy, you must fully realize that this continent, as you say, is in an
awful hurry, and you must get into the silence of calm so the hurry won’t see
you. If it nips you, you will lose too much force.
I may run off for two or three days to examine Asheville, N. Carolina, as a
place to go to, and then will be able to say what I will do.
Entre nous , it is on the cards that I might go first to New York, in which case
I would then see you. Indiana is going to shout for you. Don’t promise.
Say—I have not yet sent a greeting to Europe. Will you draft and send me a
short condensed one. At the same time try your hand and send me points
you would propose in an “encyclical” by me to the U.S.T.S. Of course that
will, when done, go all over. I will make it a state paper. Don’t neglect pres¬
ent campaign for this.
It will be nice if I go to New York before starting south. If I were rich I
would have you with me for a while.
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
125
If ’ere long—at the proper time—you could take in New Haven, it might be
well; but it’s a doubtful case anyhow. We have some rottenness there.
Do you think it too late to send greeting to Europe?
As ever,
■ 4 *
[Postmarked] Cincinnati, Ohio, September 12th, 1895.
Dear E.T.H.,
Why of course you are to see me before you either start off, or start to stay
right there. I am waiting for events. And you were not to see me at any risk
to the first few days or weeks.
Will you mail the enclosed to Mrs. Malcolm?
I do not suppose you will accept the Bunker invitation. There is a slight
row coming on at Frisco. Even were you at Frisco to stay, I should be of the
opinion it would not be wise for you to stay at Bunker’s.
I had, just before your letter, sent on to C.F.W. my reply to the European
letter. Let him show it to you. If you like, send it to Bulmer and I.T. [Irish
Theosophist].
That idea for an article about not leaning on another is good. Why don’t
you seize the inspiration and do me an article for Path of, say, 1000 words. It
would go in November and must come to my hand before insertion. If C.F.W.
speaks to you about “Four Sins in Occultism”, tell him there are seven; don’t
mention me.
Now look here. There is yet a residuum of the A.B. [Annie Besant] excite¬
ment and row in you. It is no use. We don’t care a d-about her or what she
does or is. She’s almost forgotten. There is no danger of reactions nor any¬
thing. We are just forging ahead, and she is a back number.
Yes, I am mending; but it is slow, slow, slow.
Enclosed cutting is to give you an idea of the peculiar boastfulness of America.
You must get to understand all these things.
Haven’t had nerve yet enough to write fully to Arch and Julia.
As ever,
%•
Following Judge’s instructions, I destroyed the letters he wrote me between
September 12th and the date of the next one printed (October 4th). He was
writing confidentially about people I was meeting or expected to meet, and about
other private matters affecting the Movement.
Asheville, N. C., October 4th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
In haste. Address me
c/o Miss Gano,
Asheville, N. C.
So far all well. Have some things to say later.
As ever,
%■
126
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
By now I had begun a lecturing tour which lasted for more than three months.
Arriving in Boston on September 29th and lecturing there that evening on
“Theosophy and the Theosophical Society”, I spoke next day at Lynn, then
again in Boston, then at Cambridge, Medford, Malden, at Boston again more
than once, at Somerville, Lowell, and so to Providence, before proceeding to
Syracuse, Buffalo and Toronto, on my way west and south. Everywhere I was
received with the utmost kindness, both by the local members of the T.S., and,
chiefly thanks to them, by the local press. The usual procedure was a Branch
meeting in the afternoon and a public lecture in the evening, followed in many
cases by a visit to the editor of some local newspaper, in whose office I would
write a report of my lecture,—a very brief experience having proved that re¬
porters, with the best of intentions, found either me or Theosophy, or both,
entirely too much for their uninitiated minds.
It was the custom in those days for a Branch to entertain a duly accredited
lecturer from Headquarters, each Branch doing its best to spare him (or Head¬
quarters) the expense of hotel bills. Some local member would volunteer to
act as host. Further, a collection would be taken up, privately and locally, to
provide a railroad ticket to the next Branch to be visited. Occasionally a Branch,
knowing that the Branch next to be visited was poor, would contribute extra
money to supplement the efforts of its “neighbour”,—separated from it, perhaps,
by a day’s journey or more. This method made for economy, but, as a new
experience, was distinctly embarrassing, no matter how anxious one might
be to adapt oneself to conditions, or to “play the game” according to rule.
I wrote fully to Judge, describing my experience, and doing my best to bring
out its more humorous aspects in the hope that, ill as he was, he might derive
some amusement from the “situations” which developed. Judge knew all the
people I was meeting, and knew them well; so, as I was aware, he would see the
reaction on both sides, and motives, occasionally, to which at the time I was
blind. In one or two homes, where I was most hospitably entertained, the
family was divided up the middle, for and against Theosophy,—and I did not
know in advance, which was which. We would sit down for supper, a father,
a mother, and perhaps half a dozen children, some of them grown-up. Some
would look glum, some, cheerful. I speculated, mentally, as to the awful row
they had had before I was invited to stay with them. Anyhow, which was
which! It did not follow in the least that those who looked glum were “anti”.
One thing was sure: I must do my utmost to make a sufficiently good impres¬
sion, partly for the sake of Theosophy and of Judge, but partly also for the sake
of the “pros” in this particular family. It was hard work,—much harder
work than lecturing. (Yet all of it was a pleasure,—inspiring, splendid, in¬
vigorating. I have no recollection of fatigue. Great forces were being let loose,
and the tide, in 1895, was still rising.) In some cases there were no servants,
for many of our members were poor, and I found it difficult to reconcile myself
to being waited on at table by my hostess. When conversation became too
arduous—for to have talked about Theosophy might have let loose a devastating
explosion—I learned to fall back upon the charms and splendours of the local
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
127
Court House, or of any other local feature to which my attention had been
called on my way from the railroad station, with as many questions as possible
along similar lines.
In one or two cases, local members undertook to “test me out”. True, they
had heard this and that in the young man’s favour, but some of them “came
from Missouri”, and they were not going to believe all they heard, even if Judge
was supposed to have said it. In one place an incident occurred which I find
most amusing in retrospect—and which I have no doubt entertained Judge
greatly when I reported it to him—but which at the time I classified as a decided
nuisance. The leading member was a woman doctor, dour and rather alarming.
By some strange freak of fate, she had a very pretty daughter. On the day
after my arrival, the mother announced peremptorily that her daughter would
take me for a drive into the country. The mother knew that the girl was safely
and happily engaged to be married. I did not know it until later. It was not
the custom in my part of the world (this was a long time ago) for an unmarried
girl to take a man for a drive. The least sign of unwillingness would, however,
have been an offence. It was a miserable drive, with intense effort on both sides
to make it appear enjoyable. If only I had known she was engaged: we
could so easily have talked about him. I racked my brains, and doubtless she
racked hers, poor thing. She was not interested in Theosophy: only in him.
Finally back to the mother, who received us grimly, as if to say to me: “Now
I have caught you”. Yet if ever a girl exonerated a man, I am sure that when her
mother questioned her, that girl exonerated me. I only hope she had the
courage to tell her mother that if there was any more driving to be done, she
would not be the victim.
There was more excuse in another case for a “testing out” process. The pre¬
vious visitor from the New York Headquarters (a man I always liked well enough
personally), had a lively imagination and a general feeling that it was part
of his function to know. Consequently, when asked by some local members
how their meetings could be kept free from elementals (!), he had answered,
promptly and glibly: “Turn some chairs upside down, and place these, at in¬
tervals, in a circle round you”. Somehow this did not sound just right to the
inquirers, who in due course wrote to Judge, reporting their question and the
answer, and asking for further light. Judge was angry and said so. He told
the inquirers exactly what he thought of such “occult instruction”, and he told
the offender from Headquarters that he would never again be permitted to visit
Branches unless he stopped such foolishness for ever. This had happened not
very long before my visit, and, presumably, led the same group of members to
put their heads together in an effort to concoct a question that would give me—
and themselves—a corresponding opportunity. I knew nothing about this at
the time, but when they propounded their question (I think it was based upon
something in The Secret Doctrine , with elementals and Hierarchies all con¬
founded), it seemed to me that there was only one possible reply, namely,
that I had not the least idea what the answer was, and that they had better
write to Judge and ask him. Before I left, one of them told me why they had
4
128
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
asked the question, and its origin, adding that he thought I might like to know
that I had “passed”. Judge confirmed his part in the story when I met him latei
at Aiken. How he hated insincerity, bluff, pretence, and the least shadow of
deception. He was one of the most scrupulously honest men I have ever known.
As often happens, his accusers attributed to him, that which they were,—
but of which he was incapable.
Crosbie and the others mentioned in the following letter, were members of
the Boston or neighbouring Branches.
October 6th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
Received yours from Boston and glad to know you get on so well; also that
you found force. Tell them who it is you identify it with.
Private. Events are moving. C.F.W. has hatched a new idea for him.
It is old with me. And I have encouraged him as will also the others. It is to
hire a well-known hall regularly for Sunday mornings, and he to carry on the
“services”, so as finally to get if possible a big crowd. This of course involves
a good deal which he in his red-headed hastiness does not see. But it’s good
anyway, and if successful will benefit the T.S. very much. But I do not want
you to make solid engagements further ahead than one month. You can keep
a month ahead all engaged. I do not mean this month, but simply have no
further ahead of any day than one month, engaged. As you reel off a week,
then add another week to make the month. Do this without giving any reasons
save that that is your present method. Do you understand?
There is no more to say so I 11 stop. Funny cognomens here. Two samples:
Stickeleather; Swigegood.
Fine climate so far. Dry and dusty place. Am known here and my arrival
is in paper and I am “in feeble health”. What an adjective!
Keep up your courage and “glory be to America”.
Tell Crosbie, Ayers, Wades, Guild and Somersall, of the dissolution of-,
and the general reasons and its real life anyway, and get back the symbols,
which send-to keep for me.
As ever,
%
The “agreement with Wade” of the next letter refers to a promise I had made,
and which I had promptly reported to Judge, to help Wade by contributing
an article occasionally to a little magazine which he published, or planned to
publish, on behalf of Theosophy in New England.
Always I carried Judge’s last letter with me in my pocket. It helped me, I
believed, to keep in touch with him. But I was making a desperate effort to
keep a Petty Cash account, as I knew that would be his wish, and, for lack
of other paper within reach, frequently used his envelopes for such entries as I
find on this: “Porter .15; paper .5; Car .25”: not a bad form of Yoga in the
circumstances.
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
129
October nth, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
1st. That agreement with Wade: what’s done is done, and it will have
to go. But hereafter make no such plans without consulting me, as you do
not know place nor people. And do not make any more with Wade. All
your work should be for the centre, and not for those who split the energy up
while poor Path languishes and things are low. We can’t stop Wade, for he is
a sort of bull. [Judge liked him none the less. Wade had tremendous energy
and enthusiasm.] But we can put on brakes elsewhere. I did not give him
the general permission he says. It was that I might do so in every case if I
were asked in advance; and it was not contemplated that he should go in for
independent publishing which can only succeed by an undercut of Path or rivalry,
since the public (T.S.) is the same. So much for that.
If the energy expended on the Boston paper, on the Toronto Lamp and
Pacific Theosophist were put into booming the Path , we might then have a good
large magazine and be able to pay for certain necessary service which now we
have to do without. [Judge was never in a position to employ a stenographer
at Headquarters.]
That part of yours which has reference to the book on Occultism (another is
on Karma), I unreservedly accept. I was wishing for that. Go ahead and
write up—as you get now and then an hour—what you think about it, the plan,
etc., etc. In Path you know I have a lot of stuff, “Conversations on Occultism’’,
between Sage and Student. Jot your ideas down on paper the same size always,
and file them between some boards or in a leather cover. We will keep them all
there; and the Conversations ought to be cut out of Path and put in there.
They will breed ideas.
Here is one idea on the publishing part: to get up a subscription edition on
better paper, larger margin and better binding, at a higher price than the general
edition. The general edition should be of two prices, say $1.00 and 0.50.
Put that into the receptacle.
As to me, I feel that in time I will do more work of that kind than going
about.
I hear from Claude that-says A.B. now declares H.P.B. faked up the
telegram phenomenon with my aid. I wonder if true. But I do not place much
reliance on those London tales. They all fell out wrong as to Burrows and
what he would do. What a model ass he is.
Well, best luck. Let me know how you really feel in the work and among
the people.
(To be continued)
RICHNESS OF LIFE
The Direction of Attention
T HAT every man lives in a world of his own making, is a truth emphasized
by the sages of all times, although—like other truths emphasized by
sages—little heed has been paid to it. There are no courses at the
universities on how to make one’s world. Each man does it for himself, usually
quite unconsciously, without the faintest idea of what he is doing, or of the
principles which ought to guide him. Modem science, to be sure, may tell him
that his world, which it calls his environment, and his heredity, are the two
most important factors in his development, but, for the most part, it assumes
that these factors are beyond his control. It also assumes, in spite of the im¬
portance which it ascribes to them, that they are much smaller things than
they really are.
A man’s true heredity is far more than the ancestry of his physical body.
It includes the past incarnations of his soul. His real environment is the
field of his consciousness, rather than the physical things that may happen to
be in his vicinity. A blind man’s environment is not changed by hanging
pictures on his wall, no matter how beautiful they may be, or what effect they
would have on an artist. It may be changed by music produced a thousand
miles away and heard over the radio. With a volume of Shakespeare, a man in
a hovel may change his environment completely. The point is that it is not what
surrounds his body that affects him, but what surrounds his mind and heart,—
his sensations, desires, thoughts and feelings. He lives in the midst of these;
they constitute his world; and his happiness or unhappiness, his interest or
boredom, his progress or deterioration, depend upon their nature.
What reaches a man from his surroundings depends mainly upon the direction
of his attention, which, in turn, is either determined unconsciously by his interest
and desire, or consciously by his will. Three men walk down the same street
at the same time; the first, a pickpocket, watching craftily for a chance to filch
the price of the drink he craves; the second, absorbed in a business problem, with
no thought or heed for anything but its solution; and the third, an artist, delight¬
ing in the beauty of the sky and the reflection of the late afternoon sun turning
dull, brick walls to gold. The street and the sunlight are the same in each case,
but the worlds the three men live in are as far apart as the poles. A great
mountain may be only an obstacle to'the railroad builder, while to the geologist
it tells a fascinating story of the play of gigantic natural forces over aeons of
time. To one sensitive to the voice of the Divine, the mountain may speak of
yearning aspiration, or of the stillness of eternity. What speaks to each is the
element to which in the past he has given his attention. Like a search-light, so
badly mounted that, once fixed, its direction can only be changed after much
time and effort, attention lights up from the darkness of the world around it,
130
RICHNESS OF LIFE
13 1
only that little spot at which it has habitually been aimed. The whole range,
from highest to lowest, from some aspect of the world of the spirit to the depths
of materialism, is before us always, for those who have eyes to see.
A man’s eyes see what they have been trained to see. In this, as in every¬
thing else, his freedom of choice in the present is limited by the choices he has
made in the past. If the artist has given no attention to geology, he cannot, by
merely wishing to do so, see what the geologist sees. In fact, we can only really
perceive a thing at all when, and to the extent that, there is something of like
nature already in our experience. As our experience consists of the aggregate
of all to which in the past we have paid attention, it follows that what we can do
with our attention at any given moment is largely determined by what we have
done with it heretofore. In the same way, our range of possible action in the
future is increased or diminished by what we do in the present. Language, so
often wiser than its users, gives us a clue when it speaks of “paying attention”.
Attention is the coin with which Providence sends us into the world, and we
pay it, minute by minute, for what we choose out of the infinite variety of
offered wares. Whether we spend it wisely, or squander it like a spendthrift,
that to which we pay attention becomes a part of ourselves, and it is thus that
we have made ourselves whatever we are. Our memories, our experience,
such knowledge and skill as we may possess, our purposes and desires, the
nature of oui thoughts and feelings, have all been built up to what they are as
the result of paying attention to one thing, good or bad, rather than to another.
In a very real sense, we are that to which we have in the past given our attention.
We become that to which we now give it.
It is easy to see that this is true of memory, of knowledge and of all acquired
skill, but perhaps not so evident in the case of thoughts, feelings and desires.
We may, in fact, be accused of putting the cart before the horse, on the ground
that it is desire that directs attention and not the other way around. It is true
that nine times out of ten, attention is ruled by desire, but it need not be. It
can be consciously controlled by the will. One of the most important elements
in true education is learning to concentrate all one’s attention on a single task
under the direction of the will, irrespective of personal desire. But whether
guided consciously by the will, or unconsciously by desire, attention is essential
to the continued existence of any particular desire, or of any given type of thought
or feeling. Desires grow by our brooding on them. They live on attention,
which is as essential to them as water is to a plant, and without it, they die.
Attention is to the desires what a stream of irrigating water is to an otherwise
arid land. Where it goes, and nowhere else, there is bloom and growth,—of
flowers or weeds, as the case may be. If attention be turned, and kept res¬
olutely away from a particular desire, that desire will in time die of starvation.
On the other hand, a desire will grow to the extent to which it is given attention.
The proverbial small boy’s desire to go to the circus grows with every minute
he spends in thinking about it. Each time that he thinks of it with desire, he
actually puts that much more desire into the idea. It comes to have a life of
its own and to clamour constantly for still more attention, in order to feed thereon
I 3 2
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
and grow further. The desires to which we have given no attention do not
trouble us. Few people, no matter how artistic, long to buy million-dollar
Rembrandts, whereas many ardently wish for a new wall-paper in the dining¬
room. They have not thought about the Rembrandts and they have thought
about the wall-paper.
As the control of attention by will enables a man to increase certain desires
and to starve others, so it enables him to control the nature of his thoughts and
feelings, and the character of his reaction to outer events. Constant mental
attention to a feeling has a cumulative effect which makes that feeling grow out
of all proportion. Everyday experience furnishes innumerable illustrations of
this. Irritation at the merest trifle can thus be built up to a highly explosive
condition, dangerous to all concerned. Darby has, perhaps, a way of humming
to himself when Joan wants to read. If she makes up her mind to pay no atten¬
tion to it, in a surprisingly short time she will not even hear it. If, on the
contrary, she complains about it to herself, “I suppose he’ll do it again tonight.
There he goes. He knows I hate it and he always does it”, etc., etc., watching
for it every evening, and adding the weight of each day’s grievance to the ac¬
cumulated weight of all the past days, it may completely ruin her evenings, or
lead to a humiliating explosion, good, perhaps, for Darby, but not for Joan.
It is Darby and not Joan who should pay attention to Darby’s failures in con¬
sideration.
Every event comes with many different handles by which it may be grasped.
The universe offers its riches, and its shoddy, at each moment. According to
the aspect to which we pay heed, the same event may bring us annoyance at
personal inconvenience, or pleasure in an opportunity to help a friend; romance
and the joy of battle, or discomfort and fear of disaster. A man strives for a
prize and his friend gains it. He can centre his attention on his own disappoint¬
ment, the injustice of the award and of the world in general, thereby filling his
mind with self-pity, bitterness and envy; or he can centre it on his friend’s happi¬
ness, and feel quite as much joy as if he had won the prize himself. According
to his decision, his “environment” for the time being becomes envy or joy. After
a series of such decisions, the reaction becomes automatic, and the man finds
himself envious, or generous-hearted. “Man verily is formed of desire; as he
desires, so he thinks; as he thinks, so he becomes.” And the key to desire is
attention.
We have spoken of desire as life-giving. Perhaps we should have described
it as life-carrying, with a current that flows in both directions. When we give
our attention to anything, not only do we give to it a portion of our own life,
but there is a return flow from it which brings us something of its essence.
Whether this essence be welcome or unwelcome, high or low, it enters our mind
through the door opened by attention, and becomes a part of us. To the
extent to which we give attention to a purpose or a cause, we live with the
life of that purpose. If it be a selfish purpose, the life that returns to us and
with which we then live, is sordid. If it were the service of the Masters to which
we gave ourselves, we should live with life eternal. When a man attends to
RICHNESS OF LIFE
i33
nobility and honour, there is a return flow to him of their essence, and he grows
in nobility; when he attends to grossness and vulgarity, he becomes gross and
vulgar.
It is for this reason that to certain things, unclean, vulgar or degrading in
themselves, no attention should ever be given except when duty requires it.
In that case, it is to the duty first, and to the thing, second, that we give at¬
tention. Nevertheless, even then there is a sacrifice involved to which we
should not be blind. If it be our duty to touch pitch, to refuse because it is
defiling, is to fall into self-righteousness, and to prepare for ourselves the future
“bed of mire”, of which Light on the Path speaks. But pitch remains defiling
and, duty or no duty, attention can never be given to it without some degree of
defilement. If those who genuinely condemn evil, realized how much their own
lower natures relished the contact that any attention to evil involves, many
would be astonished and humiliated. “Whether he love sin or hate sin”, if
he give attention to sin, “he is equally tied to sin”. Attention in itself consti¬
tutes a bond. It is not true that “to the pure all things are pure”. To be pure
is to be clear-sighted, and hence to see unclean minds, and unclean “art”, and
unclean books for what they are. To give attention to them is to take their
unclean essence into ourselves.
Self-examination, in which attention is given to faults for the purpose of
freeing oneself from them, may appear to be a violation of this principle, but it
is not really so, because we are already bound to the faults we have. Attention
is given them partly to build up aversion to. them, and partly to enable us to
see clearly where we should strike to cut the existing bonds. “Self-examination”
that is merely brooding on one’s failings, and that is not followed by resolute
action against them, is always harmful.
The character of that to which we give attention determines the character of
the return flow to us, and that, in turn, determines the richness or poverty of
our own life and consciousness. If a man gives all his attention to golf and
horses, he limits the life he receives to what can be cramped within golf and
horses, or rather within the qualities those activities call forth. Golf, of course,
has no “life” of its own to give, but it brings out qualities that do have certain
types of life. Even here, in spite of their obvious limitations and of the simi¬
larity of “horsey”—or golfing—communities the world over, there is a consider¬
able range between the highest and the lowest “essences” to be extracted from
them. A man may play golf from vanity, because he thinks he plays a good
game, and he gets the essence of vanity back from it. Or he may be attracted
by the coolness and self-control under excitement called forth by the need for
a long, accurate put, at a critical point in the game. We certainly would not
deny the exhilaration of handling a high-spirited thoroughbred, or of taking a
four-foot fence on a good hunter, but, however enjoyable, one would hardly
describe these things as “richness of life”. Whatever of richness they may have,
is due to the presence of some quality of the spirit—courage, delicacy of control,
coolness, or whatever it may be.
It is always the spirit that makes richness of life, and it is only by attention
134
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
to the things of the spirit that it can be attained. Excitement, to which those
seeking richness so often turn, is a specious counterfeit, always followed by a
reaction of dulness, and which, in time, so deadens the power of enjoyment that
stronger and stronger doses have to be taken to produce any effect. This dul¬
ling of the faculties of enjoyment is particularly noticeable in children who have
been brought up on the “movies”. On the other hand, appreciation of the things
of the spirit grows keener with exercise. The more one attends to beauty, or
nobility, or the search for truth, or any other aspect of the spirit, the more intense
will be one’s joy in them. Attending to them builds up the desire for them,
a desire that, recognized or unrecognized, every one has; for every soul, deep
within itself, longs for its home and for the things of its home. Attention
to the spirit brings our hearts and minds into some touch with the spirit itself.
Just as spring sunshine is necessary to call flowers from the earth into bloom,
this touch of the spirit is needed for the blossoming of powers and faculties of
heart and mind, that otherwise lie dormant or atrophy. It is these faculties
that bring intensity and fineness of feeling, keenness of appreciation, breadth
of interest, sympathy, understanding, reverence, love for what is beautiful,
high and noble, and all that makes life worth while.
As the direction of his attention determines ultimately what a man desires,
what he becomes, the world he lives in, and the nature of the life with which he
lives, it would seem desirable to pay heed to one’s attention. The first step is
to become conscious of just what it is doing at each moment. If this sounds
easy to anyone, let him try to hold.his attention steadily on one subject for five
minutes, and then see how many times and how far it wandered before he
became conscious of what it was about. With most people, as we have said,
it is ruled, quite unconsciously to themselves, by their personal desires, and
they have little idea, and less control, of what it is doing most of the time. It
must be reclaimed from its slavery to desire and brought under the control
of the will. Obviously, the power of attention will not take a man far toward
his goal if he consciously directs it in the right way for one hour a day, and,
for the remaining twenty-three, unconsciously lets it go in the opposite direction!
For spiritual progress, in which a few moments’ wrong thought can do untold
harm, and the most rigid control of the mind is necessary, a constant, alert
attention, like that of a sentry on guard in the face of an enemy, is essential.
Thoughts are dynamic things that vitally affect both ourselves and others!
We have no more right to produce them without attention to their character than
we have to drive an automobile with our eyes shut.
J. F. B. Mitchell.
PSYCHOANALYSIS
AN EXPLANATION AND INTERPRETATION
Further , the more important part of their science escapes them , the part which
discerns in the soul what truly belongs to it and what does not , what movements
are from within , what movements are from without , and , among these last , which
come from the devil and which come from God. Nor can they know with what ca¬
pacity for faith and love a particular soul has been endowed , nor what precise means
of sanctification is foreseen for it in the divine plan. While they ignore and make
a point of ignoring the virtues and the gifts of the Holy Ghost , and the whole activity
of the supernatural life , they will only skim the surface of men,—one half of man's
secret will always escape them. — The Secret of the Cur£ D’Ars.
P SYCHOANALYSIS is the name given to a method of diagnosing and treat¬
ing certain maladies that afflict men and women. Whether one con¬
demn or approve this method, one should be fair to it, recognizing
that, bad or good, it has been brought into existence by a dire human need.
That need is for remedial measures adequate to check the alarming increase of
the insane. Even a casual reader of newspaper statistics, knows how appalling
is the number who suffer from cancer and tuberculosis; but the combined total
of those afflicted with cancer, tuberculosis, and all other physical disease, is
actually less than the number of those who are diseased mentally.
Bodily diseases often cause excruciating suffering, but the duration of those
ills is limited, and after a year or two, the man or woman either recovers, or is
released from the tormented body. With mental disease, the alternative is
not so clear or hopeful. In our country alone, no less than 400,000 pitiable
individuals are condemned for life or long terms, to the prison of an insane
mind. In addition to the 400,000 declared insane by the public law courts,
there is a second multitude,—those mentally or nervously disordered, men
and women not yet insane, but likely to become so, unless preventive and reme¬
dial treatment be found for them,—afflicted people for the origin of whose
baffling symptoms, their physicians have in vain searched every organ and
tissue of the physical body. In perplexity, some physicians began to inquire:
have we been looking in the wrong place for the cause of these distressing
symptoms? Ought we to seek a clue within the mental and emotional nature,
or, to use the Greek word, within the psychic body? As an experiment, those
physicians began to investigate the mental and emotional history of their
patients, and out of their analyses grew this method of treatment—now a
popular fad—psychoanalysis. “Psychoanalysis occupies itself”, writes Pro¬
fessor McDougall, “with the explanation and cure of what are called nervous
disorders”.
The first physician to make systematic analyses, to report his results and
135
i 3 6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the theories he derived from them, was Professor Sigmund Freud, the Vien¬
nese neurologist. The unsavoury odour that surrounds the practice and litera¬
ture of psychoanalysis, proceeds from personal traits in some of the investi¬
gators as well as in their patients. Men with no religious principle, those
psychiatrists recognize nothing in human nature that comes to it “from above”;
they regard men and women only as one species of animal. Moreover, the past
history of their patients, many of a grossly sensual type, proved to be just what
the investigators desired to find. Morbid and malodorous details were pub¬
lished by Freud and his confreres, and were avidly welcomed by the licentious
decade that followed the close of the World War. In dealing with diseased
minds it will often be necessary to deal with gross and distasteful things.
Knowledge of such morbid conditions,—their causes and cures, the physician
must have, but he need not take unnecessary trouble, as Freud seems often to
have done, to connect abnormal mental states with matters sexual. It is this
italicising of what is indecent and immoral that offends right-minded people.
In the hands of other practitioners, doctors of clean fibre, who work with a
decent grade of patients, there has been evolved from Freud’s crude beginning
a theory and practice that is worthy of study.
Freud began by studying those human tendencies which he calls instincts.
Because the word “instinct” is used to-day in different senses by various
groups of psychologists, Freud’s meaning must be made clear and distinctive.
For example, to the psychologists of Dr. John Watson’s group, “Behaviour¬
ists” (another popular fad), an instinct is nothing but an habitual response to
a given stimulus. The nerve cell, as they see the process, is excited at one end,
and the exciting impulse is carried along a fixed system of nerve fibres until
it reaches its destination in a certain group of muscles or glands; there, an un¬
varying response is made. Those unvarying responses, together with Dr.
Watson’s deductions from them as to the causes of human conduct (behaviour),
constitute this new ism. Freud is less mechanistic than Dr. Watson, for to
him an instinct involves consciousness, and consciousness may of course vary
the responses made to any given stimulus. Freud does not toss overboard all
the accumulated experience of the ages, but holds with Aristotle, Schopen¬
hauer and others, that the “most fundamental characteristic of men and animals
is their purposive striving toward ends or goals.” These strivings, purposive
and, therefore, conscious, which seem to be a fundamental human characteristic,
Freud calls instincts. Among the instincts, named from the goal toward which
they strive, are: the instinct toward pleasure; the instinct toward the exercise
of force or power; the instinct toward self-preservation; the instinct toward the
perpetuation of the race; the instinct toward the maintenance of nutrition;
etc., etc.
It is obvious that whenever various instincts struggle within a man, each
toward its respective goal, they come into rivalry and start a civil war. That
strife is one kind of hindrance that blocks the path toward satisfaction—a
hindrance that, in varying circumstances, gives victory or defeat, now to one
instinct, now to another. A second set of hindrances arises when the instinc-
PSYCHOANALYSIS
i37
tive, natural man has developed to the point of recognizing moral standards
given “from above”, a state of development that is inherited from a long Kar¬
mic past. Human instincts as they move to-day along the paths toward satis¬
faction, often find unexpected barriers in the way. What action will the owner
of the instincts take when he comes upon those thwarting ramparts?
The man may say: “These barriers have been built by the generations of
mankind because experience had demonstrated not only the convenience but
the need at this point of a barricade; I will therefore be guided by the accumu¬
lated wisdom of my race”. He then acts decisively; he does not try to leap
the barrier or crawl through some cranny of it, but turns completely from the
barricaded road, and transfers, toward a new goal, the energy that hitherto
had propelled his course. To be congratulated is the man who acts thus, de¬
cisively, and turns into a new path, refusing to gratify an instinct that may
be “natural” but that, at his stage of development, conflicts with some law—
of heaven or of earth. Such a man will never fall victim to nervous disorder.
On the other hand, a man may act indecisively; he may half-heartedly accept
the barriers as inevitable,—fretting, nevertheless, because instincts that are
“natural”, and which he himself has had nothing to do with implanting in his
nature, find interferences in the way of “innocem” gratification. He acts inde¬
cisively, incompletely. He accepts the barriers—but with a reservation; he
accepts them, “for the present”, until ingenuity can find a way to surmount
them. He does not expel the impulse, as the first man did, but, instead, pushes
it off the scene, trusting to the adage, “out of sight, out of mind”. This half¬
heartedness in dealing with instincts, half-heartedness which amounts to mere
postponement of gratification, the psychoanalysts call by the technical word,
repression , as they likewise give to the repressed instincts themselves, the
name, complexes.
Little does the victim of half-heartedness realize the bitter draught he is
brewing for himself. All that he has done by repressing his impulse, is to banish
from his drawing-room to his cellar, what should have been driven from his
house. In the cellar of his subconscious mind, that banished instinct becomes
a rat, gnawing and gnawing to open a subterranean passageway to gratification,
the conscious mind giving little attention to scamperings in the cellar, so lo’ng
as the rats keep out of sight, out of the drawing-room. Poor victim, self-
doomed to misery! For, strange as it may seem, many nervous disorders,
with all their train of sufferings, are self-caused; they are nothing less or more
than disguised gratifications of repressed instincts. In other words, according
to the theories of psychoanalysis , a nervous disorder means that the rat in
the cellar has been persistent enough to gnaw a passageway to fulfilment,—
fulfilment though disguised , the disguise—often most distorted—being adopted
for the express purpose of deluding the conscious mind, which, for sufficient
reason, shrinks from open gratification of that particular impulse.
Psychoanalysis is concerned with these rats, the impulses repressed and ban¬
ished to the subconscious mind,—to ferret them out. For if not ferreted out
and exterminated, they may lead from nervous disorders which are them-
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
138
selves things of no joy, to mental diseases,—they may lead from the mid-valley
of indecision down to the black dungeons of insanity.
Two choices open to a man, and their consequences, have been mentioned,—
positive decision and half-hearted postponement. There is yet a third choice;
a man may act decisively, but in the wrong direction. The consequence of that
choice is, ultimately, debauchery or insanity. Encountering the barriers which
the experience of the race has built, the man may say that, willy nilly, he will
storm the barricade and gratify his desire. The particular instinct which he
wishes to satisfy may be that for power, and he can see that, were he President
of the United States, he would be in a position of some authority. The votes
of the nation do not make him President; but, within himself, he has a faculty
more potent than votes, the faculty of fancy, a perversion of imagination. He
storms the barricade, withdraws from his actual environment, and lives in a
fantasy world of his own creation. Satisfaction of his desire being denied him
on a substantial plane, he gives himself illusory gratification on the plane of
unsubstantial fantasy. At last, he believes himself to be President, commander-
in-chief of the army and navy, etc., etc. Acquaintances may deride his belief—
but then, he tells himself, his acquaintances are all deranged, and he, the great
President, is the only sane individual of that particular neighbourhood. He has
defied the accumulated experience of the race, and has bounded over the re¬
straining barrier—into the madhouse; he is insane.
It is not however with insanity, the final stage of the road, that psycho¬
analysis concerns itself, but with the mid-valley of the undecided,—those who,
afflicted with nervous disorders, are leading disturbed lives, some of whom
may become insane if their condition be not alleviated and cured.
People subject to nervous disorders seem to fall into two psychological groups,
the introvert and the extrovert , both of which depart, but in opposite directions,
from the normal human type. The normal man stands between two worlds;
he is sensitively poised between an outer world of environment and an inner
world of thought and standards. He ponders those two worlds, weighing one
against the other until he strikes a balance. The introvert, as the name sug¬
gests, looks too much within, and too little upon what is around him; he is “off
balance”. If the introvert becomes completely and permanently “off balance”,
giving no heed whatever to facts of his environment, he is insane. The ex¬
trovert likewise is “off balance”, in that he is too easily influenced by external
factors, not bringing such factors before the bar of inner judgment. He acts
without reflection, is the victim of external conditions, and may become so
victimized by outer influences as hopelessly to lose balance, in insanity.
To illustrate, consider first the introvert. Here are two examples of nervous
oddity, disturbances of the very slightest nature indeed, which yet might de¬
velop into serious disorder. I. A child of seven, walking with an aunt through
a woodland, strayed and was lost. After no great interval the aunt found her
niece wedged between two rocks at the foot of a small waterfall. Fearful of
punishment at home, the child begged her aunt not to mention the escapade,
and the indulgent aunt so promised. Within a few days, the visit came to an
PSYCHOANALYSIS
i39
end, the aunt went to live in a distant state, and no one of the family knew of
the child’s act. As she grew into girlhood, that child was always terrified by
the sight or sound of running water, an oddity that caused comment in the
home and among friends. Thirteen years later, the aunt again visited her
relatives, and noticing one day her niece’s terror as the faucet ran noisily, said
with a quizzical smile, “I have never told”. The long forgotten adventure at
the waterfall was recalled; and after that explanation, it is said, the young
woman’s nervous fear entirely disappeared. 1
II. A respectable elderly man, Mr. B—, had such a fear of being seized from
behind, that, on the street, he was frequently looking over his shoulder, and,
within doors, sat, if possible, with his back against a wall. This odd behaviour
had marked him from childhood. In his fifty-sixth year, Mr. B— made a
visit to the town of his birth, and among other old acquaintances, encoun¬
tered an aged grocer who still conducted the little shop which had lingered
from boyhood in Mr. B—’s memory. The old grocer smilingly asked Mr B—
whether he remembered the peanuts, and on receiving a negative reply, he told
how B— as a boy, had the habit of snatching a few peanuts whenever he passed
the shop, until the grocer, determined to end the pilfering, one day concealed
himself behind a hogshead as the boy approached, and then from the rear
leaped out upon the lad who was thus caught while his hand was in the sack.
Screaming with terror, the boy had fallen to the ground, unconscious. As in
the case of the girl just mentioned, B—’s nervous abnormality is said to have
disappeared soon after its forgotten cause was brought back to memory.
What have these odd forms of nervousness to do with psychoanalysis, which
concerns itself with gnawing instincts? Self-preservation is an instinct, and
from that branch there ramifies the twig of self-respect, more usually called,
medically, self-regard. There are right and wrong ways of guarding self-re¬
spect. A conscientious man of disciplined will, who by wrong-doing has lowered
self-respect, acknowledges his fault, tries to make reparation for it, and regains
mentem consciam recti. The girl and the boy just described were not concerned
over their wrong-doing, but were eager to escape the consequences. Punish¬
ment at home, it is contended, would have ended the matter by transforming
the guilty memory into a wholesome one that would deter from future wrong¬
doing. Punishment they escaped, but they could not escape their own memory^
of guilt. Self-regard could not bear the sight of the unwelcome memory, and
banished it to the cellar. Confinement in the cellar does not put an end to a
trouble maker. Force put into wrong action continues until expiated in some
return circuit. The banished memory, like a rat, had obtruded its scamperings
(i.e., “fear of running water”, and ‘‘fear of being seized”) upon the drawing¬
room,—the individual not at all understanding that he was himself responsible
for the rat. Forgetting all the circumstances that surround an uncomplimen¬
tary incident, as shown by the girl and by Mr. B —, is said to be purposed , and
this purposed forgetfulness is called technically, amnesia. “Every phobia' ’ (a
1 This and the following cases are cited in Professor Wm. McDougall's book, Outline of Abnormal Psychology,
p. 306 et seq.
140
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
nervous fear, the cause of which is unknown to the patient), says Dr. Stekel,
“is a punishment exacted by consciousness of guilt”.
On the theory of psychoanalysis, the rdle of the analyst was taken in these
two cases by the aunt and the grocer, who held each the clue to the mystery.
With the girl and the boy, the fear was too slight to produce a marked dis¬
order—it caused only freakishness of manner. In more severe cases, no friendly
individual possessing a clue, the patient must have the aid of an intelligent
worker trained to search minutely through the past, until he penetrates the
self-draped veils of amnesia which hide from the sufferer the cause of his trouble.
When these veils of amnesia are tom aside, and the patient is confronted with
forgotten facts, his neurosis , or nervous disorder, frequently comes to a happy
end: or so we are told.
In the next illustration, also of the introvert type, morbid scrupulosity is
shown, that is, a form of obsession , the individual being thrown “off balance”
by undue attention to an inner standard of conduct. As a result of over-scru¬
pulousness in the discharge of duty, a certain middle-aged naval officer, N—,
became self-depreciatory to the point of losing the confidence of his fellow
officers, though hitherto they had respected and admired his integrity and
ability. A devout Catholic, trained in a Jesuit college, his increasing indeci¬
sion and inefficiency mystified his associates. Investigation disclosed that an
incident on a torpedoed ship was responsible for the neurosis. A young lieu¬
tenant, panic-stricken in the waves, though in no immediate danger (buoyed
as he was by a life-belt), had shouted to N— for a second belt. N— was on
the deck of the sinking vessel, no belt was in sight, and seeing that the lieu¬
tenant was to all appearance sufficiently protected, he had not deprived him¬
self of his own belt in order to quiet the terrified youth. Shortly after that
incident, an hallucination began to trouble N—. From time to time he would
see the young officer floating upon the waves, a corpse. It was this haunting
sight that had caused him to examine and re-examine with morbid scrupulosity
every detail of duty assigned him, until he became indecisive and utterly in¬
efficient. Brought face to face with the cause of his brooding, N— was freed,
we are told, from the hallucination. Presumably, something in his refusal to
grant the lieutenant’s request had not satisfied his code. Conscience may
have whispered that an elder officer should show more sympathy to an inex¬
perienced and unreasonably terrified youth. The physician who reported the
case does not tell what verdict N— passed upon his own act. It is possible that
he confessed he had made a mistake. Hearty repentance for wrong done, often
frees from seething uncertainties.
Let us now look at examples of the extrovert type, impulsive and impression¬
able people who act upon the desire of the moment, with little interior check.
The vitality of such people often seems inexhaustible, but they are swept from
their inner mooring, become victims of their own emotions, and their valuable
energy is frittered away.
On account of an exemplary professional career, K— was requested by his
associates to step out from a quiet and inconspicuous field of labour, in order
PSYCHOANALYSIS
141
to engage actively in a presidential campaign where principles of more than
usual importance were at stake. K— had never before made a public address,
and was as pleased as surprised at his success. He had never experienced the
sensation of influencing a crowd, and the sense of power it brought, “went to
his head”. He began to make addresses for the sole purpose of experiencing
that sensation, and his conduct became in consequence eccentric. Early in
the morning, at the window of his hotel room, by animated gestures he would
stop passers-by, and when he had assembled an audience, would deliver a
fiery harangue. The response made by the crowd to his eloquence caused
him, he said, to “feel like a god”, and when campaign associates, alarmed at
his excitement, endeavoured to quiet his elation, he became extremely irritable
and scornful. Tactful management restored him, but the case shows how a
mania might develop. It was the instinct for power asserting itself regardless
of ordinary conventions.
When an unbalanced man is positive and aggressive toward his environment
as K— was, the resultant disorder is a mania. An imbalanced man who is
negative and passive to environment, brings upon himself the opposite of mania,
a depression. These two forms of disease exhibited by extroverts, are commonly
grouped together as the manic-depressive psychoses, because it is usual for
patients to pass back and forth from mania to depression in cycles. Fear
dominates a depressed person. ,He feels useless, weak, and accuses himself
of innumerable crimes, especially of having committed “the unpardonable
sin”, without having the vaguest notion what that sin may be. He imagines
all sorts of punishment that will overtake him. Too frequently, this affliction
ends in suicide; but if the individual can be protected from himself, the depres¬
sion almost invariably passes away, and he may become normal once more.
Another disorder that occurs in persons of the extrovert type is hysteria.
Hysteria , according to this school, is a refuge supplied by the subconscious
mind from some condition which the individual prefers not to face. When a
man is desirous of being excused from an unpleasant task, and can substantiate
his desire with no valid reason such as a physical disease, his subconscious mind
most obligingly comes to the rescue, producing a sufficiently serious nervous
illness (simulating physical disease) to obtain release from duty. Shell-shock,
in some cases, may be a form of hysteria —a subconscious imitation of disease
—in which case the motive back of that imitation is desire to evade the con¬
flict. During the War, a soldier received a wound in his shoulder. The wound
soon healed, but the man’s arm was unexpectedly found to be paralyzed, and
he was discharged as unfit for further duty. For several years the paralysis
continued, and, through disuse, the muscles of the arm degenerated. Wishing
to be rid of the limb, now inconvenient as well as useless, the man visited a
surgeon, with a view to amputation, but the surgeon first called into consulta¬
tion a neurologist. The neurologist found that the shoulder muscles as well
as the arm muscles had degenerated, though the nerves of the shoulder lay
entirely outside the area affected by the original flesh wound. Convinced that
what appeared to be complete organic paralysis was in truth hysteria, the
142
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
neurologist assured the patient that his arm could be completely restored, and
before the first interview ended, the man was moving his fingers. In a few
weeks the entire arm was functioning normally. 2
What caused that hysteria ? In that as in similar cases, it was the desire to quit
the field of action, but to quit without disgrace. To effect that, there must be
adequate injury. The subconscious mind is therefore expectant and anticipa-
tive, and consequently the effects upon it of some fear-producing episode, are
out of all proportion to the physical damage actually received. After the
accident, there is usually a period during which the subconscious mind works
quietly to achieve its aim, a dormant period before the neurosis appears. Then,
shortly before the soldier is scheduled to resume active work, there will develop
from a minor accident, symptoms of a major nature. Quite obviously that
soldier had not concentrated his attention upon doing his utmost, but was
meditating an escape from an unpleasant environment, an escape that would
at the same time “save his face”. The instinct to preserve himself from danger
prompted him to run away, but flight was checked by the conflicting instinct
of self-regard which pictured vividly the disgrace to be incurred. Instead of
crushing the desire to desert, the soldier merely pushed it into his cellar where
the subconscious mind worked upon it until the insignificant flesh wound served
as starting point and pretext for the paralysis. To the man’s discomfiture,
the paralyzed arm continued to plague him Jong after its “usefulness” (i.e., to
procure a discharge with honour) was over.
Similar evasions of duty, effected through the connivance of the subcon¬
scious mind, occur in civilian as well as military life. Since the passage of the
“Workmen’s Compensation Laws” (which compel employers to compensate
employees for injuries received in the discharge of duty), nervous diseases are
encountered more frequently than formerly in industrial callings. Under
hysteria, there is a sub-group of disorders known as the traumatic neuroses , be¬
cause they start in a slight injury, or at least in fear of an injury (trauma being
the medical term for injury). A large mechanical crane falling from its supports,
wedged the operator between a heavy piece of steel and the wall of the room.
The only physical injury he sustained was a slight bruise on one leg, X-rays
showing no injury to the bone, and careful examination revealing no sign of
injury to nerve fibres. For several months after the bruise had disappeared,
the operator still limped, and he continued to receive full wages, though he
performed no service, alleging that severe pain made work impossible. The
physician responsible for the employees finally became convinced that the
limp was psychological not physical, and to close the case, recommended a
cash settlement for disability. When this was made, the limping soon ceased.
Whenever an injured workman has financial interest in the business, or for
some reason is not entitled to compensation, he returns quickly to duty. An¬
other common form of hysteria is pain in the back, following a railroad wreck,
and this is known medically as “railway spine”. For this ailment no physical
origin can be demonstrated, yet after every wreck, the railway companies
* Cited by Professor Foster Kennedy, neurologist at Cornell University Medical College, in lecture, in 1925.
PSYCHOANALYSIS
M3
spend large sums in settlement of claims based upon such pains. It is inter¬
esting to note that a special train carrying only high officials of the road was
once wrecked, giving the officers a rough jolt. Not a single case of “railway
spine” developed after that accident because, as controlling stockholders, any
cash settlement would have come from their own pockets. It should be clear
that no reference is being made to deliberate malingerers, but to people of another
type who have no conscious desire to make an unjust claim. Fear is
present in their minds, and the subconscious thought that the authorities
responsible are able to pay for any injury that may be sustained. When the
fright is over, and he cannot find a physical injury, the passenger’s repressed
desire for compensation keeps active through subconscious channels until it
clears a way to cash—by the development of pain in the back.
Having considered ,(i) what it is that psychoanalysis deals with, and (2)
the psychological types subject to nervous disorders, let us now turn to (3)
methods employed in analyzing and treating the neuroses.
There are two major steps in psychoanalysis. I, Exploration of the patient’s
mind, for the purpose of discovering the origin of the morbid state. II, Re¬
adjustment of the patient’s life.
1. The exploration includes minute examination of the past life, including
ancestral and antenatal environment, likes and dislikes as they touch both
persons and things; and a review of all his theories, hopes, beliefs, and desires.
Without being aware of it, the patient will conceal the very things which are of
most importance to the diagnosis. To elicit further information, the physician
asks him to read a list of words, matching each word in the list with the first
one of his own that it calls to mind. In making replies, the patient will hesitate
slightly at such words as have special significance to him. The investigator
then segregates those special words and the replies they evoked, and builds
them into an hypothesis. Dreams likewise are carefully examined, with an
attempt to interpret them. In addition, hypnotism is often used as an aid to
exploration.
Between analysis and readjustment there is an intermediate step called
ll catharsis ,} } which means the expulsion (at last) of the repressed desire and its
replacement by a worthy goal. The practice of confession is obviously a type
of catharsis.
2. Readjustment demands, primarily, the establishment of a worth-while
aim. Appeals may be made to the patient’s moral standards and religious
beliefs, as also, to his patriotism or his family pride. Affection for a friend
may be used as a motive toward virile effort. It may be pointed out that al¬
though distressing sufferings evoke sympathy from friends, they do so under
false pretences, seeing that in truth they are but a refuge taken from duty.
The esteem of friends would be forfeited if they knew the actual facts.
Sublimation is a widely used means toward readjustment. It is a transfer
of energy from a low to a higher end. Vital force which hitherto had been
drained by the instincts, is thereby liberated to “sustain activities which are
higher, either in the intellectual or moral sense, than the purely instinctive
144
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
activities”. It has been stated (we do not know how truly) that, during the
War, French soldiers learned to sublimate the fears that are natural during
an active campaign. Their fears were talked of as things to be expected, from
which, accordingly, each man could withdraw nervous energy, turning it in
another direction,—to intense performance of every duty that arose. Neu¬
roses were uncommon among the French soldiers. On the other hand, British
tradition regarded fear as cowardly, and British soldiers felt compelled to hide
their terrors. Those unsublimated fears being deposited in the subconscious
mind, did harmful work, causing familiar disorders of the nervous system.
To recapitulate: according to psychoanalysts, nervous disorders are self-
caused, and are gratifications, in disguise, of desires that arise from the instincts.
These desires are usually natural , but their realization is opposed to some higher
possibility of the individual, and that higher possibility makes advisable the
conquest and expulsion of natural cravings. Domination of the higher over
the lower desire is achieved by the man of positive decision. The indecisive
man, instead of dominating, thrusts the unsatisfied cravings into his cellar,
postponing their gratification. Gratification is obtained later (in a disguised
and distorted form) as a nervous disorder. The conscious mind is not aware
of course that a neurosis is a repressed instinct in masquerade. The invalid
lulls himself in a false peace, thinking he has amply satisfied the higher demand
—whatever that was—that was made upon him. A nervous disorder—it must
be obvious—is an example of “eating one’s cake” and, at the same time, “hav¬
ing” it, inasmuch as the invalid, while possessing (and being possessed by) his
neurosis (gratification in disguise), at the same time flatters himself that he
has conformed to a high moral standard. A startling and vicious waywardness
advocated by Freud and his followers should be carefully noted. Claiming
that nervous disorders are caused by repressed desires, they fail to distinguish
between repression and expulsion. They accordingly argue, in a most childish
and vicious manner: nervous trouble is caused by repression, therefore, to avoid
nervous disease, do not repress, but—gratify. Such evil counsel defies the
moral experience of the race.
*******
But now, having tried to explain the principles and practices of psychoa¬
nalysis as favourably as possible, let us attempt to consider the whole subject
in the light of Theosophy.
It should be clear at once that the cures which analysts attribute to “ca¬
tharsis”, “sublimation” and so forth, can be explained just as well, in most
cases, as having been due to suggestion and auto-suggestion. Anyone who is
familiar with the work of Bemheim and his followers at Nancy, or with the
more recent authorities on the same subject, will suspect at once that the means
employed by the psychoanalyst serve merely to inspire receptivity or credulity
or faith (the word depending upon the bias of the critic) in the patient,—posi¬
tive suggestion, such as, “Now you are rid of it”, achieving the actual result.
It may be claimed, in the same way, that auto-suggestion could account for
the cure of Mr. B—. In his case, the very fact that his experience found its
PSYCHOANALYSIS
i45
way into Professor McDougall’s well-known manual, leads one to suppose that
B— was acquainted with some exponent of psychoanalysis and was more or
less familiar with its teachings. Thus, having suffered all his life from a particu¬
lar dread, and being suddenly confronted with what he accepted as its cause;
being imbued, further, with the belief that the recognition of cause would
remove the effect,—his faith, if you choose, or, if not, his susceptibility to his
own anticipation (auto-suggestion), removed the neurosis and effected a cure.
In any case, the one theory is at least as good as the other; neither takes into
account, or explains, however, the many successes of some practitioners and
the many failures of others. Both schools would probably understand their
subject better if they were less scornful of Mesmer, von Reichenbach, Drs.
Esdaile, Elliotson and the later mesmerists. That “animal magnetism”, so-
called, can be ignored as a factor in some of these cures—that is, in cures effected
by a professional—few students of Theosophy would be prepared to believe;
for the student of Theosophy does not espouse the cause of any school, re¬
maining open-minded in his attitude toward all of them, while holding fast
to his own experience and to the accumulated experience of the race. That
experience, fortunately for us, goes back to ages long preceding the fame of Dr.
Freud; for there has never been an age when cures of nervous disorders, and of
their physical expression also, were not brought about by the “laying on of
hands”, or by simple word of command, or by “holy (magnetized) water”,
or by similar means.
It is absurd, however, in our opinion, to say that all nervous disorders are
“occasioned by intention (subconscious) on the part of the sufferer”; that
they are “purposed”. Many are, but perhaps an equal number are not. If
you had accidentally shot and killed a friend while hunting, you might well
have an unusual (i.e., an abnormal) nervous reaction to the sound of a gun¬
shot; if you had seen someone you loved burned to death, you might have an
unusual horror of fire. Whether or not you would be able to control and con¬
ceal your feelings in either case, would depend upon your strength of character,
that is to say, upon your self-command; but the most complete recognition of
the cause of your abnormal and perhaps very painful reaction, would not in
the least affect its intensity. This, we believe, is universal experience. The
nerves, once violently shocked by a particular cause, will react similarly to
even the mildest recurrence of a corresponding stimulus. They will react
reflexly by association of ideas. That such suffering is “purposed”, seems to
us as far-fetched as to allege_that the pain from a severe bruise is purposed.
A student of Theosophy, furthermore, may know from his own experience,
or may in any case have good reason to believe, that some of the most deep-
seated dreads and most abnormal nervous reactions, are due to shocks or to
impressions brought over from past lives,—the psychic body having literally
been seared by them. In some cases, it is said, the origin of such impressions
is clearly remembered, without in the least diminishing the “association neu¬
rosis”. In the case of an individual who does not remember the past, but whose
trouble originated in a previous incarnation and not in this life, it is obvious
146
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
that no amount of “exploration” by an analyst could dig out the true cause,
though an alleged cause might be pounced upon as explaining the symptoms,
and, on the theory of suggestion, might be used with success to effect a cure.
Perhaps, however, the most serious objection to the practice of psychoa¬
nalysis is that only a man entirely ignorant of his own limitations and weaknesses,
and of the evil latent within him, or, worse, a man indifferent to such considera¬
tions, would be willing to undertake it. Without going into unpleasant details,
“exploration” usually involves delving into the hidden depths of “lower nature”
by a man who ought, in any case to know more about evil than his patient,
and who, therefore, by the very nature of his questioning, may too easily sug¬
gest previously unimagined evil to the person whose past thought, dreams in¬
cluded, he is attempting to probe. Ask a practitioner if he would like his wife,
or sister or daughter, to be “treated” in this way by one of his fellows, and it
is'unlikely he would answer in the affirmative. The risk is too great. Untold
harm may be done, when other and less dangerous methods will accomplish
the same result. Almost any kind of “faith cure” would be preferable. The
difficulty is, of course, to arouse the faith. There are many people who would
scorn the idea of a pilgrimage to Lourdes, but who would rush to* the consult¬
ing-room of a psychoanalyst as an exponent of the latest and most “scientific”
mystery.
This does not mean that, in the opinion of the writer, there are no valuable
lessons to be learned from psychoanalysis. It seems to him, in the first place,
as already intimated, that every student of Theosophy should take to heart
the difference between repression and expulsion, realizing, once and for always,
that half measures are not only futile but actively and continuously self-de¬
structive. An evil desire, if merely stuffed away or stuffed under, must inevi¬
tably propagate its species, the accumulation breaking out somehow, sooner or
later, meanwhile acting as a constant nervous irritant. Thoughts of “envy,
hatred, malice and all uncharitableness”, as well as those more commonly des¬
ignated as evil, must be ejected forcibly and with feeling , if we are to escape
their terrible consequences, some of which are traced by psychoanalysis, but
the worst of whieh can be appreciated only by those who know of the psychic
and other invisible bodies which Theosophy describes as far more lasting and
“causal” than the physical.
In the second place, what has been said about “substitution” and “sublima¬
tion” should have a special significance for students of Theosophy, who have
always been warned that when an “unclean spirit is gone out of a man”, that,
and “seven other spirits more wicked than himself”, will take possession later,
unless right thoughts and right activities are substituted for those that were
wrong. The doctrine of polar opposites, unknown to psychoanalysis, but
with which every student of Theosophy is familiar, throws light on the whole
subject. Completely to reverse the polarity of our interest and self-identifica¬
tion is the only true substitution as it is the only true sublimation, but, short
of that—and we are told it can be done in a moment of time—there are many
intermediate stages tending in the right direction.
PSYCHOANALYSIS
i47
In the third place, the doctrines of psychoanalysis, or, rather, the popular¬
ization by psychoanalysts of doctrines promulgated ages ago, and always
familiar to the open-minded, may help us to guard against those self-inflicted
ailments which are rendered none the less real by being pronounced hysterical
in origin. A man who is sick to death of his office or of his home, will “sub¬
consciously” develop an ailment for which his physician can only prescribe a
thorough change and rest; a woman whose hatred of household duties is greater
than her consideration for her husband, will become a chronic invalid with every
sort of symptom making household drudgery dangerous and impossible: the
symptoms are there and are very real, and it is not always easy to trace them
to their true cause, which may be, and often is, entirely psychological. But
analysis by a practitioner will not cure the victim unless honesty and self-
respect are more highly developed than self-consideration: and this is not
often encountered. One can, however, by the practice of daily self-examina¬
tion, cultivate a perception of one’s motives which will make self-deception
less frequent and less easy.
Far simpler and more practical than psychoanalysis, and entirely free from
danger, is what has been called “the conscience cure”. Every experienced
physician knows that many illnesses are caused by conflicts between the higher
and the lower nature, between conscience and self-gratification. So long as a
glimmer of conscience remains, it is impossible for a man to violate his own
standards consistently, without upsetting the balance which makes all the
difference between health and disease: that, in any case, is the conviction of
the present writer and of many others. It is in any case the fact that serious
illnesses have been cured by the question, when answered frankly , “What is
on your conscience?” These cases do not require analysis or probing; the pa¬
tient is well aware of what his conscience has been telling him, perhaps for
months or years, and although he has not connected his illness with his wrong¬
doing, once he confesses and resolves, aided by his physician, to turn from evil
ways to good, he becomes a new creature, not only morally but physically.
Finally, while psychoanalysts have much to say about the subconscious mind
echoing, in this, the “discoveries” of their mid-Victorian predecessors—
students of Theosophy will realize that, to offset the sub there is a supra-con-
scious mind, working from above the level of ordinary awareness, as certain
French psychologists have been trying to demonstrate during the past four
or five years. It is strange that such a commonplace of human experience
should need scientific demonstration, but there are those who will not believe
anything until it is certified by some Academy. In any case, Theosophists
know that “every good gift and every perfect gift [including every good and
inspiring thought] is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights.”
Knowing that, and knowing too that “in His will is our peace”, they should
not find it difficult to avoid either the pitfalls of psychoanalysis, or the very
real dangers to which it points.
THE MAXIMS OF RENE QUINTON
R ENE Quinton was a French biologist and soldier. When mobilization
orders were issued on the 5th of August, 1914. he was a reserve captain
- of artillery and forty-eight years old. At his own request he was recalled
to active service, and during the World War was at the front for the greater
part of three and a half years. He was wounded eight times, mentioned in
despatches or decorated sixteen times, and was a Lieutenant-Colonel when
demobilized on the 3rd of July, 1919. He “received the highest Belgian, Brit¬
ish and American decorations and the French Croix de Guerre, and was ap¬
pointed successively Officer and Commander of the Legion of Honour.” He
was known as a “fighting soldier”, and many, if not most, of his maxims prob¬
ably were composed in the heat of battle.
After demobilization Quinton went back to the pursuit of his scientific and
philosophical work, and it was not until shortly before his sudden death in
July, 1925, that he began to arrange and classify his maxims for publication.
He died while the task was as yet incomplete. The maxims were not pub¬
lished until the Spring of 1930 under the title of Maximes sur la Guerre. But
the title is somewhat misleading because, though undoubtedly the experiences
of the World War gave Quinton certain valuable data for the formulation of
his maxims, the influence of biology is by no means lacking in them, so that
his thesis as a whole applies to life rather than being primarily concerned with
the conduct of war; unless one sees life in terms of warfare as it would seem
Quinton did. His first maxim would indicate that he did; and that, at the
same time, he hurled a challenge at those who long for ease, comfort and self¬
pleasure, for he says: “It is the intention of Nature that man should die in
his prime.”
There at once speaks the biologist and the soldier, and an indication is given
of the thesis that Quinton’s maxims unfold. As the biologist he must have
had in mind the growing plant pressing ever toward the fulfilment of its kind,
and, that fulfilment achieved, dying at the height of its beauty or productivity
and leaving behind the seed, or the impulse, from which may spring another
fulfilment. As a soldier who saw action at Verdun, among other places, he
must have had in mind those thousands whom he saw fall as they reached such
heights of courage as even they themselves would have considered impossible
only a few short years before; leaving behind them examples, or impulses, for
the thousands who came after them to follow, so that they too could die, not
as listless, surfeited creatures grown weary of life, but as vibrant life itself.
The sculptor who fashioned the figure of Death which to-day rises from the
bare summit of Mort-Homme , caught this same vibrancy. As you stand on
that summit and contemplate it, it is as though the living -dead speak to you
through its inscription, “i 7 s riont pas passt."
148
THE MAXIMS OF RENE QUINTON
149
What a neat thrust there is in this first of Quinton’s maxims against that
type of self-satisfied man who lays up for himself treasure on earth so as to
spend his later years on the golf course or at the bridge-whist table! According
to the thesis of this biologist-soldier, he who does thus, works directly against
the “intention of Nature”. Mr. Douglas Jerrold, whose translations of Quin¬
ton’s maxims I am using, says of them: “To read Quinton’s French after my
English is to exchange the bludgeon for the rapier, and to submit oneself at
the same time to the discipline of an infallible precision of aim.” One cannot
but be reminded of the many great characters of profane history, not to men¬
tion others, who have died with their “harness on”, and in their prime; for
man’s prime cannot be measured in terms of years, but in terms of service.
Who, for example, inquires into the exact age of a Lancelot or a Roland? It
is service that Quinton stresses, service to mankind, to humanity, to the race.
“Nature exacts a price for the right to endure. Men and races
must buy it with their blood. The warrior is thus the salvation
of the race.”
“Pacifism is an outrage on the dignity of man. It would deny
him his only majestic quality, the knowledge how to die.”
There is another aspect of Quinton’s first aphorism which may be referred to
as the blood sacrifice mentioned in religious books, that is, the sacrifice of
man’s lower self in favour of his Higher Self, the losing of his life, this life, that
he may gain life everlasting,—though it does not necessarily require man to
pass through the portals we call death. If the biologist-soldier had something
of this sort in mind as an aspect of his first maxim, then it appears even more
neatly phrased; for surely while in the process of making the blood sacrifice,
man could be considered as progressing from prime to prime, spiritually speak¬
ing at least, for in that sense his prime would have to be considered relatively.
To state it in another way, spiritually speaking, man may be thought of as
entering an ever new prime as he continues to purify Kama, or personal desire,
transmuting it into Buddhi, or Divine Will; losing his life to find it, or in
Quinton’s phraseology, dying in his prime.
That Quinton was aware of the two natures in man and of the conflict which
ceaselessly takes place between them, within man, is shown in the following
two maxims, which seem to strike the keynote of his thesis:
“The moral drama arises from the conflict between the desire
to live and the desire to serve.”
“Every man possesses two souls; the soul of his body and the
soul of his race. The spirit of the body has no aim but its own
welfare, but on the spirit of the race is laid the irrevocable order
to serve. And he who refuses knows that he is a traitor. The
body demands comfort, repose and pleasure, but the race de¬
mands hardship, sacrifice and endurance.”
Here resounds the battle-cry that has rung down through the ages; the call to
man to liberate the soul from the fetters of self; the call to the warrior soul
ISO
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
within man to take up its appointed task and work for the eventual salvation
of mankind. In different ways, at different times, under different skies, since
time immemorial it has been sounded; ever old and yet ever new.
For what do the Masters of the Lodge work, if not for the eventual salvation
of the race? Of whom is the Divine Hierarchy composed, if not of those who,
aeons ago, having heard “the irrevocable order to serve”, have given them¬
selves and their lives for the benefit and the betterment of the race? Is not
the ch£la one who, in striving to do his Master’s will, has put behind him the
demands of the body, “comfort, repose and pleasure”, and embraced the de¬
mands of the race, “hardship, sacrifice and endurance”?
Practically every man has had some experience which has touched the soul
within him and caused him to respond, if only for a moment, to that which is
high, noble, courageous; to something much bigger, better, grander than him¬
self and the paltry interests of self. From that brief experience, however, he
can catch the truth in what Quinton says* regarding the soul of the race. Some
day each man will be brought to the point where he must choose definitely
between one path or the other; between serving the lower self or serving the
Higher Self; between serving “the soul of his body” or serving “the soul of
his race.” In that day will be laid upon him “the irrevocable order to serve,
and he who refuses” will know “that he is a traitor”. Yea, he knows already
from his brief experience when he felt the stir of the soul within him, that when
the day of his choice comes he will be a traitor if he prefer the left-hand path
rather than the right-hand. Thus through many such experiences in many
incarnations is man helped and prepared against his day of final choice, against
the day when he must decide to use his divine gifts of mind and free will either
unselfishly on behalf of the salvation of the race, or for his own selfish pur¬
poses. The latter leads to annihilation. The former leads to liberation; libera¬
tion from the bondage of self, liberation from “the conflict between the desire
to live and the desire to serve”; the only liberation possible.
Quinton has an interesting and original way of developing his thesis; in
part by means of warnings, in part by emphasizing certain qualities he con¬
siders necessary for those who would truly serve the race. But as there are
more than three hundred of his maxims, grouped under six different headings,
it is not feasible to quote more than a few of them in an article of this char¬
acter and length. Those already quoted are culled from the group listed under
the first of these headings, and, as already said, sound the keynote of his thesis:
which is service.
The second division, headed “Brave Men and Heroes”, carries a warning for
any who might have a tendency to think of themselves as heroes because they
have enlisted to help in the salvation of mankind. Without disparaging the
brave man, Quinton enhances the hero. He does so ingeniously, appealingly
and simply, and at the same time weaves no illusions around the hero. In
fact he strips the hero of the glamour the novelist would throw about him. In
doing so he will undoubtedly give to many readers a shock, but the sort of
shock humanity needs, the sort that jars people out of false imaginings—in
THE MAXIMS OF RENfi QUINTON 151
this case out of imagining themselves as heroes—for Quinton likens heroism to
motherhood.
Few persons of maturity harbour any illusions about motherhood. They
know it involves patience and fatigue; self-sacrifice and self-giving; myriads of
services performed at all hours of the day and night. They know the mother
is always on call, and that she usually anticipates the call.
“The brave man deserves credit; the hero does not. He obeys his
instinct like a mother and is no more deserving of merit than she.”
“There is as much difference between heroism and bravery as
between a mother’s love and a guardian’s.”
“Neither hunger nor fatigue can affect the hero. Other men
take turns at the post of duty, but the hero like the mother is
always on guard.”
“The hero is a mystic and perhaps it takes a hero to under¬
stand him.”
“Nature created the hero not to live but to serve.”
Having disposed of the hero in such fashion as to cause him to be esteemed
for what he is—one man out of many millions of men—in the next section,
“Ardours and Endurances of War”, Quinton outlines some of the qualities he
considers must be developed by those who would truly serve the race. At the
same time these aphorisms act as warnings of much that such service entails.
Incidentally, they touch on one of the characteristics which distinguish the oc¬
cultist. At about the age the average man is ready to “rest on his oars” with
the idea of enjoying the fruits of his little efforts, the occultist, seeing life in
terms of warfare, and appreciating the danger of becoming slack, tightens his
belt and plunges more resolutely into the contest. The occultist ever presses
forward, realizing there remain many fields to be conquered, and that, as
Quinton puts it, “War is the ardour of the soul.”
Evidently the biologist-soldier would emphasize the quality of ardour as
necessary for those who would heed the call of “the soul of the race”; for it
would seem that one who wrote “the hero is a mystic”, must have been some¬
what of a mystic himself.
A few of the other maxims pertaining to ardour and endurance will suffice
to give the gist of what Quinton brings out under this head:
“Hunger, sleeplessness and stress raise the spirits of the soldier
to the highest degree of exaltation. Only the emancipated soul
can inhabit the mortified body, and the soul is purified as the
body is abased. The most inspired fighters are those on the edge
of endurance.”
“It is not the fighting soldier who needs rest.”
“Whatever satisfies the flesh is negligible.”
“From the caravan lost in the sands of the desert, from the
ship wrecked by the storm on the sea, may be heard the sound of
prayers, never of blasphemies.”
“It is the security of life that has killed the gods.”
152
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Under the heading, “Courage, Prudence and Danger”, Quinton stresses
the importance of courage, and the right and the wrong way of going
about its acquisition, when he says: “It is necessary to restore the prestige
of courage.”
As a soldier who saw almost continuous action for three and a half years
during the World War, he had ample opportunity to study the right and the
wrong means of acquiring and using courage. He must have seen how the
noble quality of courage can be debased when men drag it down to their own
low level in order to augment the greedy purposes of self. In contrast, he must
have been impressed with the difference when men rise, as it were, to the plane
of courage and merge themselves with the Ideal. Undoubtedly significance
may be given to the use of the word prestige in this aphorism.
Applying this to the individual, it is the merging of himself with the Ideal of
courage that sends man forth single-handed to combat the dragon of self in
his lair, and to return victor without talking about it. Through the quiet
assurance of his actions, however, he expresses the Ideal, and thus helps others
to set out to embody it; to “restore the prestige of courage” in the world. It
seems apparent that Quinton lays down, and rightly so, such an embodiment
of courage as necessary for those who would aid in the salvation of the race.
He further expounds the three qualities of this section in part as follows:
“Prudence is a fruit which ripens during wars. At the beginning
of a campaign we must first prove our courage, and then, when
we have lost everything by it, prudence supervenes and we learn
to be generous without being wasteful.”
“If you are sure of your courage then prudence is a virtue.”
“In the danger which the enemy disseminates there is an insult
and a challenge. For it is by fear that he proposes to bend your
will. The question we have to ask is a plain one: shall we obey
our duty or our fears, our honour or the enemy?”
In the next to last grouping of his maxims, Quinton issues what is perhaps
his most important instruction and warning to those who would truly serve
the race. Speaking of the leader under the head of “Leadership and Dis¬
cipline”, there is this all-important-aphorism: “The leader’s first duty is to
understand the mind of the enemy.”
As in the case of the hero, Quinton makes plain what is entailed in being a
leader when he outlines so tersely and boldly the leader’s first duty. How this
puts to shame any who would enter the cause of the salvation of the race for
selfish purposes; any who would thus try to acquire power in order to usurp
the leadership. As though this maxim were not sufficient warning, it is rein¬
forced with: “The general who can see, opens the eyes of his subordinates.”
If these two maxims are put clearly before those who would serve, how very
few will qualify as leaders! At the same time, these aphorisms impress upon
those who would serve, the respect, the fidelity and the obedience they owe to
the real leader. The biologist-soldier must have had in mind the many, many
times when the desire and the plotting to assume the place of the leader have
THE MAXIMS OF RENE QUINTON
i53
crippled or caused the collapse of what otherwise might have been worthy and
successful projects for the benefit of mankind.
In the early days of The Theosophical Society, how many who attempted to
usurp the post of the leader could have fulfilled the requirements laid down in
these two maxims? There may come a time again when the continued success
of the present outer expression of the Lodge Movement will depend on at least
a few who will genuinely take to heart and put into practice all that these two
aphorisms imply, and especially in the light of the following on discipline:
“There is no discipline in the firing line; there is mutual consent. Discipline
begins behind the lines.”
Quinton closes with a few “Reflections on The Imitation of Christ”, the
first of which will suffice to show the way in which these reflections carry on
and round out the biologist-soldier’s thesis.
“It is our duty to judge ourselves more severely than men
judge us. Whatever men say to you, whatever they do to you,
always remain serene and unangered. Seen in the quiet mind,
those words which fly so wildly will only bear their just weight.
Evil hours should be passed in the silence of Gethsemane. Turn
your eyes upon Me and do not fret yourself about the judgments
of the world, for your peace of mind is not at the mercy of the
tongues of men. Whatever they may think of you, you can be
nothing but what you are, and where can abide peace, truth and
glory if not in Me?”
Rend Quinton’s aphorisms cannot of course be compared with those of
the Great Upanishads, of Light on the Path , or of other similar works. Never¬
theless, Quinton has caught a great deal of the essence of the ancient doctrine,
and apparently has done so out of his own experience. For that reason his
maxims, as far as they go, ring true, have “an infallible precision of aim”, as
Mr. Jerrold says, and are compelling. There is about them a categorical im¬
perative. Coming as they do, during this transition period in man’s evolution,
during this age of inquiry, they should be a direct help to many, and in that
way beneficial to the race. They should help those who read them to see a
new and higher objective in life; and as the call of that objective is heeded, to
grow to understand better the meaning of dying to the personal life so as to
live more fully a life of service for the race,—and for the Elder Brothers of
the race. G. M. W. K. .
TREES
Beloved Pan , and all ye other gods who haunt this place , give me beauty in the in¬
ward soul; and may the outward and inward man be one .— Plato.
N O one walks in these woods, which, I need scarcely say, is a blessing;
but in a more happily primitive era, or among men more sensitive,
surely this spot would be known by a name.
Great rocks lie piled about where some ancient stream or glacier has left
them. An old hickory tree has grown up in the very centre of them, pushing
them apart in its effort to reach the day. Now, it towers in a wide green canopy
above the lesser trees, the dogwoods, hazels and beeches. The rocks are spotted
with mosses and draped with creepers, and in Spring the scarlet columbines grow
here. The ground about the rocks and down the glade is covered with tiny
green plants, maianthemum, violets, cinquefoil, like a carpet for the delicate
little hoofs of the red deer. One can scarcely see the sky through the green
canopy,—green above, green under foot, like living in an enormous emerald.
And why are plants green ?
Yes, in other lands and times, supernatural beings would have loved this
spot, the smaller Nature divinities, the Wood Genius. Some ancient, dignified
old spirit would have had a retreat in this tree.
I have long planned to write an article on Tree Worship; one of those learned
articles with footnotes and items about African tribes; but my spirits fail me.
I feel about it much as the reader would feel. I would rather sit upon this enor¬
mous jutting root and think about trees without footnotes.
Men have always venerated trees. In the ancient Eddas, the world itself
is the great ash Yggdrassil. “That ash is the greatest and best of trees”. The
book says: “Its branches spread over the whole world and even reach above
heaven. It has three roots, very wide asunder. One of them goes down to
Ginnungagap. The frost giants live over it, and over this root is a deep well.
Another root extends to Niflheim, the old roaring cauldron lies under it, a
great snake called Nidhogg gnaws it night and day. ‘Yggdrassil’s ash suffers
greater hardship than men know of. Nidhogg tears it.’ Under this root also
lies Helheim, a home of the dead. The third root is in heaven: gods and men
live under it, in Asgard and Midgard; the giant fate-sisters also live under it at
the top of the Rainbow’s arch in their palace very beauteous, which stands by
the Holy Urda Fount. They water the tree every day with the holy water, so
that ever ‘it stands green over Urda’s Fount’ ”.
In the Bhagavad Gita it is said:
“Rooted above, downward branching, they say, is that immemorial tree,
whose leaves are the hymns; who knows it, knows the Vedas.
“Down and upward stretch its branches, grown strong through the powers,
i54
TREES
i5S
and with things of sense for twigs; downward stretch its roots which bind to
works in the world of men.
“The form of it cannot be so perceived in this world, nor its end, nor beginning,
nor its foundation; with the firm sword of detachment cutting this tree, whose
roots grow firm,
“Let him then follow the path to that resting-place, whither going, they come
forth no more, saying: ‘I enter into the primal Spirit, whence hath flowed forth
the ancient stream of things.’ ”
There are also the trees of Paradise, trees whereon grow prodigious fruits,
emeralds or rubies, or peaches of Immortality, trees in whose branches sings the
Quetzal or the Phoenix. And in this world—think of all the sacred groves of
tradition; the groves of the Druids, the murmuring oaks of Dodona, the palm
oasis where Mohammed preached and which the Mosque of Cordoba so ex¬
quisitely translates into architecture. There are the sacred groves of the
Syrians and Jews, their boughs hung with garlands; there are our own Christmas
trees, hung also with festoons and lights. There are the cedars of Lebanon, and
some say that this is a name for the great adepts of these regions. One can well
believe it when one has seen the giant Sequoias of California. One gazes upon
them in awe, and a hush falls upon one’s spirit, such is their age-old majesty,
grandeur and beauty. They are certainly the adepts of the plant world. I have
read somewhere in the writings of Madame Blavatsky that the form of the pine
is the paradigm of all trees.
In Tahiti, the Milo is planted about the temples and is called the shadow of
the god of prayer and chanting. In Japan, the symbols of the pine, the cherry,
the bamboo, the kiri are on magnificent brocade and embroidery, on screen and
kakemono. In China, the white-robed Kwan-yin, Mother of Souls and Patroness
of Waters, bears in her hand a sprig of willow. The ideal of the Chinese gentle¬
man was to be as pure as a plum blossom, as free as a bird, as strong as a pine,
yet pliant as a willow. In Egypt, Isis was the Lady of the Sycamore. In
Yucatan, the god Imix was worshipped in a giant Ceiba. The famous “cross’’
of Palenque is a tree.
Then there are the historic trees, the oak of St. Louis, the Fairies’ Tree of
Jeanne d’Arc, and all the trees under which Queen Elizabeth and Louis Quatorze
and George Washington have stood. There are the trees one has known and
loved, grey and silver olives in the Tuscan podere, and the dark, swaying cy¬
presses of San Domenico, the peach tree lovely beyond compare, a cloud of rose
in Spring in a Paris garden. And this great hickory, which, rending the rocks,
reminds one of the jungle trees that grow from the heads of Shiva at Angkor, or
split the stones of Uxmal or Copan.
How lovely, how beneficent is the atmosphere of trees. How consoling to
the wearied mind, how cooling to the fevered heart. Peace drips from their
boughs as it were balm of Gilead.
I think one reason for this immensely restful and consoling influence of plants
is that they obey the laws of their nature with all their being. There is in
them no conflict with their destiny. To be sure, they have a tremendous
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
156
struggle with circumstances, with the elements, but this struggle is always to
express their destiny, their nature, the Divine plan and pattern. Such a struggle
develops the creature into its own character. If we constantly struggled with
adverse circumstances to become Man, should we not, indeed, become Men and,
eventually, Gods ? The development of the plants has been proposed to us as a
model for our effort. “Grow as the flower grows, unconsciously, but eagerly
anxious to open its soul to the air.”
Here we screw up our faces and try to imagine what a plant thinks about.
The plant, we should imagine, is conscious of being; it is also conscious of being
in time and space as a separate entity. It must be aware of myriads of influences,
the airs, the rains, the light, the temperature, of other bodies and wills, the rock
that obstructs it, the earth, the remote water towards which it sends its tap¬
roots. And all who have had to do with plants know their sensitiveness to affec¬
tion and care. This environment is the field of experience for the development
of their form of self-consciousness. They are constantly forced to acquire self-
consciousness along these lines, simple compared with our own, of course, because
we have already passed through it.
Whence comes the impulse to struggle thus to embody some definite pattern,
to express fully some form already complete in its conception ? Here, we must
make a distinction between the consciousness of the plant and the consciousness
of the species, of the plant hierarchy and of the Originator of plant forms. That
there could be form without consciousness must be absurd and inconceivable
to a student of occultism, or, indeed, to any logical observer of Nature. The
scientists who talk of accident or haphazard development, or of fortuitous group¬
ings of atoms, must be blind in one eye, the third eye.
What is it which provides the mould for shape, which defines and limits it
and holds it in cohesion? Surely a balance of forces that is directed by a will
and a concept.
We are told, and logic impels us to believe it, that the principle of form lies
in the Causal world. The Causal world, surely, is that plane from whence idea
and force impress themselves on matter, the apparent unfolding, of course,
being an illusion of time. We are told that everything has an astral form,
more tenuous in our terms of matter than the body, but its mould. Beyond that
are ever subtiler forms, until, in the Causal world, is found the true and complete
form and conception into which the creature must grow until he exists there self¬
consciously, in complete awareness. In other words, he grows into existence in
a form created for him.
Now, can we believe that pattern can exist without a creator? And are we
not told that there are hierarchies of beings whose function is precisely to create
and furnish these patterns on their several planes? We have read about the
Lunar Pitris who gave man an astral form, and about the M&nasaputras and
the Agnishwatta Pitris and the Kumaras. Is it not in these and other hierarchies
that we must look for the Creators of Form in what we call Nature?
Surely, when we look at plants we observe all the signs of conscious taste in
design. Allowing ourselves to speculate, may we not fancy a hierarchy of plant
TREES
• 157
artists, with many “schools” and styles and individuals, just as in painting there
are Chinese, Persian and Italian arts, with their epochs, Tang, Sung, Ming,
Timurid, Sassanid, Quattrocento, Cinquecento, etc., with their painters. There
are “artists” who enjoy designing palms, and artists who are fascinated by star
forms. There is an artist who designs the delicate arabesques of the vines,
whose fancy runs to tendrils and volutes, and an artist who likes the bold and
solid, the oak or the hollyhock; there is the fanciful being who thinks up pansies.
Well, it must be very jolly—thinking up pansies and having one’s thought
so potent that it is like a sound, a sound which calls the nature spirits to run
together to make a form, like filings drawn to shape by the note of a violin.
The man, fed on modem science, who thinks that evolution began with some
green scum and ends with Professor Einstein or Karl Marx, will smile a superior
smile or snort a superior snort. Having declared this planet to be the only one
among the countless millions in the stellar universe where men have arisen from
scum, the grand Result of this accident can afford to pity a “sport” who still
believes with early, simple peoples that there are thirty-three million crores of
Gods. Frankly, we dislike the provincial. We like to think of myriads of
planets inhabited, we hope, by superior beings, and of a space packed full of
divinities, Devas, Apsarases, Gandharvas, Angels, Djins et al. We love to
think of little elementals dressed up like Brownies painting frost ferns on winter
windows, or colouring the leaves red in Autumn, and we feel sure that such a
fancy is not so far from a truth. There are elementals even if they do not dress
like Brownies. Modern Astronomy is larger on the plane of extension than that
of the Middle Ages, but it is flat where theirs went from devil to God. When
people talk excitedly about the discovery of the fourth dimension, they are only
beginning to recover a world which is familiar to savages and the heathen Chinee
and even to the Schoolmen.
“. . . Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”
Sitting here in the green wood, where the only sounds are the wind in the
tree tops and the occasional rustle of a bird among the leaves, it seems futile to
waste one’s time waxing angry with the un-imaginative. Far, far better to com¬
mune with the plants!
If one find it difficult to think of the conscious creation of plants, one can
begin by meditating on a creation by man. Take for example one of the loveliest
of Persian drawings. It represents a scene in the Mohammedan Paradise. An
important gentleman is being entertained in a little pavilion built up in the
branches of a large sycamore tree—that sycamore so beloved of all Persian
painters. He sits at ease on embroidered cushions, and delightful angels in
modish frocks, with long, ornamented wings, rush up a ladder to bring him sor-
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
158
bets or dishes of pomegranates. An angel, comfortably perched on a branch,
is playing the lute. Down below, two other angels are making music on the
flute and cymbals. Another is dancing. An effrit, with a shaggy beard and
one little curly horn on his head, is on guard, leaning meditatively on his staff.
Just one’s idea of a pleasant afternoon picnic in Devachan. The drawing,
which was left uncoloured, whether by design or for lack of time we shall never
know, is of an exquisite delicacy and finish.
Now, what happened when it was made? The artist, perhaps, was asked to
illustrate some passage in a poem. He gathered up his forces and meditated
upon the passage. There began to form in his imagination, under the pressure
of the force of his thought, a picture of Paradise. He figured to himself the
delightful denizens of such a sphere, the beautiful, ever young maidens and
youths, their ethereal forms, their bright wings, their gaiety. He saw them in a
garden lovely as those of Persian palaces, with a great sycamore tree, with
flowers, iris and mallows in the grass along the little stream of water. A few
sycamore leaves are falling; and what is more lovely than the slow fall of a leaf?
Gradually this picture took a definite pattern; it crystallized: its astral form
became complete, and as he began to put it on paper, it precipitated itself in
gross matter, so to speak. Were not the real forms of his drawing, in the Causal,
the Mental and the Astral worlds? Is not all art the bringing forth into this
material world of the super-sensible Reality?
Suppose we pick a leaf from this Sweet Gum tree which is trying to grow
up among all these overhanging branches in the wood. It is a most delicately
designed leaf, quite like a star, with its five sharp points so well defined, so
decided. Can we not follow its form back through the same genesis as the
work of the painter? Of course, the painter uses his own hand to execute his
works, and the gods use the nature spirits. As we follow this evolution we
realize that the true form of the leaf exists in the spiritual world and is immortal.
It is in the Eternal world that joy and immortality exist, not in our present world
of transitory and imperfectly realized forms. If we look only at the outer world
with its failures and tragedies, we must say with Leopardi: “For always nature
despises thee, the hideous power, which, hidden, rules to the common ill, and
the infinite vanity of all.”
This world is but the house of initiation into life.
As the leaf embodies more fully the eternal idea, it is beautiful. We are like
it, and when we become self-conscious and active in our celestial form, we are
immortals and exist in the real world. The plants are pure and simple beings,
uncorrupted by self-will, who constantly strive to realize this plan. We are
highly complicated beings who fancy we can do as we please and succeed. That
is why we can learn valuable lessons from the contemplation of our little—and
better—brothers, the plants, and, as I have already said, why they carry with
them the refreshing and consoling influence of the harmony of a resigned will.
It is why they are beautiful; for the gods are the absolute Masters of the Arts.
Sauvage.
WAR MEMORIES
XVII
The Armistice
I WORKED on in Lorraine a little longer, while conflicting rumours from
many quarters continued to sweep over us. Whenever we met anyone likely
to be able to give us an answer, we asked apprehensively: “Do you think
there is any danger of an armistice?” But no one could tell us with any degree
of assurance. Already the German “Note” to President Wilson had been sent
—the “Note” proposing that peace negotiations should be begun on the basis
of those untimely “fourteen points” of his, which opened the way to discussion
(exactly what the Germans wanted!). We began to feel very anxious and dis¬
trustful of the least mention of “negotiations”, lest, as a result, the crushing of
Germany should fail to be final and complete.
I was expecting soon to return to Paris, to take part in a new venture which
my organization had in mind, and I was making the most of the days that were
left me; days which now seem full of last-minute impressions, such, for instance,
as the glimpse which I had of P£tain, at the house of friends, and the exchange
of a few words with him; of the feeling which he gave you of a granite-like
imperturbability, solid, immovable. Modest and unassuming, his penetrating
grey eyes seemed, nevertheless, to look straight through you, not at you—
impersonally. A rather cold, silent man, perhaps slightly grim, but a man you
would remember—the man who had stood at the gateway of Verdun.
Another equally brief but wholly unforgettable memory is of a hurried pil¬
grimage to Domr£my—I was determined that I would not leave Lorraine with¬
out going there. It was the most perfect of autumn days, warm, still, brooding
—St. Martin’s summer at its best—and the lovely countryside was a flaming
russet and gold. How well I remember the gentle slopes of the hills (the hills
over which the sheep had wandered), and how they glowed in the late afternoon
sun; how even the pools by the roadside were turned to burnished mirrors; how
that marvellous, golden light flooded the small village itself, creeping into the
dim quiet of the tiny church, so loved by the child, Jeanne. You fancied thaL
in that serene light you could still see the flowers which her little hands had^
brought so lovingly, as offering. Everywhere, and over everything that day,
shone the soft radiance, till you felt, in a strange way, that you were moving
actually within the gleaming nimbus of a saint. That was the only time I
have ever been in Domrdmy, but I still remember, above anything else I saw
there, the almost unearthly golden shining of that light. I have been told,
and I believe it is true, that nowhere, in any part of France, no matter how
devastated the region, no matter how war-torn and disfigured, was any statue
of The Maid destroyed or even injured. They were not even touched; a heav-
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
enly protection seemed to have been placed around them, which kept them all
inviolate. At the First Battle of the Marne, it was her name, used like a blessed
talisman, which was chosen as countersign, and to this day there has persisted
the belief past all gainsaying, especially among the common soldiers whom she
so passionately loved, that, particularly in the darkest moments of that fearful
struggle, when the fate of France seemed hanging by a thread, she appeared to
them in full battle-array, clad in her shining armour, with glistening sword held
high above her head, leading them on. Some people, alas, have now forgotten
this fact, or else they say that it was mere fancy; but many and many a soldier
swore to the truth of it, and would tell you in awestruck, lowered voice, but with
that downright, blunt conviction to which there is never an answer, that once
more it was she who had saved France.
The end of October found me again in Paris. One by one the Central Powers
were showing signs of immediate collapse; some already had collapsed, and
we knew it needed but a very short time to accomplish that for which we had
been fighting for four whole years; yet all the while, we knew that those fatal
“negotiations” were being carried on —that was what most of us were afraid of.
We did not want a “negotiated peace”; we wanted absolute victory—outright
and unconditioned victory over the horror which had threatened to engulf the
world. We felt that nothing else ever would or ever could satisfy us. We had
no high-sounding illusions about this or that: no one whom I ever met—no one,
either man or woman, who had “joined up” in 1914—had been or was now
fighting “to make the world safe for democracy”. Perhaps that was the ideal
of a few of the conspicuously newly-arrived Americans—I do not know. But
whichever way you looked at it, these Americans were young; very young and
very unsophisticated. No, those who, through four bitter years, had been
witness to the manner in which “civilized warfare” was conducted by the Cen¬
tral Powers; who knew from first-hand experience the monstrous things which
Germany was trying to force upon the world, had been and were still fighting
to kill these things, once and for all. That was our object; democracy did not
bother us; we were not interested in an academic subject so far removed from
the burning, vital, real issues.
It seemed to me that Paris had changed perceptibly during my absence, yet
people who had been there uninterruptedly said that the change had been so
gradual (only a little, week by week) that they had hardly noticed it until,
suddenly, at the end of October, they wakened to the fact of its transformation.
To me, who had left just after the Battle of Paris, when the tide had definitely
turned, and when the first sense of relief was everywhere felt and openly ex¬
pressed, it appeared almost preternaturally calm. Returning as I was after
three months’ absence in the provinces, and to conditions so different, I felt
I had come to a city of an incongruous and perplexing silence; but I soon found
that it was the silence of intense expectancy. As a matter of fact, outwardly
Paris was like an armed camp; from the Place du Carrousel to the Arc de
Triomphe it was literally bristling with captured enemy guns, tanks, aeroplanes
—every sort of machine of war which you could imagine.
WAR MEMORIES
161
It goes without saying that one of the first things I did was to make a “tour
of inspection”, and the morning after I arrived I was out long before the later,
customary crowds appeared. The river, moving rapidly and silently as it always
does, danced in the early morning sunshine; the quais , as I wandered leisurely
along them, seemed to promise that the dear, old, busy, care-free life would
blossom there again—and then I came to the Louvre, and to the Place du
Carrousel. No better evidence of what had been going on at every front all
over France, since the Second Battle of the Marne, than what lay stretched
before me—stretched away as far as the eyes could see, and farther! You could
not enter the Jardin des Tuileries, but you could see the vast array of enemy
guns through the railings, and wandering up the Rue de Rivoli, I had plenty of
opportunity to inspect them as I passed along. At the gateway leading into
the Place de la Concorde, two huge German gothas were at rest, their evil black
crosses well exposed to the curiosity of the crowds; and a German tank, just
outside the gates, pointed ferociously toward the Champs-filys^es, as though
about to charge straight up the hill, though knowing that it was now impotent
and could not move. All along the embankment, enemy aircraft of varying
orders and degrees, were ranged, and in the river floated a German submarine—
you could go on board if you liked. The great spaces of the Place de la Concorde
itself, and all the way up the Champs-£lys<§es, were really a sight worth seeing, the
monster guns crowded into every available, open space or unoccupied comer—
field guns, siege guns, naval guns; solid and rotund trench mortars; immense and
elongated “models” with names and calibres which the uninitiated promptly
forgot; howitzers of every conceivable size and make—in fact, every imaginable
kind of “ordnance”, and in between the most ponderous and immense, were the
deadly little machine guns, like poison gnats in the midst of a giant hornet’s
nest. The famous equestrian groups from Marly-le-Roi, at the entrance to the
Champs-filys^es, were, of course, still safely enclosed in their rather charming,
high-perched, chalet-like, protective “boxes” (how like the French to make
even a temporary-precautionary scaffolding attractive!), and just underneath
them was an assemblage of grossly camouflaged German cannon, specially
selected, so it seemed to me, because of their heavy, Teutonic ugliness (the
German camouflage was always viciously coarse), and if you shut your eyes for
a moment, and recalled to mind the splendid, soaring vigour of those now-i
hidden Marly groups, and then looked below at that forbidding unloveliness
which seemed so expressive of all things German—well, to say the least, it gave
you food for thought. But (because naturally, I knew it was no genuine test
to try to draw a parallel between German guns and French statuary!) I found
myself comparing, in memory, some of the Paris monuments to great Frenchmen,
with that grotesque absurdity of which the Germans are so intensely proud—
the Sieges-All^e of the Thiergarten in Berlin, and it was a revealing parallel
indeed, needing no comment. Of everything you saw in the Place de la Con¬
corde, however, it was, I think, the imposing circle of grey, fortress-crowned
statues—the beloved fortified towns of France—which drew and held your
attention most. Lille, so long in German hands, had recently been retaken, and
162
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the statue of the unhappy town, a centre of horrors the shame of which the
Germans will never be able to wipe out, was literally covered with flags and
magnificent wreaths—the sweet, pungent scent of chrysanthemum leaves and
late autumn flowers blew about you as you stood there, like the blending of sad
memories and of dawning hopes. Only the proud, castellated head was visible,
rising above the profusion of offerings—Allied colours and masses of flowers.
Below, inside the great pedestal, a bureau for the sale of Government bonds had
just been opened, and I joined the troop of people standing in line, each of us
with his or her few francs offered in wordless thanksgiving. Yet, nearby,
rose the statue of Strasbourg, also thickly covered with Allied flags and with
equally superb wreaths, but I saw that the bands of black were still there;
even the flowers could not hide them, nor did we wish them hidden until France
had received her own once more.
As the morning wore on, the crowds grew thicker, curious crowds which
gathered round the German guns. Children and young boys climbed over them;
wounded soldiers, hobbling on canes or crutches, examined them with evident
interest; old men stood by, asking the mutitts to explain the mechanism—it
was only some of the women who passed them with a suppressed shudder. And
all the while, the ground shook as guns, more guns and still more guns, were
brought up, drawn by the great snorting traction-engines. It was quite amusing
to see those huge, lumbering cannon following so tamely; they made me think
of savage beasts, forced to dance to the piping of their masters. And still they
came, growling, reluctant; you wondered where the authorities were going to
find room for them all. But you wondered too how it was that, after all the
unprovoked and unatonable enormities of which Germany had been guilty,
with all these captured guns to prove so palpably Germany’s broken power—
you wondered how it was possible that an armistice could be thought of, could
actually be under discussion at that minute. What was there to discuss,
except at the point of the bayonet? Many of us were asking these questions, of
ourselves and of each other.
There could be no doubt, however (especially now that Ludendorff was
discounted), that the armistice was drawing nearer, and every hour brought its
bit of news; every hour grew more tense with expectation. The days which,
for four long years, had seemed to move with leaden feet, now moved with a
fantastic speed, though not as fast as did events—events which were sweeping
us on to the dreaded armistice. All Saint’s Day came, le Jour des Moris—our
dead. A woman who had lost her husband and four of her sons, said to me that
day, in a low, tense voice: “And is it possible that we shall offer our million
dead an armistice in exchange for their lives—their lives which they gave so
ungrudgingly?” It seemed to her, to me, to most of us, humiliating, dis¬
honourable. Could it be that already we were beginning to forget them; to
allow the greatness of their gift to be overshadowed in the hour of an incomplete
success? Later in the day, I read these words which were prophetic; which at
the time I copied and have never forgotten; words which in these crude, self-
centred and ungrateful times, have often come back to me: “Les morts ont une
WAR MEMORIES 163
memoire moins courte que la notre. I Is sont les seuls qui rioublient pas ceux qui
trop souvent les oublient .”
Then came those days, early in November, when events followed each other
in such rapid succession that we almost lost our breath, and seemed to be
carried involuntarily along with them: the mutiny of the German fleet at Kiel;
the signing of the armistice with Austria; the German Government informed
that if it wished to learn the terms of a possible armistice it must address itself
to Foch under the usual military conditions; Bavaria declaring itself a Republic;
the Kaiser abdicating; the revolution in Germany continuing to spread, and all
the time our troops steadily advancing, while Germany was in precipitate
retreat.
I think the night when we knew that the German emissaries were actually
to cross our lines, on their way to receive the armistice terms for which Germany
had asked, was perhaps more difficult to live through patiently than any we
had yet experienced. Would the terms be accepted or would they not? I
believe that most of us hoped they would not be agreed to; we hoped that
they would be challenged, partly because we all knew, by this time, that
we were on the eve of the biggest Allied offensive which had yet been
launched—but the Germans knew this too! We, of course, wanted the War
to be carried on into those final stages for which we longed, and for which we
had fought.
That night must have been one of silent vigil for people all over France.
Through the day we had eagerly been reading every affiche as soon as it was
posted up—that is to say, as soon as each one of us could get near enough to be
able to read it, for needless to explain, such dense crowds gathered around them
the instant they were given to the public, that you had to wait your turn as
you would in a bread line. All day we had been on the alert; all day we had
followed up every clue which might lead to the latest word from the front, and
as evening set in, and the slow hours moved heavily on toward midnight, I felt
a kind of lull in the feverishness, and a strange quiescence creeping over me, as
though I were not actually there, alone in my hotel room, but somewhere off
at a distance, listening, watchihg, waiting, with all the rest of France. We
knew that the German envoys were to cross our lines at a point close to Haudroy
—a microscopic village, the very name of which was quite unfamiliar to mostj(
of us—and, as is not uncommon in moments like this, a heightened imagination
almost persuaded me that new and finer senses of sight and hearing had suddenly
come into being: I found myself with keenly fixed attention and with an intense
absorption, straining to catch the first sound of the approaching enemy; staring
into the darkness for the first distant gleam of the powerful headlights as their
great military cars came rocking and pitching over the lonely, shell-tom roads;
trying to distinguish the first faint shimmer of the huge white flags which they
were obliged to carry. I remember how curiously I felt myself present at every
stage of that unrepentant but humiliating journey; I saw, in mind, those men
pass the last outposts of their own lines, and cross No Man’s Land, still thick
with their own, unburied dead, for in such a headlong retreat as theirs, there
164
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
had been no time to remember the fallen; then, reaching the avant-postes of the
Allied front, the sudden spring from the black shadows of the roadside, where
they had been on watch: the French, specially stationed there; the ringing com¬
mand to Halt! to give the Word! After which, the stem, cold silence, the
enemy having been told that it might now pass on. Then on again; the long,
cold drive through that devastated countryside of France: one wondered what
might be in the minds of those five men as, now in charge of the French officers
appointed to conduct them, they were taken through the very country which,
until so recently, they had boasted as their conquered and fully subjugated terri¬
tory; through the splintered forest-lands, and over the ruined fields; through the
mere shells of towns which they themselves had destroyed so systematically and
so uselessly; past the clustering graves of loyal citizens—men and women and
young children, first shamefully mutilated and then stood against the walls of
their own homes where they were shot down like dogs because of their un¬
flinching, dog-like loyalty. During that long drive, did even a flicker of sorrow
and shame for the crimes of their country mercifully come to any one of those
five men?
After that night a period of waiting followed, while we knew that messages
were passing uninterruptedly between Allied G.H.Q. and Spa, where the German
High Command was now established. As far as I can remember, and for some
reason unknown to me, there were no immediate details given out, either in
France or in England, as to what had actually taken place during those seventy-
two historic hours while the signing of the armistice was being considered by
the Germans; but about two weeks later, perhaps less, there appeared in the
Vossiche Zeitung (a leading Berlin daily paper), an “account”, so-called, written
by one of the German envoys—an excellent example of Teutonic “diplomacy”.
The writer, grieved and surprised at the nature of the reception which was
extended to the German Commission, commented on “the hate and revenge”
manifested by the French, ingeniously suggesting that the probable reason the
envoys had been taken to the Foret de Compi£gne instead of into the town itself,
was that “perhaps they [the French in charge of the negotiations] feared acts of
violence on the part of the inhabitants, for the hatred which has grown up in
their hearts is past all bounds.” It appeared also to be a cause of serious com¬
plaint, as well as of guileless astonishment, that every one of the French officers
present (Marshal Foch included) “all exhibited the same frigid manner, un¬
mitigated by a single word of compassion”, and in the end, so the pained and
indignant writer protested, “we were obliged to sign the document, forced upon
us with its inhuman conditions.”
So spoke Germany—the injured, the innocent one—with the old, thinly-
veiled duplicity, and faithful to her Nietzsche: to the teaching that even the
temporarily “weak” may, by subtlety and craft, eventually get the better of
the “strong”—and herein is duplicity justified. No honest, if belated facing of
incontrovertible facts; no single, redeeming (even if reluctant) word of self-
reproach; not the faintest shadow of admission that Germany could in any
way be in the wrong; no acknowledgment of any guilt whatsoever: not the
WAR MEMORIES 165
least expression of remorse; loud only in a protest against the injustice done to
her—the very elements of which German “Kultur" is composed.
So spoke Germany— 11 Also sprach Zarathnstra"!
All this had been taking place on the last days of that last week of the War—
Thursday, Friday and Saturday, November 7th, 8th, and 9th, while the fighting
continued on all the fronts with unabated vigour. The German retreat had
become more like a rout: the Belgians were about to enter Ghent; from north
of Valenciennes southward to the Ardennes the British were pushing on toward
Mons, Maubeuge, Avesnes; the French were advancing rapidly on Mdzferes
and Charleville; the Americans toward Montmddy and the Briey basin. On
the 10th the French crossed the Meuse near Sedan. That day, which was
Sunday, was, to all outward appearances, rather more quiet than usual in
Paris. Affich e-hunters prowled the streets, but people in general were not
communicative. In the afternoon, strolling along the Boulevards des Capu-
cines and des Italiens, such a centre for cafes, it seemed to me that even the
usual crowds, gathered, as is their unfailing custom, at the little tables on the
pavements, were less animated than on most Sundays; for the most part, their
noses were buried in I'Echo de Paris , Le Petit Parisien , Le Matin or some other
one of the “dailies” (the kiosques were conducting a thriving business, these
days!), or else they spoke together in low and serious tones. We all knew that
early the following morning we should almost certainly receive the official news
that the armistice had been signed, and that the “cease firing” order would go
into effect at 11 a.m. So we were waiting.
Monday, November nth dawned, and Paris was early astir—no thought of
sleeping late on that day! I was out in the streets even before the smallest
shopkeepers in my quiet neighbourhood were officially open; boulanger, laiterie ,
tpicerie —I knew them all, and I knew how every one of these people felt about
an armistice, with Germany still on our side of her frontiers too! As I passed
the marchand de legumes , where I often bought rosy-cheeked apples, his stout
wife was superintending the taking down of the big wooden shutter which,
at night, covers the modest front window of all the smaller shops in Paris, and
she greeted me with an abstracted air: 11 Madame est matinale!" adding re¬
signedly: “A quelle lieure aurons-nous la nouvelle?" —as though there were really
nothing further one could do about it anyway.
It was chilly at that hour of the morning, and at first there was a thick fog
which, however, lifted little by little, leaving only the soft haze which is always
so beautiful in Paris. As I got more into the business centre, I saw that people
had already begun to gather about the different newspaper offices and near
the larger banks where the first news would certainly be posted up; one caught
a word here and there, hurriedly exchanged between friends meeting unex¬
pectedly: “Yes, yes, I understand that it was signed this morning at five o’clock.
Well —!” By ten o’clock we knew this to be a certainty, and on the stroke of
eleven all France must also have known it, for, out of the rather subdued calm
which had, for the past days, reigned everywhere, there burst the roar of cannon
—those of the Invalides, just across the river from where I stood in the Place de
i66
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
la Concorde, and at the same moment the bells of all the churches in Paris rang
out—such a carillon as was seldom heard. And on the instant too (so well
prepared were we), and in whatever direction you looked, you saw that flags
were being run up, or hung from windows, or fastened to the coats and hats of
people, or that they fluttered from the taxis or trucks as they shot past. In
the space of a few minutes only, Paris was ablaze with colour. Then, from
every door, torrents of people came rushing; they came running from every
direction—along the Rue de Rivoli they hurried; out of the Rue Royale they
burst; the entrance to the narrow Rue Boissy d’Anglas was literally choked;
the broad Cours la Reine and the Quai de la Conference swarmed—it seemed
as though everyone in Paris were determined to reach the Place de la Concorde
or the Champs-^lys^es, where the enemy guns were the thickest; and soon
you could hardly move. A gigantic crowd had begun to mass, a crowd in the
grip of such intense emotion that for the most part it was dramatically silent.
The French had borne too much, had suffered too deeply for joy at release (a
release moreover, the nature of which was not whole-heartedly approved) to be
untempered with sadness or with regrets which could not be stilled. And then
too, there were so many black-clad figures to remind us—though we did not
need reminding—of what the day meant. We felt the presence of our beloved
dead, those millions of heroic, high-hearted men who had given their lives that
France herself might live; we felt ourselves surrounded by their sacred presence;
they moved among us; their glittering ranks seemed to fill the air. Theirs the
splendour of sacrifice; ours the gratitude and love. I believe that in those
first hours, before the riotous rejoicing of the evening began, there were few
of us who were not remembering them in reverent thanksgiving; many of us too,
I believe, were realizing with a pain which we would unwillingly have relin¬
quished, that it was not for such a day as this, not for an armistice that they
had died.
But joy there was, none the less, though there were tears in many eyes. As
if in kindly sympathy, the sun broke through the mist, the day warmed, and,
gravely, stranger shook hands with stranger, and we all cried: “Vive la France!
Vive VArmte! Vivent les Allies!" Then a man’s voice, not far off it is true,
but miraculously heard over the sound of all those other voices, called loudly,
vigorously: “Vivent nos poiln - u - u - $/”, and like a flame that word swept
through the crowds; it was taken up by the thousands gathered there; I saw
strained faces, wet with tears, streaming with tears; voices near me broke with
intensity of emotion. Then suddenly, above the solidly massed heads reaching
as far as you could see, were raised, here and there, horizon-blue-clad figures,
steel-helmeted, heavily booted, perhaps unshaven and certainly looking very
shy, very awkward, as if longing to crawl under ground into some friendly
dugout—I saw struggling, resisting poilus raised high on the shoulders of the
men near whom they had chanced to be standing, and again that cry went up:
“Vivent nos potlu - u - u - s!” How dearly we loved and how proud we were of
them—how grateful to the living ones too!
Standing close beside me, I had noticed an old peasant and his wife (up for
WAR MEMORIES
167
the day, no doubt, to see the sights, their fields left untended), both of them very
short and very stout. Poor dears! They had come so far, yet because they were
undersized, they could not see over even the shoulders—let alone the heads—
of the people who were so thick all around them. They craned their necks
and tried their best to get even a glimpse, but it was useless. I saw them con¬
ferring on the subject, their old heads bent close together. “ Peux-tu voir?"
asked he, with affectionate concern; but she shook her head, disconsolately.
Though grunting with the effort, he quickly seized her round the waist and
hoisted her up so that at last she got a view of what was going on, and not
until the exertion had brought him almost to the point of extinction, did he
finally drop her with a smothered: “ Ouf! Ouf!" t whereupon she, without a
moment’s hesitation, and as though it were a matter of course (one good turn
deserves another), wheeled about, caught him round the knees with a hearty,
“ Viens, mon petit!", and though her face grew scarlet under his weight, held him
squirming and amidst the good-natured laughter of all of us who saw it, while
he got his view. They kept this up, alternately giving each other a “lift”,
for I do not know how long; as I moved away, they were still hard at work.
In the afternoon, while Clemenceau was reading the terms of the Armistice
in the Chamber of Deputies, the guns of the great ring of forts around Paris
thundered out their applause; in the upper air huge aeroplanes began to pass
like whirlwinds over our heads, with acrobatic, dare-devil abandon; and a sight
which no one who saw it will ever forget—thousands, gathering around the
statues of Strasbourg and of Lille, stood with bared heads, singing the “Mar¬
seillaise”. Of course, most of the shops had been closed early so that, as the day
wore on, more and more people thronged the streets, and the spirit of revelry
became intensified. Impromptu parades were formed which only increased
the congestion; in fact, it was quite impossible to move at all along some streets,
or even along some of the avenues. Monster motor lorries, filled to the utmost
with soldiers and civilians decked with the Allied colours, circulated at high
speed, while, walking about as well as they could, more modestly and quietly,
were hundreds of Parisians unconcernedly eating petits fours out of paper bags
—people who had not been able to find seats in any restaurant, and who had
snatched at whatever they could find to eat. You passed little groups of smiling
poilus or broadly-grinning British Tommies, who had been surrounded by a
ring of holiday makers, and who were held prisoners while, with linked hands,
their admirers danced singing round them, as you would dance around a May-
pole. But the greatest noise and the greatest confusion of all was caused by
bands of American soldiers (whose example was quickly followed by many other
Americans) who, rushing into the Place de la Concorde, pushing the crowds un¬
ceremoniously to right and left, seized the enemy cannon arranged so carefully
there, and began to drag them about—up the Champs-l£lys£es, along the quais ,
down the Rue de Rivoli, some of them riding astride, the others shouting and
pulling; others, climbing to the top of the great statues of France’s fortified
towns, sat there beating small drums, or blowing tin horns or singing darkie
songs. It soon became a kind of orgy, and with a heavy heart I turned home-
168 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
ward. The rejoicing was being overdone—already we were beginning to forget,
I thought sadly.
Memory, with some of us at least, can prove a disconcerting faculty, because,
when we try to reach back to a given incident which we wish in detail to recall,
we find that we have to work our way through all that has subsequently been
taking place within ourselves, perhaps quite unconsciously. “Remembering”
is not the simple process we have sometimes fancied it, and I often wonder
if, in any case after a period of years, it is possible to remember the events
through which we have lived (more especially those events behind which lay
great issues), and the nature of our individual mental and emotional view of
them, exactly as these were at the time. For, examining them later, with the
perspective which we did not then have, we almost inevitably see them as it were
through a mist, or rather, coloured by the light of maturer experience, maturer
considerations. Therefore, what the armistice meant to me in 1918, can per¬
haps only be viewed in the light of what it means to me to-day. However this
may be, I seem to have no difficulty in remembering the two sets of emotions
which, on that day of mixed hopes and fears, were warring against each other:
one part of me lost in thanksgiving that so many of the lives which were dear,
were now out of danger; that the faces of old friends would surely be seen again;
that past and future would surely meet with no hideous gap between: another
part of me knowing this to be misjudged, superficial, unreal; knowing that the
armistice was a deadly mistake, and far more widely death-dealing than carrying
the War to its ultimate end could ever have been. And so, at last, the night
closed in on us, though the unthinking revelry went on. With the first sound of
the cannon at the Invalides, and the ringing of the church bells that morning,
everyone, perhaps, momentarily felt a great wave of relief; but as the day wore
on, with the outer madness increasing on the one hand, I believe there was far
more inner misgiving on the other hand than is generally realized; that there
were many silent spectators of that riotous scene whose hearts were heavy—
and not merely because of their own personal losses, either. They knew that this
was not the end; rather was it only a more terrible beginning. They knew that
Germany who, at the opening of the War, had considered an engagement as
merely “a scrap of paper”, would keep her future “engagements” in exactly the
same spirit.
I believe it can truly be said that Germany’s so-called “collapse” was more a
moral evasion than an absolute and immediate military necessity: at least had
she wished to do so, even with Austria-Hungary, Turkey and Bulgaria with¬
drawn, she could certainly have fought on longer than she did. She could have
fought on to the point of complete exhaustion and until she was actually beaten
to her knees, until she had not a drop of blood left in her: France did in 1871.
But Germany is destitute of understanding in such high and chivalrous matters,
and like all moral delinquents since the world began, when she saw a just re¬
tribution overtaking her, she could not face the ordeal. As she realized that,
united to a man in burning abhorrence of her countless and unnamable crimes,
the Allies were steadily, relentlessly moving on toward her frontiers, she resorted
WAR MEMORIES
169
to subterfuge. Germany who, in 1914, had invaded Belgium and France without
the slightest shadow of excuse, making herself an outcast among civilized nations
by her organized attempts at intimidation, her deliberately planned atrocities,
which all the denials, explanations and excuses of later days will never obliterate
—Germany, unable to face an invasion, in her turn, of her own soil (though even
she must have known the Allies incapable of meting out to her a punishment
literally in kind), called loudly for an armistice! Evasion is always the method
adopted by the morally deformed, and it is always they who are quick to plead
for compassion which they themselves, while still in power, are never willing
to show; and if, at the signing of the armistice, some of us may mistakenly have
imagined that much of Germany’s military and political power was destroyed
or at least curtailed, we surely must have learned, in these intervening years,
that her cunning remains unimpaired.
Volunteer.
(To be concluded)
It requires much more character to sustain good fortune than bad .— La Roche¬
foucauld.
Read the features of thy foe, wherever he may find thee; small he is, seen face to face ,
but thrice his size behind thee .— Meredith.
A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which is but
saying, in other words, that he is wiser to-day than he was yesterday .— Swift.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
T HE shade of a big oak-tree had drawn us together, with no thought of
the “Screen” or of the Recorder’s approaching need. It was the Phi¬
losopher who started things going. “The great American public, so
pre-eminently self-governing, seems to be cheering up”, he remarked. “The
Wailing Wall on Wall Street of a few weeks ago, has become comparatively
gay.”
“Yes”, said the Student; “even with the small fry, it is no longer—
‘The rain it raineth every day,
Upon the just and unjust fellow,
But more upon the just, because
The unjust hath the just’s umbrella.’
“To-day, the small fry are hoping to get it back. ”
“Where did you get that from?” someone asked.
“It is English,—all good things are English”, he replied. This was deliber¬
ately provocative, but we let it pass. It was so hot; and what is the use!
“I can tell you of one thing that is English, and that is really good”, said the
Historian: “a book by General Seely, called Fear , and Be Slain. I bought
it on the strength of its title, which the contents fully justify. If anyone be in
danger of losing his faith in ‘miracles’, I recommend him to read it. I hate
stories of adventure and of miraculous escapes that are fiction; but this man’s
stories are not only true,—they contain, without a word of preaching, the justifi¬
cation of what he has tried to make the governing principle of his life. Let me
read you the opening of his brief Foreword: ‘ “Safety First” is a vile motto. . . .
If such maxims be needed for human conduct, “Duty First”, “King and Country
First”, above all, “Christ’s Teaching First”, may form the basis for a rule of life.
. . . “Safety First” is soul-destroying, a pestilent heresy which will rob the
race of man of all incentive and spell doom to the British Empire. It is, indeed,
really a euphemism for not facing facts, for lack of confidence in oneself or one’s
principles.’ Was it not Ernest Hello who wrote: ‘Always do the thing you are
afraid to do’ ? I have not got it with me, but there is a little book called Life ,
Science , and Art, made up of quotations from Hello’s writings, translated from
his French, which Washboume published in London some twenty years ago,
and which, I think, contains that and much more to the same effect. How
well I remember during the Great War, before this country so belatedly threw
in its lot with the Allies, the refreshment in Hello’s pre-War statement: ‘It is
the crime of the age not to hate Evil, but to discuss terms of peace with it and
make it proposals. . . . [Even] blasphemy has its explanation. What plunges
me in a stupefaction absolutely beyond expression is neutrality .’ Seely does
not touch on that. He confines himself to stories of his war and other experi-
170
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
171
•ences, and to his marvellous escapes from death. But it is intensely interesting;
it is modestly written, and, above all, it is morally refreshing. Some English
reviewer described it as ‘The best of all antidotes to the last ten years’. Admir¬
ing the book and admiring its author, I feel free to quarrel with his admiration
for Lloyd George, who has proved himself an unprincipled demagogue, and who,
as bold as brass with England back of him, was a moral coward and worse when
threatened by the leaders of English Labour. Further, just as neutrality left
Hello in a state of stupefaction, Seely, so transparently honest, so intelligent in
so many ways, leaves me almost (though not quite) speechless when he propounds
a statement such as this. (I should explain, first, that he had been in the thick
of the fighting at Le C&teau, Landrecies, St. Quentin and elsewhere, during the
German advance in 1914; that he had re-entered St. Quentin unaware that the
Germans had occupied it, had had the narrowest imaginable escape from death,
and that he had already seen much of German ‘frightfulness’.) Now for my
quotation:—
“Looking back on that period when farm after farm, town after
town, fell into the hands of the advancing German host; when
terrorism, deliberately employed, filled every woman’s heart with
dread, and every old Frenchman’s heart with rage, I understand,
as perhaps others do not understand, the attitude of the French
people to-day. They talk of security, ‘Security First’; we think
they are unreasonable. They increase their armaments; we think
it unfair. They set up new fortifications on their frontiers; we
think it absurd that a valiant people should so behave—surely they
need have no fear. I suppose the critics are right, but all I can
say is that had I been a Frenchman living in the neighbourhood of
St. Quentin in August, 1914, I should be sorely tempted to act as
the French now do. It may not be a logical attitude; in fact,
speaking as an Englishman, although I love France, I am sure it is
not logical [! ]. But it is a natural sequence of events, and it may
endure for generations to come.
“What in the name of all that is amazing does he mean by that! A child
could see that it is the French who are logical, and that he is simply fantastic,
serenely, self-confidently fantastic. He knows as well as anyone that the
French experience of 1914 was a repetition of what the Germans had done before,
over and over again. He had seen the thing with his own eyes, and had been
deeply moved by it. There might be excuse for some American, who thinks
that the universe is bounded by the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans; who has no
background, and for whom France and Germany are merely names in the
daily paper. Can you wonder that England’s best friends, the people of all
nationalities, in all parts of the world, who most genuinely admire her superb
qualities, find her at times exasperatingly stupid,—‘thick’ as one of her worst
fogs. Seely is not ‘just a soldier’; he is a member of the Privy Council, a highly
educated and much travelled man, and, I repeat, absolutely sincere. Is the
‘suggestion’ of his tribe too much for him ? Even so, how account for the attitude
of his tribe!
172
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“The answer, unfortunately, is not pleasant, for the answer is that while
the average Englishman dislikes a German and a Frenchman with an equal and
undiscriminating intensity, the class to which General Seely belongs is in¬
stinctively jealous of France or of Germany as soon as either of them becomes
‘too powerful’. The ‘balance of power’ must be maintained between those
two, so that England, as third, can control. England hated the supremacy
of Napoleon and combined with Prussia to overthrow him. During the Franco-
Prussian War of 1870-71, again from the instinctive feeling that France had
become too influential under Napoleon III, and that ‘the balance of power’
should be restored, England remained neutral. Then, when the German
Empire was formed under the dominance of Prussia, English feeling began to
veer, sufficiently, it seems, to have prevented another attack on France by Bis¬
marck, when Queen Victoria personally intervened. As Germany became more
and more powerful and arrogant, England finally (1904) determined upon the
Entente Cordiale with France, and later fought the Great War to prevent the
Germanization of Europe. That end attained, with Germany disabled tempo¬
rarily, and France by far the strongest military power on the Continent, English
feeling again veered, and became positively hostile when the European su¬
premacy of the Bank of England was jeopardized, if not lost, owing to the
immensely strong cash position of the Bank of France. Montagu Norman,
Governor of the Bank of England, was very largely responsible for the lengths
to which this jealousy ran, and for the blindness which was its inevitable result.
He jumped into the German trap, dragging his Bank with him, by lending
huge sums to bolster German credit, but which the Germans promptly ‘tied up’
by using the money for ‘improvements’—public parks, auditoriums, buildings
easily convertible into barracks, new machinery, etc.—so that repayment might
be made impossible and that Reparations to France and Belgium might be pushed
that much further into the domain of the impracticable. That Norman’s
supposed omniscience in matters of international finance, influenced New York
banks to add their millions to those which the Bank of England was loaning to
Germany, is at least highly probable.
“General Seely himself, in my opinion, would be incapable of a small or
mean motive—and jealousy in any form is small; and that is why I spoke of the
‘suggestion’ of his ‘tribe’ or class—of his Clubs in fact—which it is immensely
difficult for a popular man, with hosts of friends, to resist, especially when he
has no reason to be on his guard. And there are many Englishmen, doubtless,
of whom the same thing could be said, and whose inherent good-sportsmanship
and sympathy for the ‘under-dog’, have supplied the soil in which this poisonous
suggestion takes root,—that Germany should be allowed to arm more, and that
France should be bullied or cajoled into arming less, so that (a reason rarely
avowed) the ‘balance of power’ may be restored. As if there ought to be a balance
of power between a brigand and a member of the community whose one desire
is to be let alone!”
“The Recorder is taking notes”, said the Philosopher at this stage, “and
I don’t want our English friends and readers to misunderstand what you have
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
i 73
been saying, or what I am about to say. Therefore let me explain this for their
benefit: we suffer and endure, as best we can, the American Politician, whom
we recognize as the logical outcome of a democratic form of government; we
suffer this thing all the time; to open a daily paper, which we are obliged to do,
keeps the wound raw; we have long since passed the stage of hoping for anything
better than vulgarity, asininity, and provincialism to proceed from our Con¬
gress, with complete failure to recognize even the existence of principle, or of
right and wrong in international matters. We look in vain, for instance, for
some word from either Presidential candidate, calling attention to the outrageous
cost to the taxpayer of the Veterans of the World War,—a scandal (as explained
in the July Quarterly) involving the unjustifiable expenditure of some $450,-
000,000 of public money annually, a scandal which has been ventilated fully,
and in regard to which both candidates are fully informed. Yet, not a word
from either of them. They are afraid to lose votes. How can we respect such
people! (Silence about the Bonus payment would, of course, be even worse.)
“It is natural, therefore, that we should hope to find elsewhere the regard
for principle, the love of right for the sake of right, which we fail to find here;
and because this country sprang originally from English stock, and because we
know something of English traditions and of what used to be English standards,
it is natural also that we should look to England as a place where something
better ought to exist. We feel, even, that we have a sort of right to expect it,
and are bitterly, and perhaps unreasonably, disappointed, when those who should
represent the best in English tradition, lower themselves to the plane of American
political life. Hence I felt outraged when I read the other day in the New York
Times , that the Knights of the Order of the Garter, supposed to be a most proud
and honourable Order of Chivalry, and certainly ranking highest in English
esteem, had decided to reinsert in its roster the names of the former Kaiser and
former Crown Prince, and to hang their banners once more in the Chapel of the
Order at Windsor, thus undoing their expulsion in 1914. This, according to the
cabled report, was being done at the instigation of the King, who ‘wishes to for¬
get old quarrels’. It is charitable, as well as polite, to assume that Ramsay
Macdonald instigated the King. But even so! Is there no such thing as right
and wrong—in England? Did the men who fought and died for England, die
for a mere nothing, for an unfortunate misunderstanding, for a sort of friendly^
cousinly quarrel? Is it right or manly to have the memory of a butterfly? Can
England have sunk as low as that!
“The Crown Prince: ‘the amorous ferret’, his English cousins call him,—
a cad, if ever there was one, as his behaviour in France proved. The King of the
Belgians is a Knight of the Garter: will he resign? What a lesson for the world
if he did,—that someone should fearlessly draw the line somewhere; for if not
at the German Crown Prince, then, clearly, nowhere.”
“What has that to do with Theosophy?” asked our Visitor, with a shade of
disappointment, having expected, perhaps, to hear about spooks and visions.
“Everything”, the Philosopher replied, “because Theosophy is the store¬
house of all the wisdom, all the beauty and nobility of the past, and strives to
174
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
keep alive in the world, not only the memory of what is best, but the desire to
emulate it. It is part of the function of its students to hate what is vile or
vulgar, and to love—not merely to admire, but to love —the highest code that
each one’s status in life has evolved: by which I mean that it is not enough to
glow with aesthetic admiration for Christ or some other Master, but that a mother
should strive to become the best and wisest of mothers; the soldier, the best and
bravest and most efficient of soldiers; the business man, the best, most honour¬
able and most capable of his kind,—and so on, in whatever part we may be
called upon to play.”
‘‘I don’t want to drop Seely’s book yet”, the Historian now said, “because he
writes of one experience which is a real contribution to history. In the spring
of 1914, while Secretary of State for War, he visited Venice with his daughter,
and became very friendly with the Commander-in-Chief of the Italian fleet in
the Adriatic. It will be remembered, of course, that Italy, at that time, was a
member of the Triple Alliance, consisting of Germany, Austria and herself, and
that necessarily these three powers kept each other informed about military,
naval, and international matters. Before leaving Venice, Seely told this Italian
Commander that he planned to return to England by way of Austria, travelling
slowly through the passes with his daughter, by coach. The Italian said: ‘Will
you forgive me if I make a suggestion? It is that if certain forebodings, which
have been reported to me confidentially, should prove to be well founded, I
should send you a message, saying that I have arranged for your return by
Desenzano, Switzerland, and France. If I were the Austrian General Staff,
and war were just about to break out, I think I should find means to delay the
journey of any man occupying the position you now hold’. Seely thanked him,
and proceeded on his way. (Now the significance of this incident hinges upon
the fact that it occurred some time before the murder of the Austrian Archduke
Ferdinand and his wife at Sarajevo, and after the opening of the enlarged Kiel
Canal in June, 1914, which had finally given the German fleet direct access to,
and a way of escape from, the North Sea.) Seely had been only a few hours on
Austrian territory when he received a message from his Italian friend: ‘Urgent
Desenzano’. He turned right back, and hurried to England from Como. A
few days later the Archduke was assassinated, and, as Seely says, ‘the signal for
the Great War had been fired.’ The Archduke’s assassination provided the
necessary excuse. Germany and Austria had been waiting, since June, for any
excuse for their pre-arranged onslaught.”
The Historian rose, as if to go indoors; but the Recorder wanted more, and
knew that he could get it. “What else have you been reading?” he asked.
“I have been reading several books about the Russian Revolution”, the
Historian replied. “It is wonderfully instructive, especially when the lesson of
the French Revolution is kept in mind.”
“Surely rather academic”, said our Visitor, still hoping, I think, for spooks
and visions.
“That depends upon how you read history”, he answered. “Most people
read it as if it were the story of a dead past. We study it for the light it throws
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
175
on the present and future. ‘History repeats itself’, or, as an ancient Greek
remarked, ‘History is philosophy teaching by examples’.”
‘‘May I ask”, interjected the Recorder, ‘‘what are the lessons you draw from
those two revolutions?”
The Historian laughed. He knew, of course, what was wanted. ‘‘A large
order”, he said; ‘‘but I’ll do my best. First, then, is the need for all of us, who
are students of Theosophy, and who are in earnest, to grind the lessons of history
into the very marrow of our being. Intellectual recognition is not enough. We
shall live again. Youth is very easily persuaded, is idealistic, inexperienced, all
too ready to believe that the world, by means of some formula or glittering
generalization, can be turned into an Earthly Paradise over-night. There
would have been no French Revolution if the well-meaning youth of France
had not been swept off its feet by the charming twaddle of Rousseau. Bitterly,
many of them regretted it, when they faced the guillotine. I, for one, do not
wish to make that mistake; I should like to become instinctively suspicious—
no matter what the circumstances or how young I might be—of all political or
economic short cuts, of all demagogic vapourings; I should like to remember
for ever that, in terms of personal liberty, the autocracy of the Czars left the
individual Russian as free as air in comparison with the autocracy of a Lenin or
Stalin. There is this also to be remembered: it is not the extremists who are
dangerous; it is the ‘parlour socialists’, the theoretical liberals, who seem so
moderate and so reasonable, so gentle and well-meaning, who invariably prepare
the way for the murderers and thugs,—and it is small comfort that the moderates
always are strung to lamp-posts by the thugs, or in any case have to fly for their
lives, when what they sowed comes to fruition. It was not Lenin or Trotsky
who were responsible, morally, for the Russian Revolution; they were the fanatics
and cut-throats who took possession of what men like Prince Lvoff, Rodzianko,
Gouchkoff, Professor Miliukoff and a host of other liberals, had so ignorantly
started. Kerensky, the Socialist, the windbag, served as bridge, at first terror¬
izing the liberals, who made endless concessions to his intermediate radicalism,
and then himself terrorized by the extremists, from whom he finally fled for his
life, disguised as a woman.
‘‘The point is that it is always so, and always will be so; and that as we are
likely to live through (or in any case into) more than one Terreur in the future,
it would be well for us to learn as much as possible from the Terreurs of the past.”
‘‘I wish you would tell us something about the more interesting of the books
you have been reading, which deal with the Russian Terror.” Again it was the
Recorder who urged him on.
‘‘It will be easier to do so if I fetch some of them from the house: I like to
handle a book when I talk about it”, the Historian answered. ‘‘If you will
excuse me for a moment—”, and off he went, returning almost at once with
books tucked under his arm. ‘‘Here they are”, he said, as he resumed his seat.
‘‘I think the most vivid and moving picture is given by the Princess Paley, in her
Souvenirs de Russie , 1916-1919 , but I do not know if it has been published in
English. It ought to have been, as I see it has already reached its 28th edition
176
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
in France. The Princess Paley was the wife of the Grand Duke Paul, who was
murdered by the Bolshevists while in prison, and who, by an earlier marriage,
was the father of the Grand Duchess Marie, whose Education of a Princess
was, I am glad to say, reputed the best-selling non-fiction book of 1931 in
America, partly, perhaps, because of the extraordinarily graphic account she
gives of her escape from Russia when the Bolshevists were doing their worst.
Then there is Once a Grand Duke , by the Grand Duke Alexander, which leaves
a bad taste in the mouth, because of his vanity, his unconscious revelation of
his extravagant self-centredness, and the disgraceful way in which he talks about
the other members of his family, but which records many facts of interest, and
contains many astute and penetrating comments on men and events as he
witnessed them. There are the three volumes of La Russie des Tsars pendant
la Grande Guerre , by Maurice Pal£ologue, French Ambassador at Petrograd, a
most valuable book, which shows, incidentally, that while both he and Sir
George Buchanan, the British Ambassador, were entirely loyal to the Czar,
they inevitably reflected the ‘liberalism’ of their respective governments, and
utterly failed to realize that ‘one man’s meat is another man’s poison’: that
dreams of a constitutional monarchy in a country like Russia were as grotesque
as are dreams of a Republic of the Philippines. Two books by Sir George
Buchanan’s daughter, now Mrs. Knowling, who was with him throughout those
tragic days in Russia— Diplomacy and Foreign Courts , and The Dissolution of
an Empire , especially the latter—were written primarily in defence of her
father, who was accused by some people of not having done what he might
and should have done to further the escape of the Czar and his family to Eng¬
land. She puts the blame for this squarely on Lloyd George, and states her
case convincingly, though the official documents are still locked away among
the secret archives of the Foreign Office. If you want to look it up, you will
find what she has to say on pages 189 to 199 of her Dissolution of an Empire.
Lloyd George was afraid of Labour, and Labour, favouring the Revolution,
objected threateningly to the presence of the Czar in England. The Czar, a
first cousin of the King and a most loyal Ally: what an everlasting disgrace!
Who would remain a King if his personal honour were in the custody of—a
Lloyd George!
“The fact is that the Allies, as soon as the Romanoffs ceased to be powerful,
dropped them like the traditional hot potato. It was not an edifying spectacle.
Paldologue makes it clear that both the Czar and the Grand Duke Nicholas,
then Commander-in-Chief, responded nobly to the agonized appeals of JofTre,
and of the British and French Governments, at the beginning of the war, to hurl
every available Russian soldier into German territory so as to divert German
troops from the Western front and thus lessen the initial pressure there. We
know with what success and at what frightful cost this was done, making the
victory of the Marne possible. Both the Grand Duke and the Czar did this with
their eyes open; they knew that they were taking the offensive prematurely,
long before the Russian armies were ready, and they did it solely because it
was the only way in which they could go to the rescue of the French and British
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
i 77
armies, then being pushed back towards Paris by the Germans. From first
to last they were unfalteringly loyal, always responding to the utmost of their
ability, and always ready to subordinate their plans of campaign to the needs of
their Allies on the Western Front. Yet, when his hour of need came, what was
done to help the Czar! I know as well as I know anything, that the British
people, if they had realized what was going on, would not have tolerated such
desertion for a moment. Outside the ranks of party and professional politicians,
chivalry is not dead, and if the Grand Duke Nicholas had been invited—had
been compelled, as he should have been—to ride with Foch and Joffre and Haig
through the streets of London, when ‘Victory’ was celebrated there, he would
have been received with all the greater acclaim because his Russia had died,
fighting, almost to the last man. Chivalry does not turn its back on misfortune;
chivalry does not count votes or consequences; is not governed by expediency,
is not afraid. It loves valour, nobility, self-sacrifice, endurance, and proclaims
its admiration in spite of politics and trade.
“In this country, of course, with few exceptions, the ignorance was so complete
and the prejudice so dense, that it would have been absurd to expect more than
the ready-made, shop-worn catch-words, such as the hack reviewer grinds out
at so much the column or half-column. There is no disappointment, for instance,
in finding ‘parasites’ still used as descriptive of the entire Rqmanoff family, in
a review in the New York Times of A Princess in Exile , though one may, foolishly,
wish to remind the reviewer that, whatever their faults, and they were many,
the Romanoff men served their country, either in the army or navy, and risked
their lives fearlessly throughout the Great War, while the women, until the
Bolshevists murdered them, not only sacrificed their fortunes on behalf of the
Russian wounded of all ranks, but personally worked like slaves in the hospitals
and at the front; further, that the entire Imperial family did not cost Russia
one-tenth as much as the American Legion Lobby in Washington costs the
American people annually,—and the Imperial family was at least ornamental,
which is more than anyone would claim for the octopus in Washington (merely
one of a collection which reign there).
“But now”, the Historian continued, after a moment’s pause, “I want to
change the subject, though first I should like to interject that I know, as you do,
how H.P.B. would have felt about the Russian dtbdcle; I want to speak of Count
Witte. Most of the books written in recent years which seek to defame H.P.B 4
—and the same is true of Biographical Dictionaries—draw on Witte’s memoirs
as their chief authority; and he slandered her because he was constitutionally
incapable of believing that anyone, whether man or woman, could be clean and
upright. Naturally, however, because he was H.P.B.’s cousin, her enemies
welcome his evil-mindedness, and care nothing about his own evil life, of which
his rotten mind was a result. This subject has been mentioned more than once
in the Quarterly, especially in the issue of January, 1930, where a letter is
quoted from Charles Johnston; but as it is manifestly the duty and the privilege
of all who recognize their debt to H.P.B., to defend her when slandered, you will
welcome certain references to Witte in the books I have been reading. Nothing,
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
in my opinion, is more feeble or less effective than a purely negative defence.
Every loyal student of Theosophy should be on the alert for evidence which tends
to disqualify the accusers of H.P.B.
“Pal£ologue, certainly unbiassed, constantly speaks of Witte as unscrupulous
in his hatred of the Allied cause during the World War, as venomous in his
animosities, and as having become, at last, guilty of rank treachery and betrayal.
I refer you to page 73 of Paleologue’s third volume; also to pages 117-124, 188-
190, and 223 of his first volume.
“The Grand Duke Alexander, in his book, on page 197, speaks of Witte
(‘raised by the Czars from clerk to Prime Minister’) as one ‘who specialized in
providing reporters with scandalous tales discrediting the Imperial family ; as
having countenanced Jewish pogroms, and as ‘both despicable and pitiful in his
involvements’; this, on page 226.
“Miss Meriel Buchanan (Mrs. Knowling), on pages 108-109 of her book, gives
facts which confirm Pak'ologue.”
Again the Historian paused; but the Recorder had not quite finished with
him. “Is her latest as interesting as the earlier book by the Grand Duchess
Marie?” he asked.
“It is poorer, necessarily, in incident”, the Historian answered, “but for those
who look beneath the surface for the real meaning of a life—for that which the
soul is trying to teach the personality—it should prove highly instructive, and
could not fail, as I see it, to reveal a tragedy far greater than the author herself
begins to realize.”
“What do you mean?” asked the Student.
“It would be intrusive and unkind to enlarge upon the subject publicly”,
the Historian answered, “if it were not that the author discusses her own ‘case’
with an almost disconcerting impersonality, and not only her own, but that of
her friends, such as Queen Marie of Roumania, whose character she analyzes
with quite remarkable detachment. It seems allowable, therefore, to answer
your question explicitly. I mean, then, that when the world turned against
her—as the world invariably turns against misfortune—she seems to have made
up her mind to win the respect of the world by ‘making good’ in terms it would
understand, that is, in terms of worldly success, and that she deliberately set
to work to modernize, to democratize, and thus, unconsciously, to toughen her¬
self, so as to play the game as the world plays it. An unusually gifted woman,
with magnificent courage and great strength of character, she determined to win
happiness in spite of her terrible misfortunes, and imagined that this could be
done by giving the fullest possible expression to her personality. There was no
one to tell her: ‘The purpose of life is not to express the personality; the purpose
of life is to express the soul—all that is noblest within the range of our conception.
There is no peace anywhere by that first path; there is peace and wisdom and vic¬
tory by the second, with joy for the soul even though there be suffering, as there
must certainly be se//-sacrifice, for the personality.’ There was no one to say
to her, at any stage of her career: ‘Why not try to live your life beautifully,
rather than successfully!’ She has met with success, as most people count
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
i79
success: she has written a ‘best seller’. But, behind her mask, she is a desper¬
ately unhappy woman (I caught a glimpse of her not long ago, in a New York
store where she was ‘on exhibition’). To judge or to condemn her, would be
insufferable: one should take off one’s shoes and tread softly in the presence of
such coimage and such heart-break. Yet the fact remains that she is on the
wrong track, that she has not learned her lesson, and that just because she has
fought so magnificently for a wrong end, one wishes ardently that it had been a
right one. Read her two books, and you will perhaps see what I mean.”
‘‘But I have not read them”, the Student protested, ‘‘and I insist upon know¬
ing more!”
‘‘She was married, when very young, to a Swedish Prince. Her mother was
dead, and the marriage was arranged by an aunt. Not in the least in love with
her husband, and feeling suffocated in her new environment, she became thor¬
oughly miserable, and, in spite of the birth of a son, before long moved heaven
and earth to be set free. She persuaded her cousin, the Czar, and the authorities
of the Russian Church, to grant her a divorce. Her husband retained the
custody of her son. Later, during the Great War, and after the abdication of
the Czar, she married again—a Russian—believing on this occasion that she was
really in love. The event proved her mistaken: another tragedy. One lesson
she has not learned is that it was wrong to sacrifice her child for the sake of what
she believed to be her own happiness. Assuming that she was in no way to
blame for the discord between herself and her husband (and usually there are
faults on both sides, if only lack of tact), she should have set to work to wring
victory out of defeat by living for her son instead of for herself, accepting her
responsibilities, and trying to live greatly even if she could not live happily.
People cannot throw overboard their marriage vows with impunity, even when
there are no children to be considered. The fact that she occupied an exalted
position, meant that her example would have far-reaching repercussions, both
in Sweden and in Russia. Her second marriage of course made things far worse.
If she had done her duty and had remained the wife of that Swedish Prince,
it is quite possible that she could have saved the life of her father, the Grand
Duke Paul, to whom she was devoted, and who probably could have been rescued
while he was still a prisoner in his own palace, if the rescue had been organized
from Sweden, with the help of the Swedish Minister in Petrograd. All through
the war, the Swedes were Pro-German, largely because they feared and therefore
hated the Russians. She could have done wonders if, still a member of the
Swedish Royal family, and working in harmony with the English wife of the
Crown Prince, she had used her influence on behalf of the Allied cause. I think
that by now, her soul would have been at peace. Peace never comes from
running away from a difficulty which it is our duty to overcome. She was
very young, and did not understand. No one can blame her,—unless himself
‘without sin’, in which case, as the Christian Master did not say, Let him speak
up.
‘‘An understanding of Theosophy would have saved her,—and it is in large
measure due to the mistaken method of its presentation, that she was deprived of
i8o
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
that help. Theosophists have almost invariably misunderstood their mission.
They have imagined it to be their duty to pass on to others the philosophy, or
interpretation of the universe, which they have accepted as true, and which has
helped them personally, instead of realizing that there is not one man in a
million who shares their need, or whose condition at all resembles their own,
and that what they ought to do is to help others to recognize what was truest
and best in the faith of their ancestors .”
This roused the Philosopher. “I most thoroughly agree with you”, he ex¬
claimed. ‘‘Our study of Theosophy should enable us to be sympathetically
interpretative of all expressions of religion, and to reveal at least something of
the truth concealed in all symbols and creeds. Any religion is better than none,
so long as it is accepted sincerely, and when you are dealing with people whose
faith has been shattered by newspaper ‘science’, the only way to help them is
by directing their attention to the spirit and purpose which the shattered form
concealed.”
‘‘There are those also”, the Historian added, ‘‘whose religion is a sort of
habit, which helps them, perhaps, in matters of routine and in stereotyped direc¬
tions, but the underlying principles of which they have not even glimpsed, so
that, when confronted with a problem which seems to have no connection with
their previous experience, they are completely lost. In fact, it seems to them
that there is no point of contact between their problem and their religion. This
is unthinkable to us, thanks to Theosophy, but it is a very real and bewildering
condition for those whose beliefs, primarily, are emotions.”
‘‘We are living in a Godless world”, said the Philosopher. ‘‘I doubt if in
any period of history, the idea of God and of the unseen has meant so little.
Worse than that perhaps, if a Presidential candidate to-day were to mention
God in a political speech, or were to intimate that he was seeking divine guidance
in national affairs, he would be regarded by the majority as ‘unsafe’, because not
practical, and, by many, as a hypocrite.”
‘‘But”, said our Visitor, ‘‘think of all the empty talk about God, by Kings
and rulers of years ago: it meant no more than ‘How d’you do’.”
‘‘Which is worse: a selfish man with the semblance of good manners, or a
selfish man with no manners whatever?”
Our Visitor laughed, seeming to catch the point.
‘‘The truth of the matter is”, concluded the Philosopher, ‘‘that students
of Theosophy have a vitally important function, which, as yet, with few excep¬
tions, they have not understood, and which they should make it their first duty
to study, and, in due course, perform. What the world needs most is a more
spiritual understanding of its former beliefs,—not their dilution, such as
some Churches supply, but an intensification and rationalization of their
simplicities.
T.
The Political Philosophy of Confucianism , by Leonard Shihlien Hsu, Professor at Yenching
University; George Routledge & Sons, London, 1932; price $3-75-
Mencius , translated by Leonard A. Lyall; Longmans, Green & Co., London, I93 2 ‘* price, $3*75*
Dr. Hsu has had a certain amount of political experience as Secretary of the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs in the Chinese Nationalist Government. One ventures to believe that he
has prepared this exposition of Confucian political science with the primary purpose of re¬
minding his Occidentalized fellow-countrymen of the splendour of their own traditions. Cer¬
tainly the Confucian theory of government is as applicable to Chinese conditions to-day as it
ever was. It is even applicable outside China. There are actually some Americans who prefer
Confucius to Thomas Jefferson.
The essence of Confucianism is loyalty, and loyalty in political terms implies the devotion
of the subject to the ruler and the obedience of each individual to the code of his status and
calling. Dr. Hsu has traced the development of these implications of loyalty, stressing in
particular the fundamental “doctrine of rectification”. Rectification “means the making of
distinctions between right and wrong, the setting up of a universal standard that will show
how the true differs from the untrue, the right from the wrong, the beautiful from the ugly,
the logical from the illogical, the just from the unjust, the proper from the improper. Thus
Confucius places government on a purely ethical and educative basis. This is important be¬
cause the political state itself is governed by the attitude of mind of the mass of the people"
(p. 59). It was thoroughly characteristic of Confucius that he should define the first step
towards rectification as the practical example of virtuous administration. “The rulers them¬
selves should be wise and virtuous before they attempt to govern others. They should per¬
sonally set the model of rectification, and the people will follow them according to the process
of phenomenal imitation” (p. 59). In brief, “the sovereign and high officials are models,
which the mass of people and smaller officers are likely to imitate” (p. 44).
Dr. Lyall’s excellent and well-annotated translation of the great Confucian apostle, Mencius,
makes the principle of “phenomenal imitation” very clear. Mencius seems to have addressed
his message especially to the upper classes, and to have tried to form among them a genuine
aristocracy whose nobility of conduct might inspire others to imitate them. He taught “the
great way of the gentleman”. “A gentleman can do nothing greater than encourage men to
do good” (p. 50). “When a gentleman made a mistake of old, he mended it- The mistake|A
of a gentleman of old were like the eating of sun or moon [i.e. an eclipse]—all the people s
them, and when he mended, all the people looked up to him” (p. 62).
The books of Mencius belong by right in the library of everyone who believes in the standards
of true gentility, and who would like to make those standards effective in his own life and
behaviour. S. L.
Edmund Burke , by Rev. Robert H. Murray, Litt.D.; Oxford University Press, New York,
1932; price, $4.50.
This biography, published a year ago in England, now appears in an American edition.
Only four years separate it from Mr. Bertram Newman’s Edmund Burke (1927). One wishes
181
182
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
that the difference between Dr. Murray’s point of view and Mr. Newman’s, represented a
stride in advance taken by the entire Anglo-Saxon world. For to Dr. Murray, Burke’s philo¬
sophical principle—the aristocratic principle—is drawn from “the eternal”, and is the political
wisdom needed at the present hour, “the democratic catastrophes of which, written over the
map of Europe and Asia, could teach the lesson of Burke” [paraphrased]. To Mr. Newman,
on the other hand, Burke can not escape the reproach meted to those who look backward, who
devote genius, not to the future but to a dead past, or to the defence of a mode of existence
which “even before his own eyes was beginning to pass away.” Mr. Newman sees Burke as
an idealist, by which word he means something of a visionary.
Burke’s subject matter—details of revenue, tax, and suffrage—is recalcitrant material,
and a Plutarch is needed to dispose of it, and vividly to set forth Burke’s greatness. Contrasts
in the manner of Plutarch are not wanting, for Dr. Murray writes: “Chatham was not a great
political philosopher, whereas Burke was one of the greatest that ever lived. Chatham was
an opportunist, while Burke was nothing of the kind. He possessed principles. . . . Last
of all, Chatham was, as Dr. Johnson expressed it, a minister given to the sovereign by the
people, and to Burke it is clear that Chatham leaned in the direction of demagogy. Burke,
on the other hand, was aristocratic to the core. . . .” Dr. Murray is a scholar and man of
culture; he has sympathy, enthusiasm, and understanding. He is able to write: “There is a
mysticism in the whole of Burke’s outlook on life in Church and State, and even in discussing
the state of trade at home and abroad he cannot shake himself—he does not even attempt to—
free from it. His philosophy is tinged with that mystery which every thoughtful man feels.
With the cult of commerce he contrives to mingle a cult of idealism which is utterly removed
from the tone and temper of Grenville’s legal disquisition. He links the temporal to the eternal,
and he is able to do so in virtue of the divine harmony he perceives in events, and his harmony
is mystic and spiritual.” C.
Black Elk Speaks , transcribed by John Neihardt; William Morrow & Company, New York;
price, $3.75.
This is a valuable contribution to the growing body of literature which is making the character
of the Red Man intelligible to the white race that is supplanting him. To the Theosophist, the
heart of the book is the religious fervour which inspires this very old Indian, a Shaman among
the Ogallala Sioux, and its origin in the “Great Vision” which came to him as a child. During a
severe illness he lay for twelve days in a state of coma or trance, and the psychic and spiritual
experience of that time became ineradicably the keynote of his whole life. His own words
best show his belief in its reality and importance.
“If this were only the story of my life, I think I would not tell it, for what is one man that
he should make much of his winters even when they bend him like a heavy snow? I see now
as from a lonely hill-top, and I know a mighty vision was given to a man too weak to use it,—
of a holy tree that should have flourished in a people’s heart with flowers and singing birds,
and now is withered; and of a people’s dream that died in bloody snow. So I tell this to you;
and because no good thing can be done by any man alone, I will first make an offering, and
send a voice to the Spirit of the World, that it may help me to be true.”
After making the smoke offering, ending with the words, “give me strength to walk the soft
earth, a relative to all that is; with your Power only can I face the winds”, he continues: “I
am sure now that when the Vision came to me, I was then too young to understand it all,
and that I only felt it. It was the pictures I remembered and the words that went with them;
for nothing I have ever seen with my eyes was as clear and bright as what my Vision showed
me; and no words that I have ever heard with my ears were like the words I heard. I did
not have to remember these things; they have remembered themselves all these years. I
could feel the meaning with a part of me like a strange power glowing in my body; but when
the part of me that talks would try to make words for the meaning, it would be like a fog and
get away from me. It was as I grew older that the meaning came clearer out of the pictures
and the words.”
Much of the book is a very literal account of his life and tribal experience; many of the
REVIEWS
183
stranger incidents are undoubtedly dyed with superstition and psychism, but there is much
that is pure poetry and much that is devoutly spiritual. Perhaps he sums up the balance
justly when he says:
“The Vision was true and mighty, as I know; it is true and mighty yet, for such things are
of the Spirit. It is in the darkness of their eyes that men get lost.” E. A.
Nicholas of Cusa, by Henry Bett; Great Medieval Churchmen Series, Methuen & Co.,
London, 1932; price, 7 s. 6 d.
Any scholarly reader with a drop of Plato’s blood in his veins, will be fascinated by the
account of this ecclesiastical mystic, now told in English for the first time. Nicholas (1401-
1464) bom in the village of Cues, on the Moselle, near Coblentz, is one more link in the long
chain of witnesses that descends from Alexandria, through Dionysius the Areopagite, Scotus
Erigena, Eckhart and others. The distracted condition of Church and State during his life¬
time, forced him to take an active share in outward events; there his influence made itself felt
for unity. Whether it was the followers of Huss in Bohemia with whom he had to negotiate,
or Greeks of the Eastern Orthodox Church, or even the devotees of Islam, he sought, in the
belief of each, a point that could serve as nucleus around which might be constructed harmony
with Christianity as established in the Catholic Church of Rome. “But his principal impor¬
tance belongs to the world of thought rather than to the world of action.” His writings (in
Latin) published in 1514 and 1565, are difficult of access, and their scarceness has limited
study and appreciation of his greatness. While ecclesiastical diplomacy was his daily occu¬
pation, mathematics was his consolation, and through mathematics he was drawn to the
teachings of Pythagoras. In his own characteristic way, he sets forth anew the ancient
teaching of the One and the Many. “All begins from God, and all ends in God, as motion
begins from rest, and ends in rest. God is all of all that is, and yet nothing of all that is. He
is alLthat is, in unity and perfection, but nothing that is, in limitation and multiplicity. Every¬
thing that exists is implicit in God, and explicit in the universe. God is the unoriginated,
undifferentiated ground of all possibility and all actuality, and these are one in Him." “Since
God is'pure unity, absolutely bare of all differentiation, all the divine attributes coincide. All
that may truly be said of God, though separated into different conceptions in our minds, is
one and the same truth in His immutable nature. Hence all theology moves in a circle. The
being of fc God, the will of God, the act of God, are absolutely one and identical; these conceptions
are merely the different names by which we distinguish the different aspects in which our minds
see the one, eternal, immutable essence of God.” C.
Theurgy , or the Hermetic Practice; A Treatise on Spiritual Alchemy , by E. J. Langford Garstin;
London, Rider and Co., 1930; price, 6s.
The Secret Fire, an Alchemical Study, by E. J. Langford Garstin; London, The Search Pub¬
lishing Company, 1932; price, 7s. 6 d.
These simply written volumes form succinct introductions to the study of the great Al¬
chemical writers. They assemble quotations of the utmost interest from a wide range of
famous writers—some of whom are almost inaccessible and often not yet translated from
Latin,—and many are highly suggestive to students of Theosophy. Passages in Isis provida^^
rich commentaries and often supply keys. The writer may be congratulated upon his entir^^
lack of pretence, and for uncompromising condemnation of “black magic”. As a result, his
industry and enthusiasm should be of service to a wide circle of readers. Q.
Cosmic Problems: an Essay on Speculative Philosophy , by J. S. Mackenzie, Emeritus Profes¬
sor in University College, Cardiff; Macmillan & Co., Ltd., London, 1931; price, $2.00.
Professor Mackenzie describes himself as “a humble follower of the line of idealistic specu¬
lation in which I consider my earliest teacher, Edward Caird, to have been, on the whole, the
safest guide”. The philosophical idealists of the Nineteenth Century, especially those of the
Scotch school, performed a great service, by keeping alive in Western thought the idea that
consciousness is more fundamental, more real, than matter. They brought forward a host of
arguments to show how impossible it is to separate the idea of matter from the idea of some
184
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
form of creative, conscious activity. They continued to propose the hypothesis of a Uni¬
versal Mind which “would presumably apprehend all the universal conceptions; and having
creativeness . . . would be able to give them that special form of reality which we call exist¬
ence” (p. 30).
Unfortunately, modem idealism has suffered from a very mixed heredity. It may claim
descent from Platonism and the Logos Doctrine; but its immediate ancestry is German. The
orthodox idealist is obsessed by the notion that the wisdom of the ages reached a sort of climax
in Hegel. No one will question Hegel’s genius; but this genius was preponderantly, almost
exclusively, intellectual. His philosophy is an impressive but rigid logical system which is
founded, not upon experience, but upon certain intellectual postulates. Moreover, in Ger¬
many even small minds tend to become ponderous, and Hegel’s mind was not small. His
disciples have never been celebrated for the Platonic qualities of wit and grace.
As modern idealism developed along the lines indicated by Hegel, it became a speculative
rather than an empirical philosophy; and this, perhaps, explains the relative oblivion which
has overtaken so many of its exponents. Professor Mackenzie is aware of this isolation of
idealistic theory from the hard facts of daily life, and recognizes the need for testing and cor¬
roborating speculation and hypothesis by experience and experiment. Without renouncing
his belief in an ideal substratum of existence, he perceives the important distinction between
belief and certainty. Therefore, he seeks by contact with actualities a greater measure of
certainty than the Hegelian dialectic, alone and unaided, can provide.
Opinions will differ as to the way to proceed in such an undertaking. A student of Theoso¬
phy ventures to suggest that in spite of his sincerity and good intentions, Professor Mackenzie
is looking in the wrong direction for confirmation of his “ideal”. He says, speaking of the
difficulties in the way of proving that there is “a supreme purpose” in the Universe: “For
their complete removal, the co-operation of the special sciences (including psychic research)
is required: and happily there is now no real opposition between the results of the special
sciences and the demands of speculative thought” (p. 119). One wonders what he means.
Certainly no one who seeks truth should ever neglect or despise “the results of the special
sciences”, in so far as these results are the records of experience. Even psychical research is
full of instruction for him who knows how to separate the chaff from the wheat. But all the
special sciences (including psychical research) are limited by their method to the study of
objective phenomena. They are not concerned with consciousness.
Is it not obvious that the paramount need of idealism is a basis of spiritual experience?
Without a basis of spiritual experience, idealistic speculation is only an intellectual game
which must finally become a bore, even for the idealists. According to an old tradition, the
Universal Mind will be known only in so far as the individual develops the germ of the Uni¬
versal Mind, the Logos, in himself; nor can it be known by any other means. S. L.
A Fortune to Share , by Vash Young; Bobbs-Merrill Co.; price, $1.50.
This is the story, or, rather, the experience, of a man who made himself into a new creature.
It shows what anyone can do who realizes the need to do it,—the trouble with most of us being
that we see no such need, being quite well satisfied with things as they are. Vash Young
does not make this point, which is the key to the whole problem, for most people think it is a
matter of will, when the fact is that the limpest, flabbiest will is sufficient to move a man
from a stick of dynamite when he believes that in another two seconds it will explode. Self-
satisfaction is the enemy; not lack of will. But Vash Young’s book is written for popular
consumption and should do an immense amount of good. If any of us, because of our The¬
osophy, should think we know more than he does—as in a sense we do—his example should
have that much additional effect. Fear was his worst obstacle, or so he thought, and he
conquered that; but that was only one of the defects which he set to work deliberately to re¬
place with their opposites. A great lesson for all of us. H.
Peace Veterans: The Story of a Racket and a Plea for Economy , by Roger Burlingame; Minton.
Balch and Co., New York, 1932; price, Si.00.
REVIEWS
185.
The author was First Lieutenant, 308th Machine Gun Battalion, A. E. F. He more than
confirms, with ample statistics, what was said at our Convention and in the July Quarterly,
in regard to payments to veterans or their dependents as compensation for peace-incurred
disabilities, since the War. To buy, read, and lend this book to others, would be an easy but
very practical way to assist those who are devoting their time and money, for patriotic reasons,
in an effort to stop this outrageous political graft. The book is popularly written, is short,
and is the best contribution to the subject so far brought to our attention. H.
Ancient Civilizations of the Andes , by Philip Ainsworth Means; Scribners, 1931; $7.50.
One has fascinating but vague notions about the Incas. One has heard that they had a great
Empire, that they built magnificent forts, and temples where they worshipped the Sun under
the image of a huge disk of pure gold, and that their buried treasure is still undiscovered.
If one should wish to find out everything so far known about the civilizations of the Andes,
the Empire of the Chimus and the Empire of the Incas, he should read Mr. Means’ book.
At a time when the body politic of the West seems so sick, it is helpful to read of the rise and
fall of ancient nations. Mr. Means draws some very interesting comparisons and contrasts
between their problems and our own. His book is written in a charming style, with a gaietjr
and humour all too rare in archaeologists. St. C. La D.
Meditations on the Gospels , by Bishop Ottokar Prohaszka; Sheed and Ward, London;
price, 6s.
When Ottokar Prohaszka was ordained in 1881, Cardinal Mazella said that the young
priest’s mind was so strong that it would impress millions. The writer of the introduction
to these Meditations thinks that the revival of Hungarian culture and the persistence of its
religious life after the Red revolution, are due to him. The reviewer has found the life of
Prohaszka more inspiring than the Meditations, charming as they are.
Ottokar Prohaszka was born in Hungary in 1858. After studying in Hungary and at the
Germanico-Hungaricum college at Rome, he was ordained and became a teacher in the sem¬
inary of Esztergom. He was made Bishop, and, after the revolution, became a member of
Parliament. All his life he gave religious lectures to students and to the public. In his teach¬
ing he laid great insistence upon regular, independent meditation. He constantly visited the
poor. Although very ill, never in the press of his duties as Bishop and as member of Parlia¬
ment, did he neglect his spiritual duties, his long meditations or his charity. He used to rise
at five and spend two hours in prayer, then doing his daily tasks. Every day, he wrote from
two to four hours. In the afternoons, he paid his spiritual visits, going about on foot. He
used the time spent in walking in meditating upon the subject of his writings.
When the Red revolution overwhelmed Hungary with its horrors—and one will remember
that Red agents from Russia went about in armoured cars shooting down whole villages with
machine guns—the revolutionists themselves did not dare to kill the Bishop. When they
came to his palace to tell him he must live in two rooms only, he replied, “One will be enough.’^
He had given away all his lands to the homeless, and had spent all that he possessed in re¬
lieving distress. When he died, the whole city of Budapest attended his funeral, and when
his body was sent to his birthplace, all the inhabitants of the villages through which it passed
came to the train to salute it.
After reading about this truly inspiring life, one turns eagerly to these meditations upon
the Advent and the Nativity. They are very simple. His great insistence is upon the reality
of the Spiritual Life, and upon man’s ability to attain and to progress in it. Especially inter¬
esting are hi$ meditations upon the Cave of Bethlehem, the outer poverty of the surroundings
of the Nativity as contrasted with Spiritual splendour. He has a great love of Nature and
draws from it many correspondences. One point he frequently mentions is sensitiveness—
the cultivation of exquisite sensitiveness in the soul. “The Soul of Jesus is infinitely sen¬
sitive.”
One wishes that the good Bishop had known something of Theosophy, for he speaks of the
degradation of all Pagans, and of the ancient cultures of China and India “which built culz
i86 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
de sac for the human mind, blocked up by dull resignation and by the idea of the impossi¬
bility of progress”.
One is, of course, unable to judge his style in translation. Perhaps a certain banality of
•expression is due to the English rendering, rather than to him. One feels after reading his
little book that one has met a lovely and pure soul, and has been inspired by it.
St. C. LaD.
Mysticism East and West, by Rudolf Otto, Professor of Theology in the University of Mar¬
burg; translated by Bertha L. Bracey and Richenda C. Payne; Macmillan and Company,
London, 1932; price, 16s.
The Mystic Will, by Howard Brinton, Professor of Religion, Mills College, California; The
Macmillan Company, New York, 1930; price, $2.50.
Mysticism East and West is a “comparative analysis” of two “classic types of Eastern and
Western mystical experience”, as represented by the Veddntin sage, Shankara Acharya and
by the Alsatian monk, Meister Eckhart. In the first part of his book, Dr. Otto shows, by
means of many parallel passages, that Shankara and Eckhart are in many ways so much alike
that one might almost imagine Shankara to be a translator of Eckhart, or vice versa. In
the second part, the author reverses his procedure, concentrating his attention upon the
individual qualities which make the two great mystics so different from each other, in spite
•of their basic unity of vision. It is a most interesting problem, but one cannot compliment
Dr. Otto upon his handling of it. As a Western theologian he feels that he must somehow
prove that Eckhart was “what Shankara could never be: the profound discoverer of the rich
indwelling life of the ‘soul’. . . . using that word in a sense which is only possible on a Christian
basis” (p. 215). One immediate effect of sectarianism is that it closes the mind. In the
present instance, Dr. Otto becomes so absorbed in his attempt to exalt Eckhart at Shankara’s
expense, that he has little energy left to meditate upon what both Eckhart and Shankara
really meant by what they said.
As has often been pointed out, every mystical work is written in a cipher. Shankara and
Eckhart adopted the current technical terms of theology and metaphysics, because only by so
doing could they speak intelligibly to their contemporaries; but to each term they imparted
an esoteric meaning. Unfortunately, the theologians who have commented upon the doc¬
trines of the mystics, have interpreted them as literally as possible, with the result that their
words have been made to support the dogmas which they actually attacked. For example,
in Shankara’s works there is frequent reference to Ishvara, the personified Divinity. Dr.
Otto represents Ishvara as a “personal God”. But Ishvara is wholly unlike any personal God
known to the theologians. The significance of Shankara’s teaching concerning Ishvara lies in
the fact that, like the Logos Doctrine of the West, it evokes the idea of the Universe as an
•expression and vehicle of divine consciousness. By correspondence, Ishvara is related to the
Universe, as the Higher Self is related to the human nature which it overshadows, and as the
Master is related to the disciple. There are vast depths of meaning to be found here in what
appears superficially to be only an enunciation of personal theism. Dr. Otto seems not even
to suspect their existence. This explains why his book makes such dull reading, in spite of the
fascination of its subject-matter.
It is a relief to turn to The Mystic Will which is based upon a study of Jacob Boehme. The
Mystic Will is a model of scholarly accomplishment, but it has also the qualities of an original
work based on experience. It is evident that the author has not merely correlated many
-valuable quotations from Boehme, but that he has meditated upon what he has read and,
thus meditating, has investigated and proved for himself the reality of Boehme’s magical uni¬
verse.
One cannot praise too highly the resoluteness which enabled Professor Brinton to overcome
the technical difficulties of his subject. Quite literally, it must require months of labour to
arrange Boehme’s terms in a comprehensible vocabulary, for the “cobbler of Gorlitz”, who
was not a trained scholar, invented as the vehicle of his thoughts a strange terminology, a
•unique amalgam of Biblical and alchemical symbols. No amount of toil could unravel this
REVIEWS
187
knot, without the help of a lively intuition. One reason for Professor Brinton’s success is
that he has not approached his subject with the preconception that Boehme was a dreamer.
He testifies that the one great purpose of Boehme’s life was to discover a scientific basis for
ethics.
However, as the author says, Boehme is not a moralist, in the usual sense of the word.
He is concerned with the birth and growth of the spiritual man, and the spiritual man is
typified by Christ. But Christ as the Logos is also manifested as the “light-world” of uni¬
versal Nature. “We must constantly remind ourselves that Boehme thinks of nature as ani¬
mated from within by the same vital forces which find more complete expression in man”
(p. 136). “Boehme’s philosophical library was nature itself. ‘Thou wilt find’, he says, ‘no
better book, in which the Divine Wisdom can be searched for and found, than a green and
blooming meadow’ ” (p. 11).
Boehme’s central problem was “the reconciliation or harmonization of two wills, the negative
in-going religious will, and the positive out-going nature will. The first is a ‘resigned will’
seeking, through self-surrender, a supersensible divine object. The second is a ‘self-will’
seeking through self-assertion to know and control external nature”. Our life, indeed, is
“the operation and manifestation not of a twofold but of a ‘three-fold will’. This trinity is
(1) negative in that it wills backward to the Father, (2) positive in that it wills forward to the
Son, and (3) intermediary in that it alternates between the negative and positive as a Spirit
which fashions the warp and woof of temporal existence” (pp. 95-96). “The will can attain no
true self-consciousness by having itself as an object. It must be reflected in a mirror inde¬
pendent of itself. Accordingly there arises within it a painful desire for genuine objective
self-knowledge” (p. 233). In the macrocosm, this desire is the magical power which calls
the phenomenal universe into being. So, in the human correspondence, “Through imagination
and earnest desire, we are again impregnated with deity and receive a new body in the old”
(p. 112).
According to Boehme, the creative force becomes manifest as the seven forms or “fountain-
spirits” of Nature. Professor Brinton’s interpretation of the “fountain-spirits” is a very im¬
portant contribution to the study of Boehme. They recall many other “hebdomads” in mysti¬
cal literature, as, for example, the seven Shaktis of Indian metaphysics, the six primary forces
in Nature, synthesized by the seventh, “the Light of the Logos” (cf. The Secret Doctrine , ed.
1893, I, 311-313). Professor Brinton remarks that the desire for manifestation “is the first
form of nature and manifests itself as ‘attraction’. It exists only through an opposing force
which is ‘expansion’. The interaction of the two produces rotation, the multitude of circular
processes which make up physical nature. These three constitute the Trinity on its lowest
physical level. Hence the creation of physical nature . . . externalizes the original three-fold
will. . . . This descent into matter or particularity, is symbolized as the ‘Fall of Lucifer’.
As these forces are independent of the original ideal harmony and of each other, conflict and
confusion arise. ... In the fourth nature form, there is a retreat to the Absolute Will which
reconciles the jarring discordant particulars through the harmonizing influence of the abstract
ideal Wisdom of God. In theological terms, God is crucified on the cross of nature in order to
experience resurrection in the Heaven of a higher life. In physical terms the friction of oppos¬
ing forces generates a spark of light which is nature’s knowledge of itself. In human terms
the discordant forces in man’s soul are harmonized through an act of self-renunciation by which
his will is identified with the original Absolute Will. . . . When the first three nature forms
unite with the Absolute Will in the fourth nature form, they are internally harmonized and
vitalized, and then become the last three forms. The first three remain, however, as the unmani¬
fested material substratum of the last three. When whole and part are thus adjusted to each
other in an organic union, the seven forms comprise Eternal Nature, the final objectification
of the original three-fold will in a completely self-conscious life” (pp. 233-234). Elsewhere,
he says that “the soul stands at the fourth nature form where light and darkness divide. . . .
It can project itself through imagination either into the dark world or the light world” (p. 212).
The three higher nature forms are named Love or Light, Sound or Understanding, and
188 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Eternal Nature, the highest being "the final adjustment and harmonization of all seven”
(pp. 154 - 157 ).
In the light of this exposition, one is better able to understand why Madame Blavatsky spoke
of Boehme as a Theosophist and as "the Nursling of the NirmdnakAyas”. It is significant
that in spite of his manifold obscurities of expression, Boehme’s system has always possessed
the power of stimulating the imagination of those who have studied it with sincerity and devo¬
tion. The debt of Schopenhauer to the "God-taught seer” is recognized, as is that of the
English mystic, William Law. Students of Theosophy will recall his influence upon the
great French occultist of the Eighteenth Century, Louis-Claude de Saint-Martin, who referred
to him as mon second educateur. S. L.
The Wheel of Life , A Study of Palingenesis in Its Relation to Christian Truth , by the Rev.
A. Henderson, Vicar of St. John de Sepulchre, Norwich; Rider & Co., 1931; price, is.
This is an excellent and significant appeal by a clergyman of the Church of England, for a
return to the historic belief of the Early Church in Reincarnation. For the cogency of its
argument, as well as the official position of the writer, this little book will interest all students
of Theosophy, and may well serve them in discussion with friends. He points out that several
of the most distinguished modem philosophers (Dr. James Ward, and Dr. McTaggart of
Cambridge; Dean Inge, etc.) "accept this, ‘the Oldest Creed’”; building in their turn on a
long line extending through Hume, Henry More and the English Platonists, Bruno, Campa-
nella and others, back to Origen, Clement of Alexandria, and the authors of the Gospels.
Many will be surprised to learn that: "It finds favour even with Roman Catholic theologians,
amongst whom was the great scholar, Monsignor Archbishop Passavalli (1820-1897), who-
not only declared that reincarnation is not in conflict with Catholic dogma, but himself ac¬
cepted the doctrine, at the age of sixty-two, from two disciples of the Polish School of Phil¬
osophy, and ‘lived up to the age of seventy-two, unshaken in his conviction that he had lived
many times on earth and that he was likely to return’ ”; while Cardinal Mercier wrote in his
Manual of Modern Scholastic Philosophy (Vol. II, p. 326, Eng. tr. 1927): "It seems difficult to
demonstrate by unaided reason that the end of man’s probation will necessarily coincide with
the last moment of his life”—for "the theory of metempsychosis, provided that it allows that
the Soul retains through its successive reincarnations the consciousness of its own personality,
and that the series at some time will have an end, cannot be shown by reason alone to be
impossible or even to be false” (p. 20).
The commonest misconceptions of Reincarnation are refuted, and a concluding chapter
deals briefly with "Reincarnation and Christian Doctrine”. M. H.
Dante: The Divine Comedy , Its Essential Significance , by Arthur H. Norway, C.B.; Student
Christian Movement Press, 1931; price, 5 s.
This is an admirably conceived interpretation in brief compass of the Divine Comedy , ad¬
dressed "not to scholars, who are few, but to the unlearned also, who are many”. Dante has
a message to the hearts of men, and he makes an appeal to the hearts of men, as well as to
their intellects. The writer brings forward this phase of Dante's great poem—often neglected,
avoiding all controversies or subtile questions, and showing rather Dante’s understanding of
human nature in the light of his fixed purpose to "withdraw living people from misery and
bring them back to peace”. M. H.
Tongues of Fire , a Bible of Sacred Scriptures of the Pagan World, by Grace H. Turnbull;
Macmillan Co., 1929; price, $3.50.
There are several good collections of religious and mystical verse, but this volume is some¬
thing more; as the sub-title declares, it is an anthology of Sacred Scriptures, of the Bibles of
non-Christian peoples. The title itself is given by the Book of Acts, where St. Luke describes,
the event known as Pentecost,—and St. Luke’s words are printed on the title page: "And
there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And
they were all filled with the Holy Ghost and began to speak ... as the Spirit gave them ut-
REVIEWS
189
terance." That quotation would seem to indicate a belief on the author’s part, that the
Sacred Scriptures of the world have a common origin and inspiration. Fifty-five years ago,
Madame Blavatsky declared that common inspiration to be Divine Wisdom.
The selections are comprehensive, representative, and generous. The writings of Con¬
fucius and Mencius, of Lao-tze and Chuang-tze speak for China and Japan. Persia, Egypt,
and Babylonia make their contributions. The Upanishads , the Dhammapada, the Bhagavad
Gita , and the rock inscriptions of King Asoka indicate how deep was the religious life of an¬
cient India. Plato, Plotinus, Empedocles, and Pythagoras represent Greece. Seneca, Epic¬
tetus, and Marcus Aurelius, Rome (though these last would appear to be devotional books
rather than Scriptures). The collection includes many treasures.
The book is a labour of love and devotion made by one who has lived in a literary and reli¬
gious environment. The author is not academic, and though much consultation with erudite
authorities was required for the making of the book, that contact has not deadened. She is
to be congratulated for keeping immune from the deadly academic virus.
The purpose of the anthology being to present to Christian readers the documents of other
religions, no Christian materials are included.
As one examines this interesting volume, the question arises: “what would a thoughtful
Christian do, after studying it?” For if his own religion ever meant anything to him, he
might be perplexed and confused by variant expressions of truth, for example, the parallels
in the lives of Gautama and of Jesus: “the Immaculate Conception, symbolic star, and angelic
choir; the renouncing of an earthly kingdom, the fasting and temptation in the wilderness, the
sending forth of the disciples”, etc. [p. VI]. Miss Turnbull offers no guidance to one thus
perplexed, no interpretation; the very brief paragraphs prefixed to each section contain mat¬
ters of information only. Indeed, for all its treasures of truth, this anthology may only mis¬
guide , only harm , in the end, by distorting, as has been done so many times in the past, truth
that is perceived through a mist. In an Introduction the author shows her horror of war, and
denounces the World War as “criminal”, thereby revealing the domination in her mind of the
“pale Galilean” type of religion which alienates all who are not emasculated. The necessity
of war in the present stage of human evolution has been many times set forth. The following
extract from Edmund Burke ought to demolish the pacifist’s argument. Substitute “peace”
for “civil liberty”, Burke’s reasoning is valid for both. “Men are qualified for civil liberty in
exact proportion to their disposition to put moral chains upon their own appetites; in pro¬
portion as their love of justice is above their rapacity; in proportion as their soundness and
sobriety of understanding is above their vanity and presumption; in proportion as they are
more disposed to listen to the counsels of the wise and good, in preference to the flattery of
knaves. Society cannot exist unless a controlling power upon will and appetite be placed
somewhere, and the less of it there is within, the more there must be without. It is ordained
in the eternal constitution of things, that men of intemperate minds cannot be free. Their
passions forge their fetters” ( Letter to a Member of the National Assembly).
Question No. 373 .—In a Branch study of the Crest Jewel of Wisdom, these questions arose
on stanzas 21 , 22 , p. 4: (a) What is the meaning of “ Freedom from self-indulgence is ... a sur¬
render of the allurement of all non-eternal things from the body up to the Formative Power"? (6)
Why is the Formative Power classed as non-eternal? (c) How should it be surrendered? (d) May
one think of it as being what is often termed the creative power?
Answer. — (a) A surrender of the allurement of all non-eternal things is the first step toward
ch£laship; it is “the trial initiation of the would-be Occultist.” We are told: “Before the
eyes can see they must be incapable of tears. Before the ear can hear it must have lost its
sensitiveness.” “Allurement”, in the sense used in the Crest Jewel , does not mean merely the
enchantment of happiness; it means the allowing of our attention to be occupied by any
temporary or illusive thing whatsoever, thus failing to “live in the eternal” itself. Despair
may be as “alluring” as joy; we succumb to the fascination of terror as easily as we do to
that of exultation. The being content to remain on any of the lower planes (physical, psychic,
manasic etc.) is self-indulgence, because it is on these planes that the lower self finds it easiest
to live—without effort and with the greatest satisfaction, feeling at home there. It is a
“surrender” of this deadly illusion which must be made. ( b ) It is not clear that the stanza
does definitely state the Formative Power to be non-eternal. It speaks of the surrender of all
non-eternal things up to the Formative Power. Moreover, a distinction is apparently in¬
tended since, in the translation, the words are spelt with capitals, (c) Would perhaps be
answered by (d), in which we might also get more light on the earlier questions. If we do
consider the Formative Power as synonymous with the creative power (and it appears a not
unlikely interpretation), then we may see how, from one point of view, it is to be surrendered;
while, from another, it is to be cherished as a priceless inheritance. For the creative power
is to be found on every plane of existence, from the physical up to the highest that we know
of or can imagine; it is an attribute of the Logos, and as such could not be classed as non¬
eternal; but manifested on the lower planes of life, its expressions there are but reflections,
its use too often a perversion. It is the persistent clinging to the idea that the shadow is the
Reality, as well as the deliberate misuse of the Power, which must be surrendered—not the
Power itself. To the lower nature it is largely in this misuse that the “allurement” lies,
and misuse of anything is invariably self-indulgence. T. A.
Answer. —(a) It is the allurement of all non-eternal things that is to be surrendered, not the
things. All powers are dangers, for each one has its “allurement” for the personal self, that is,
with each power there goes a temptation to use it for the gratification of the personality.
Powers are rightly used by a “seeker for the Eternal” only when they are used for the purposes
of the Eternal, or to draw the seeker nearer to his Master and to his home in the spiritual world.
(b). All powers as we know them must be only reflections of real powers and hence not eternal
in themselves, (c) and (d) It would be interesting to know what the Sanskrit word was
that has been translated as “Formative Power”. Perhaps the “power of the imagination”
would be nearer the meaning than the “creative power”, although the allurements of both
190
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
191
must be surrendered before spiritual growth becomes possible. To surrender the allurements,
of the imagination would mean never to use it for self-indulgence, vanity, etc. J. F. B. M
Answer. —Taken from its context, the quotation from The Crest Jewel of Wisdom would
seem to indicate that the “Formative Power” was classed as non-eternal, but the remainder of
the sentence seems to indicate clearly that the “surrender of the allurement of all non-eternal
things” refers to the objective aspect of the “Formative Power”, as the same verse goes on to
say that this surrender is to be “continually made through a realization of the faultiness of
all objective things”. Freedom from allurement (glamour) is to be accomplished through
discernment of the “Real”,—the Real aspect of any quality. By reference to The Secret
Doctrine (Vol. I, p. 312, Third Ed.), where the Shaktis are enumerated and described, we
find the statement, referring to Kundalini Shakti, that “A Yogi must thoroughly subjugate
this power or force, before he can attain Moksha” (Nirvana). This would seem to furnish
a key to what is meant in the verse from the Crest Jewel, by indicating that as long as we use
universal forces wrongly or for selfish purposes, we are making this universal or eternal force
assume a non-eternal aspect through perversion of its use, which is an “allurement” to be
surrendered. We must “subjugate this power or force”, first by refraining from misusing it,
and second, by controlling it,—as the Crest Jewel says, by “the mastering of the powers of per¬
ception and action”. The same principles would seem equally applicable if the phrase
“Creative Power”, instead of “Formative Power”, were used in this connection. G. H. M.
Answer.—( a) It means complete and absolute detachment, that is, not looking for a
reward, material or spiritual, of any action. ( b ) Because, as is implied in The Secret Doctrine
(Vol. I, p. 84), all is Maya up to the Supreme Absolute, and what is glamour or illusion cannot
be eternal, (c) The surrender of the allurements of the Formative Power is explained in
Light on the Path: “It must be the Eternal that draws forth your strength and beauty, not
desire of growth.” “Live neither in the present nor the future, but in the eternal.” ( d ) Yes;
the power that creates or forms character and spiritual growth. S.
Answer. — (a) Non-eternal things allure us because we use them to gratify the desire for
sensation. They cease to allure us in so far as we kill out the desire for sensation.
(b) The Formative Power may be classed as non-eternal, when it is conceived as the cause
and source of all non-eternal things. In this sense, it is the “mighty magic of Prakriti”, which
is described as non-existent in Pralaya, like the physical Universe which is its production.
(c) It has been said that when we surrender the allurement of anything, we are for the
first time capable of using that thing intelligently and dispassionately, as Nature intends
it to be used. In other words, the non-eternal may be transformed into a vehicle of the
Eternal.
(d) It would seem to be another name for “the creative power”. Our objective must be
to employ this power, as it is employed by the Logos, for the purposes of soul. S. L.
Answer. — (a) I think the word allurement gives us the key. The author of The Crest Jewel
of Wisdom points the way to liberation through discernment; and shows that discernment!
between the Eternal and the non-etemal, between the Real and the unreal, leads man to give
up what is non-etemal or unreal in his quest of the Eternal or the Real. But man does not
suddenly reach the Real from where he is. The verses indicate that his surrender is a
progressive one, from the unreal to the less unreal through graduated stages, beginning with the
surrender of the grossest forms of physical self-indulgences through those which are psychic
and mental, up to the Formative Power. But it is always the allurement of these things he
must surrender, not the things themselves. While still using the eyes, the ears, the body,
he is to surrender their allurement. Likewise, while still using the Formative Power, he is to
surrender its allurement or the joy of using it. Then, the joy which accrues from using it will
be a consequence, a by-product—in other words, he will not use the Formative Power because
of the joy of using it. (b) Anything that is out of the Eternal is non-etemal. As I interpret
the verses, the Formative Power is a power exercised by the Eternal. As soon as the Eternal
iQ 2 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
so uses this Power, the Power is objectified and to that extent is out of the Eternal and th
fore non-eternal, (c) The Formative Power is not to be surrendered, but the allureme^
thereof, (d) I should suppose the Formative Power is an aspect of the Creative Power
that stage at which the Creative Power is active, is objectifying itself, is forming forms.
G. M. W. K.
Question No. 374 —Why do many Theosophical students allude to everything easy and agreeable
as “good" Karma , and everything hindering or unpleasant as “bad" Karma? Isn t it our own fau l
if any Karma is “bad"?
Answer— It is dearly a mistake to refer to everything that is easy and agreeable as "good
Karma”, and to everything hindering or unpleasant as ‘‘bad Karma”. Students of Theosop y
look at everything, or at least try to look at everything, from the standpoint of the Soul.
From this view-point, ‘‘good Karma” would be that which afforded the most favourable con¬
ditions for spiritual development, but these might, and in all probability would, be far from
“easy and agreeable” to the personality. The only “bad Karma” is that which prevents or
makes spiritual advancement difficult. Theosophy teaches that, whatever our outer circum¬
stances in life may be, they are precisely those which we need in order to learn the lesson whic
that incarnation is intended to teach us. G. H. M.
Answer. —Although we have created our own Karma, brought upon ourselves our own
trials and tribulations, that is no reason for our labelling any Karma as “bad”. It is by the
operation of this beneficent law that the soul receives just the right opportunities for growth.
It is the way in which we use these karmic opportunities which is either “good” or “bad”.
Because our Karma is what we have made it, we do not have to be victims of circumstances,
we can be victors over them. The circumstances do not have to change, only our attitude
toward them. If we view life as a school, the purpose of which is the training and develop¬
ment of the soul, then that which is hindering or personally unpleasant is not necessarily
“bad”. Quite the contrary: probably it presents the very problem or task needed at the
moment for the soul’s development; whereas that which is easy and agreeable may be but
another indulgence of the lower self. “Man, know thyself.” G. M. W. K.
Answer. —Referring to Karma as “good” or “bad” is sometimes done half jestingly, but all
serious students of Theosophy know that Karma, of whatever apparent nature, is invariably
opportunity, and is therefore in reality beneficent. Many have also learned that what, at the
time, they had looked upon as good Karma, had proved a far severer test of their selflessness
and sincerity of purpose than what, under other circumstances, may have been considered
overwhelmingly bad Karma. Perhaps it would not be too much to say that more would-be
chSlas have gone on the rocks because of their supposed “success”, with the self-delusion and
self-complaisance which too often accompanies it, than have met final shipwreck as a result
of supposed or perhaps even actual “failure”. Lower nature being what it is, there is always
the danger that with fancied success we sink into effortless days, lulled to sleep by a fatal sense
of security; while to the man who is worthy even the name of would-be ch£la, it is at the
moment when he faces utter defeat that he buckles on his armour and grips his sword more
firmly. Therefore, it is our own fault if any Karma whatsoever appears to us “bad”. T A
NOTICE
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Founded by b, P. Blavatsky at flew Vork in 1875
M Many of its members believe that an acquaintance
with the world's religions and philosophies will
reveal, as the common and fundamental principle
underlying these, that 4 spiritual identity of all Souls with the
Oversoul ” which is the basis of true brotherhood l and many
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The Theosophical Society in America by its delegates and
members in Convention^ assembled, does hereby proclaim
Maternal good will and kindly feeling toward all students of
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and however situated. It further proclaims and avers its
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t‘rf,f-«l adV 4 : Ce, ? Cnt0 M heI ? uman facc »‘t sends most friendly
greeting and freely proffers its services. 7
with all religions and religious bodies whose
*° thc P« rif ]cation of men's thoughts and
the bettwmg of their ways, and it avows its harmony there-
Z !^m T ° a 1 sc, i nt,f,c Pieties and individual searchers after
sss?
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CONTENTS OF VOL. XXX, NO. 3
January, 1933
PAGE
NOTES AND COMMENTS. 195
FRAGMENTS. 205
LETTERS FROM WILLIAM Q. JUDGE, VII. 206
DESCARTES AND THE EASTERN WISDOM. 213
ONE PURPOSE OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY. 220
WAR MEMORIES, XVIII. 225
THE MYTHS OF PLATO. 238
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS. 241
A MEDITATION. 258
KARMA AND BATTLE. 260
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME. 265
REVIEWS. 278
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS: Notice of Meetings . 287
Entered as second-class matter September 5. 19*3. at the Post Office at New York. N. Y., under the
Act of March 3. 1879
Copyright, 1933, by The Theosophical Society
THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
The principal aim and object of this Society is to form the nucleus of a
Universal Brotherhood of Humanity, without distinction of race, creed, sex,
cas e or colour. The subsidiary objects are: The study of ancient and modern
Sons, philosophies and sciences, and the demonstration of the important
of such study; and the investigation of the unexplained laws of nature and
the psychical powers latent in man.
1*
The Theosophical Quarterly is the official organ o/ the original
Theosophical Society founded in New York by H. P. Blavatshy,
W. Q. Judge and others, in 1875 . . .
We have no connection whatsoever with any other organization
calling itself Theosophical, headed by Mrs. Besant or others, nor
with Similar bodies, the purposes and methods of which are wholly
foreign to our own.
Editors, The Theosophical Quarterly.
* - T -u, as skc«,« responsible for any opinion or declaration
m this magazine, by whomsoever expressed, unless contained in an official document.
Theosophy and Foreign Missions
M ANA students of Theosophy have reason to believe that the great
religions of the world reveal, as their common and fundamental prin-
ciple, that spiritual identity of all Souls with the Oversoul which is
SdSr ° f true ^ oth ® rh ° od ”' The y explain this underlying oneness by the
bvt T H !J r by Madame Blavatslcy, that every real religion was founded
by the Lodge, the Great Brotherhood, to which belong all the Saviours of human¬
ity. In other words, the inner life of the various forms of religion is one and
the same, because it is an undivided part of the united life of the Lodge The
outer forms themselves differ, according to the racial and temporal conditions
determining their growth, but each form contains within itself the same vital
principle.
This principle is not a colourless abstraction. In so far as it has any signifi-
cance for us, it is vibrant with an intense and individual life. It has been said
that the spiritual identity of all Souls with the Oversoul is only possible when
each Soul has attained a certain measure of real individuality. The inner life
of all forms of religion, though one and the same, has a distinctive quality in
each of its incarnations”, the stamp of genius which marks every true work of
A r< l a rellglon 1S ’ lndeed ' a work of ar t, the unique creation of an individual
Master who acts as a Mediator between the Lodge and the human group or race
over which he presides. Nature is not monotonous on any plane. When one
compares Buddhism and Christianity, for instance, one discovers the same basic
truths but at the same time the greatest divergence of expression and emphasis.
If the human race were more highly evolved than it actually is, competitive
bidding for converts by the various religions would be inconceivable for each
individual would be aware, in some degree, of the “Ray” of the Logos’to which
he belonged. But most people have so little spiritual individuality that it can¬
not matter greatly whether they be nominally Buddhists or Mohammedans or
J 9 S
196
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Christians. What is important is that they should have some real religious
attachment. When an exoteric religion becomes hopelessly corrupt or virtually
extinct, it is in the order of Nature for another to take its place.
Therefore, the missionary has his appointed r 61 e in the evolution of religious
consciousness. This is obvious when he is a man of genius, like St. Paul, or
the great Buddhist apostle to China, Bodhidharma. But he has often done good
when one would least expect it, when his motives were confused and impure.
It is hard to deny, for example, that the Catholicism of the Spanish Conquista-
dores, though bigoted and cruel, was a vast improvement over the sorcery and
human sacrifice of the Aztecs. Again, he may be helpful in ways which he
does not intend, as in Japan, where the rivalry of the Christian missions has
been instrumental in stimulating the Buddhists to begin a profound study of
their own religion.
Nevertheless, from a Theosophical point of view, the Christian missionary has
built up for himself an unenviable reputation for ignorance and narrow-minded¬
ness. There are exceptions, of course, many of them, but in general it seems
to be only too true that the average missionary has made no distinction between
the Noble Eightfold Path of Buddhism and the rites of “Mumbo-Jumbo”, for
he has regarded all non-Christian cults alike, as special creations of the Evil
One. Religious tolerance has certainly not been one of his virtues.
An Advance Towards Religious Tolerance
However, powerful undercurrents of thought have been active, and there
is evidence of a changed attitude towards other religions by those who are
responsible for the direction of Foreign Missions. We quote excerpts from the
report of the appraisal commission of the Laymen’s Foreign Missions Inquiry.
The commission, consisting of representatives from seven Protestant denomina¬
tions, recently returned from a nine months’ sojourn in China, Japan, India,
and Burma. Their report has been published with the title, Re-thinking Missions ,
by Harper and Brothers.
At the beginning of our century of Protestant missions, Chris¬
tianity found itself addressing men attached to other religions; its
argument was with those religions. At present it confronts a
growing number of persons, especially among the thoughtful,
critical of or hostile to all religion.
Its further argument, we judge, is to be less with Islam or
Hinduism or Buddhism than with materialism, secularism, natural¬
ism. The growth of this third factor, non-religion, alters the
relation of the other two; Christianity and the environing relig¬
ions face at the same moment the same menace, the spread of
the secular spirit; the former opponents have become to this
extent allied by the common task. . . . What becomes of the
issues between the merits of one sacred text and another when
the sacredness of all texts is being denied ? . . .
The chief foe of these oracles [i.e., the religions of the East] is
not Christianity, but the philosophies of Marx, Lenin, Russell.
The case that must now be stated is the case for any religion at all.
NOTES AND COMMENTS
i 97
Thus it is that Christianity finds itself in point of fact aligned in
the worldwide issue with the non-Christian faiths of Asia. It is an
alignment which solves no problems of religious difference, but
simply shows how necessary it has become for every religion to be
aware of and to stand upon the common ground of all religion. . . .
[It is necessary] that the modem mission make a positive effort,
first of all to know and understand the religions around it, and
then to recognize and associate itself with whatever kindred ele¬
ments there are in them. ... If a new idea is to take sturdy root
it should make maximum use of whatever kindred ideas have been
there before. ... It is not what is weak or corrupt but what is
strong and sound in the non-Christian religions that offers the
best hearing for whatever Christianity may have to say.
It is clearly not the duty of the Christian missionary to attack
the non-Christian systems of religion. It is his primary duty to
present his conception of the true way of life and let it speak for
itself (Chapter II).
The common sense of this appeal is obvious, for it is a fact that both East
and West are threatened by materialism masquerading under many forms.
Doubtless, it is a call for an inter-religious armistice rather than for permanent
peace. These churchmen are still far from the point where they can think of
the Buddha and the Christ as really comparable. They may recognize the
spiritual genius of the Buddha; but their idea of the Master Christ is almost
inevitably coloured by all sorts of theological preconceptions, and they have
not heard or apprehended the doctrine of the Lodge.
In spite of their reservations, however, they seem to have made a real advance
along proper lines towards religious tolerance. It remains to be seen whether
their proposals will bear fruit. Already some missionaries are making “a
positive effort to know and understand the religions” with which they come
into contact. One of them in particular, recounting a conversation with a Shin
Buddhist priest in Japan, says that he found “an unworked mine of spiritual
possibilities”. Such a remark is enough to have made some of his predecessors
turn over in their graves. One hopes that it is really typical of a new spirit of
enlightened interest in other creeds, among the “ambassadors” of the Christian
Churches in the Far East.
The Illusion of Humanitarianism
Unfortunately, the standard set by these arguments for tolerance and
co-operation is not maintained in the remainder of the report. The commission
professes to condemn materialism and secularism, but they might profit by
meditation upon the words: “Physician, heal thyself”. They practically
recommend that the major activities of the missions should henceforth be
confined to social service and humanitarian work.
Ministry to the secular needs of men in the spirit of Christ . . .
is evangelism, in the right sense of the word; to the Christian no
philanthropy can be mere secular relief, for with the good offered
1 9 8 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
there is conveyed the temper of the offering, and only because of
this does the service become wholly good.
We believe that the time has come to set the educational and
other philanthropic aspects of mission work free from organized
responsibility to the work of conscious and direct evangelism.
We must work with greater faith in invisible successes, be willing
to give largely without any preaching, to co-operate whole-heart¬
edly with non-Christian agencies for social improvement, and
to foster the initiative of the Orient in defining the ways in which
we shall be invited to help (p. 326).
If there must be a choice between the old-fashioned methods of conversion
and the methods of the social reformer, we frankly prefer the former, and
believe that spiritually they are far less dangerous and may even produce
good. It reveals a complete misunderstanding of the Christian Master’s
message, to assume that the first duty of the disciple is to go everywhere, amel¬
iorating material conditions. A man whose only idea is to minister to the
physical wants of others may be personally a saint, but in the end he may cause
as much trouble as a devil. An illustration is afforded by the present state of
China. It is impossible to calculate the damage already accomplished by the
attempts of missionaries to extend to the Chinese the “advantages” of a secular
Western education.
The words of Christ are in complete accord with the Indian saying, used as a
text by Emerson, that the Universe exists for the purposes of Soul. Karma—
that is to say, the Divine Will—places the incarnate soul in an environment
adapted to its needs, and the true philanthropist is careful not to interfere with
the wise processes of Nature. This is no argument for hardness of heart or
for refusal to assist another in distress. The point is that it is not Christian
but materialistic to regard “ministry to the secular needs of men” as an end in
itself. It would seem that the Laymen’s commission have forgotten that the
function of a religion is to respond to the needs of the soul, and to concern itself
with the body only in so far as its well-being is necessary to the soul. A relig¬
ion which ceases to fulfill this function will also cease to exist, because its rea¬
son for existing will have disappeared.
A Model for Missionary Activity
Surely one can be a missionary without being either a sectarian bigot or a
semi-socialistic humanitarian. We suggest that Madame Blavatsky’s work
was a model for missionary activity. She brought to Europe and America
ideas which were old in the East but new to the West. As a result of what she
accomplished, many have found a deeper meaning in truths which were familiar
to them; and also have learned other truths which are absent from the exoteric
religious and philosophical tradition of the Occident. They have not become
Buddhists, but they have been given an opportunity to assimilate some of the
qualities and virtues of Buddhism.
Why should it be impossible for an apostle of Christianity to do for the East
NOTES AND COMMENTS
199
what Madame Blavatsky did for the West? Through the teaching of such a
man, new spiritual perspectives might be opened to the vision of Orientals, and
they might be helped to discover profundities which they had never suspected
beneath the surface of their exoteric creeds. In brief, what is needed is a mis¬
sionary who really understands Christianity,—as Madame Blavatsky under¬
stood esoteric Buddhism and Hinduism.
Co-operation and Competition
Philosophers since the beginning of history have dreamed of an ideal com¬
monwealth where all men would freely co-operate towards the fulfilment of the
great destiny reserved for humanity. It is a noble dream, and possibly this
planet continues to exist in order that some day it may come true. But the
Golden Age as an actual condition belongs to the remote past or to the remote
future. We are living in Kali Yuga, the Age of Iron, and we shall be wise not
to forget it for an instant.
At the present stage of human evolution, competition and strife are insep¬
arable from human existence. Pacifists and internationalists may protest, and
economists and efficiency engineers may argue, but men continue to compete
and to strive with one another, not only because they instinctively enjoy a
fight, but because they have no alternative if they desire to go on living. Many
minds have, therefore, been tormented by what seems to be a hopeless paradox.
How can humanity become a Brotherhood when Nature imposes struggle and
war as the price of existence?
It is a searching question, but it is not without an answer. Indeed, there
have been wise men in every age who have replied to it, and in all cases the
responses have been essentially the same. For example, there was Heraclitus
in ancient Greece. “Men do not understand”, he said, “how that which is
tom in different directions comes into accord with itself,—harmony in con¬
trariety, as when one bends the bow. Opposition brings men together, and out
of discord comes the purest concord, and all things have their birth in strife.
So war is the father of all and king of all, and some he has made Gods and some
men, some bound and some freed.”
Before men can co-operate as in the Golden Age, they must become really
human, and that involves more than is generally imagined. Birth in human
shape is not sufficient to provide one with a diploma of humanity. As has
been said, only a Master is a human being, in the truest sense of the term, for
only a Master’s humanity is complete and unalloyed. One does not wonder
that such men as Gautama and Jesus have been called Gods by their followers;
but it seems more pertinent to think of them as perfected men.
Whether they be named Gods or men, the Masters have become what they
are by the agency of “War, the father of all and king of all”. Their qualities
are those which we intuitively attribute to the righteous warrior,—loyalty,
courage, compassion for the weak, wisdom, concentrated power. These virtues
could not have sprung up in their consciousness by some sudden miracle. Like
all the attributes of being, they are products of Karma, of action. The Masters
200
THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
can co-operate spontaneously, without stress or friction, because they have
learned the intent of Nature through their age-long experience of war.
When Nature Clashes with Economics
It is well to remember, in these difficult times, that “out of discord comes
the purest concord”. Sir Arthur Keith, the British anthropologist, seems to
have been moved by such a consideration when he prepared a recent article
for the New York Times Magazine (October 2, 1932), to which the editor gave
the appropriate heading: “When Nature Clashes with Economics”.
As Sir Arthur notes, many professors of economics seem to imagine that the
major cause of the prolongation of the present depression is what they call
“the disease of nationalism”. If they could really have their way, one sur¬
mises that they would abolish national boundaries, convert the whole human
race into one family having a common standard of living, and perhaps even
compel everybody to speak one language. If this or something approximating
to it should happen, so they argue, trade would begin to flow through the old
international channels and we should all live happily ever afterwards. Perhaps
we should, but as Sir Arthur points out, there is practically no chance of our
witnessing such an experiment. Nature evidently has other plans for us, and
in the end Nature always wins. Sir Arthur actually reminds one of a Taoist
in his insistence upon the uselessness of the human reason when it sets itself in
opposition to natural “design”. He almost goes so far as to attribute to Nature
a divine foresight and wisdom.
What, then, is wrong with the world? To me the answer is
clear. Man has been seeking after false gods—power, trade and
wealth. And nature is now bringing him to book. Business men
and philanthropists dream of a world State through which trade
will flow with the utmost freedom. They demand universal peace
and eternal security. They want to see mankind regimented into
a single uniform nationality.
As I read the book of creation, all of these postulates are anath¬
ema to the order of nature. Nature has so ordered things that
ultimately mankind must carry out her scheme, which is the pro¬
duction of manhood. For this reason she demands that the world
should be broken up into a multitude of separate, self-contained
nationalities. She demands courage, sacrifice and competition;
she refuses to give security, even of life, to her competing teams.
Danger keeps them alert.
Nature scoffs at the laws of economics. Nationalism is nature’s
call, and it is just because she has called, that an economic dis¬
aster has fallen on us. We have to suffer until we accommodate
our lives to the conditions of self-contained nationalities. . . .
My readers may remember the last episode in the life of Jere¬
miah. The leaders of the remnant of the children of Judah
resolved to seek safety in Egypt. Egypt could offer them what
men and women crave for most: security—security of life, security
of property, security of personal comfort.
Having made up their minds, the leaders asked Jeremiah to
NOTES AND COMMENTS
201
approach the Lord to ascertain the divine will. When Jeremiah
declared unto them that it was God’s will that the remnant should
remain in Palestine and face danger and hardship, the “proud
men” rose up. “Thou speakest falsely”, they exclaimed. . . .
I know very well that when I counsel men to face the dangers
and poverty of nationalism rather than flee to Geneva for safety,
the “proud men” will again rise up and say: “Thou liest”. Never¬
theless, sooner or later my words will come true.
Who among us does not long for a “soft job” in life—one by
which for a modicum of work we are assured food, raiment, home-
life and leisure for all our days? Yet we also realize that such a
mode of life, free from risk and lacking in incentive, leaves the
best that is in us undeveloped.
We believe that these are healthy words well spoken. One thing is certain.
The internationalism of to-day is almost without exception either grossly
materialistic in its aims or a mere “slopping over” of pacifist sentimentality.
There can be no union of Souls by such a medium as this. Before we can
become Brothers in a true and inward sense, we must completely evolve out
of the semi-animal state in which we now are. There can be little doubt that
nationalism, with its “dangers and poverty”, is one of Nature’s means of con¬
verting potential human beings into human souls; nor is it reasonable to attack
nationalistic sentiment and patriotism because they may be turned towards
evil as well as towards good. Duality is a quality of all manifested things.
As we began by saying, there is an ideal of true internationalism, an ideal
which we believe to be realized in the Lodge, where there is a maximum of indi¬
viduality and of “nationality”, at the same time that there is a maximum of
co-operative effort inspired by perfect unity of heart. But the Lodge was
founded neither by professors of economics nor by “augurs of Geneva”.
Economic Planning
One of the curiosities of our century is the “confusion of castes”. It is not
unusual to find a man of science or a banker upholding the standards of the
Soul, while material ends and values are fluently defended by someone whose
official business is religion.
We have noted Sir Arthur Keith’s view of the depression as a great test imposed
upon evolving humanity by Nature. Now, by contrast, let us turn to what
was recently said upon this same subject of depressions by Dr. Harry Emerson
Fosdick, pastor of the Riverside Church, New York. Dr. Fosdick seems to
fancy that by some sort of economic planning it will be possible to prevent thd|
recurrence of business cycles with all the troubles which accompany them. We
quote from a sermon reported in The New York Times (November 7, 1932):
We hear so many dark outlooks on the future that we may well
set over against them another kind of outlook altogether. John
Maynard Keynes, one of the ablest economists in the world, says
that a hundred years from now there will be no economic problem.
... As a matter of fact, that prophecy is sensible, and is clearly
202
THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
within our power to fulfil. There are just two major problems
in economics: the problem of producing enough goods for other
people, and the probletn of distributing the goods so that all the
people will get-them. Already we have solved the first. . . .
With our new machinery, we can produce enough goods with a
few hours’ work a day per man to care for all the world, and that
took brains, magnificent brains! If now the desperate need of
being saved from an utter breakdown of our social order can weigh
heavily enough on our consciences so that our intelligence is con¬
scripted for social use, so that the same kind of scientific and
business brain power which solved the problem of production is set
to solve the problem of distribution, until wealth becomes com¬
mon wealth and all the people share in the goods which they help
to create, then a hundred years from now there will be no economic
problem.
Dr. Fosdick who is, after all, a clergyman, adds that “a final thing” must of
course be included to make this Utopia complete. “We must as persons and as
a nation be bom again into a better spirit”, for “mankind still needs nothing
quite so much as to be saved into the spirit of Christ”.
These concluding platitudes, in our opinion, serve only to bring out more
distinctly the materialistic bias of his thought. What justification is there for
supposing that the “spirit of Christ” is in any way associated with the schemes
of economists to reduce the whole earth to one dead level of security and com¬
fort? Dr. Fosdick, like so many others of his cloth, has failed to perceive that
suffering is not an abnormality; that it is an altogether normal constituent of
physical existence. Any Buddhist could have told him this, but he need not go
to the Buddha for instruction. The great drama of the Christian Master’s
life is an illustration of the doctrine that birth and life and death are suffering;—
it is by means of suffering that the mortal puts on immortality. Indeed, there
can be no more perilous illusion than the fancy that the ascent of consciousness
to the level of Divine Humanity is easy and painless, and that in the future the
aspirant will at least be spared the worries incidental to poverty or to panics in
the stock market. The Mohammedans have preserved a saying of Christ
which might well be carved in stone above the portals of our churches: “Life
is a bridge; pass over it; do not build upon it.”
But there is another mode of approach to this whole problem of economic
planning. Some things are impossible, and the most impossible of all is any
sort of effective opposition to spiritual and natural law. We cannot conceive
of any permanent way of “distributing the goods so that all the people will get
them”, until all the people are safe and sound in Nirv&na. The reason for
this certain failure is that Nature uses sorrow and privation as nourishment for
the Soul. As a Hindu would say, it may be the Karma of many people to be
deprived of the goods of this world. To put it crudely, they may deserve to be
deprived of them. If in spite of this decree of Divine Justice, goods be forced
upon them by economists or by sentimentalists, the operation of the law of sup¬
ply and demand on inner planes will be thrown into disorder. Anyone who
believes that economic law is an expression of spiritual law, cannot doubt that
NOTES AND COMMENTS
203
sooner or later this “astral” confusion will be projected in catastrophic form on
the physical plane; as a moral disease tends to work outwards through the body
until it culminates in a physical ailment.
Such ideas may appear harsh, but they are not original, for they are to be
found in every real religion and in every real ethical system. Divine Charity
and Compassion cannot be conceived apart from Divine Justice. At the time
of the great earthquake of 1923 in Tokyo, some missionaries, whose minds were
not as clear as they might have been, assured the Japanese that God did not
cause the earthquake, but “Nature”. But the Japanese, like most Orientals,
found themselves unable to separate Divinity from “Nature”. They said that
the earthquake was an effect of the Good Law, since it forcibly drew their
attention to the materialism that threatened their civilization and gave them
an opportunity to re-create a noble national ideal.
To return to economic planning, no one will deny that there is room for
improvement in our actual methods of distribution. There are phases of the
unemployment problem which can and ought to be solved. But even our pres¬
ent anarchy is preferable to what must happen if human society should fall into
the hands of a few socialistic fanatics with a “general staff” of engineers. If
we assume that the units of the human race are potential Souls, it is apparent
that any scheme of social change which involves injustice to the individual, or
which obstructs individual development, is doomed to failure. One recalls
the splendid ideal of the Roman Law: “To give to every man his due”. In
the new economic order which Dr. Fosdick prophesies, who will have the duty
of determining for every man his due? A committee of professors, or a gang
of politicians, or a group of bitter and cruel dogmatists such as governs Soviet
Russia?
Economic Law' and Moral Law
As has been said many times, the supreme need is for “God-instructed men”
to govern the nations; for those who can co-operate with the divine purpose of
Nature because they understand it. But before such rulers can take their
rightful place, men must pray for their coming, and to pray effectively they
must labour to prepare their own minds for the reception of the truths for which
an “Adept King” would stand.
There is evidence, here and there, that some people have really begun this
work of mental preparation,—perhaps, more people than one imagines. As
remarkable example of lucid thinking upon economic issues, we refer to th^^
Bulletin of the National City Bank of New York for August, 1932.
We wish to quote two passages from this Bulletin. The first may not appear
a propos of our principal subject, but we give it here because it reveals such a
clear and just view of the problem of the Inter-Allied Debts, and suggests a solu¬
tion in accord with the moral principle involved.
It is unjust to say that they [the French] are unwilling to make
concessions to Germany unless they can pass the cost on to the
United States, for France has assented to a concession to Germany
204
THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
which, upon the assumption that all obligations are worth their
face value, is much larger than her debt to the United States. Her
claims upon Germany under the Young Plan aggregate over $14,-
000,000,000, while her annuities to the United States under the
debt settlement aggregate only $6,840,000,000. The Lausanne
terms of settlement would give her 52% of $714,000,000. There¬
fore if the United States should cancel the French debt in toto it
would wipe out only about one-half the sum that France forgives
to Germany. And it is not out of place to add that in one case
the forgiveness would be bestowed upon a friend and associate in
the war, and in the other case upon an enemy country.
The other passage might be a commentary upon the fundamental tenet of
the Roman Law wdiich has been cited. The waiter says, with special reference
to the fact that, in certain trades, wages are inordinately and irrationally high:
This is unfair, and not only unfair but unworkable, for the
economic law does not permit it. If the wage-earners could pick
their gains out of the sky, they might enjoy them, but when they
come out of other sections of the population, the loss of purchasing
power by the latter inevitably forces wage-earners out of employ¬
ment, as witnessed in the last two years. It has upset the “sound,
fair, balance” in the industrial system. The whole situation
affords another demonstration that the basis of sound economics is
the moral law. In truth , the economic and the moral law are one and
the same.
And the Kingdom of Heaven is within you , and whosoever shall know himself
shall find it; for if ye shall truly know yourselves , ye are the sons and daughters of
the Father Almighty , and ye shall know yourselves to be in the city of God , and ye
are the city.— Sayings of Jesus discovered in Egypt in 1904.
Political liberty does not consist in a man doing what he wishes , but in his being
able to do what he ought to wish .— Montesquieu.
r tit r\ TTTnnF
207
FRAGMENTS
D UTIES are not things of the heart, but of the hands. They are to be
performed faithfully and exactly, but with detachment; for love of
the Master, not for love of them. In this way the smallest is made
sublime; otherwise their performance is but part of the dust and ashes of Earth.
Do not be small; be large. Expand to the blue of the sky, the depth of the
ocean, the snow-covered peaks of the mountains. Step out from personality
into the wide and open areas of Life. Why always within four walls, instead of
the circle of God’s circumference?
Morning and noon and evening, pulsing spring and full-blown summer, still
autumn, and stiller winter with the living heart; youth with its promise and
opportunity, maturity with its power, age with its harvests of fruit or thistles:
these are the phantasmagoria of time that pass and repass, in braided harmony
and loveliness, across the luminous mist that veils the changelessness of the
Eternal. Illusions all, yet reflections of Reality; else how could they exist?
For Beauty is always real, since inseparable from the True as from the Good;
and no Beauty ever dies, or passes, or changes,—save to be more beautiful. In
the passing the illusion lies; in the remaining lies reality.
Last night while the stars were singing, there appeared to be joy amongst
them, as if one of their number had attained; and great thanksgiving arose as
he passed onward to his goal. A Planetary Spirit, clothed in the new radiancy
of his achievement, swept upward into uncharted regions of ether. The waves
of glory that followed him beat upon the utmost confines of Space, rocking the
constellations; and, returning, lapped in reflected rhythm against even tha
shores of Earth. So that some were drawn up, of which the stars sang as well,
and others were drawn back; therefore while the stars sang on, men were fearful.
He who saw those prodigies in the sky saw also the gloom and confusion upon
Earth; saw the blackness against the light, saw the vain against the true, saw
the terror and dismay, which were only shadows of glory: and seeing, he under¬
stood and remembered and would pass the word.
Cav£.
■
205
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
VII
HE lecturing tour was continued. After Toronto, Buffalo was again
visited; then Jamestown (a lecture in the Independent Congregational
Church); then Sandusky. On November ist, Toledo, with two lec¬
tures in the Unitarian Church, which were reported at length and in a most
friendly way in the local newspapers. From the 6th to the ioth, at Fort Wayne,
with three public lectures besides other meetings, the newspapers again most
friendly. Next, Columbus, lecturing twice in the Y.M.C.A. Hall, and so to
Cincinnati, with lectures and meetings from November 13th to 18th, under
the auspices of Dr. Buck. Following this, came St. Louis, Kansas City, Mem¬
phis, Nashville, and New Orleans (December 9th), where three public lectures
were given, the third attended by just ten times as many people as the first
(40 to 400), as the result of an attack on Theosophy in one of the local papers.
Finally, before reaching Aiken, S. C., where Judge was then staying, lectures
were given and meetings held at Macon, between December 17th and 22nd.
Ill as he was, and in constant pain, Judge followed all this with intense and
active interest, as his letters show. Theosophy was the passion of his life. He
created a current—very deep and therefore almost invisible except in its effects
—which carried along with it all those who shared even a glimmer of the same
love with him.
It was at Providence, I think, that the members charged admission to one of
my lectures, turning over to me, as a contribution to the Headquarters’ Lec¬
turing Fund, after paying for the hall, tickets, and advertizing, the ten dollars
to which the following letter refers with such amusement.
Judge encouraged me to write to him fully and freely about the different
Branches and the members I met, and later, when I stayed with him at Aiken,
checked my impressions at length. “The Bostonians” of the present letter
included especially George Ayers (Malden), Louis Wade and Robert Crosbie.
Wade, although a “bull”, as Judge had remarked in an earlier letter, had a
touch of genius and a delightful sense of humour,—a characteristic which the
others lacked. Like the others, he was self-opinionated, but more amenable
because fundamentally free from conceit. Crosbie, with a gentle, pleasing
personality, was very psychic, and took his psychism seriously, which of course
impressed the feeble-minded. Judge, knowing how “impressionable” Crosbie
was, did what he could to safe-guard the situation, both for the Work’s sake
and for Crosbie’s, and, while he lived, held things in check; but after Judge’s
death, there was trouble, and Crosbie left Boston under a cloud. Some years
later, in California, he announced himself, or allowed himself to be announced,
as a ch 61 a of Judge’s, which was nonsense, for he was no more that than was
Wade or Ayers, or Purman of Fort Wayne or Wright of Chicago or Thurston of
206
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
207
Providence or any other of the fifty men upon whom Judge counted, but whose
understanding of his inner life—as he painfully realized—was nil. Although
Crosbie perhaps did not suspect his own motive, the fact is that this claim in¬
sured him a comfortable living for the rest of his life,—an extraordinary kind of
“ch£laship”!
At the time of my visit to Boston, however, Crosbie, although President of
the Branch, was merely one worker among many, and the Branch as a whole
was probably the largest and most active after the Aryan of New York. Wade
alone would have supplied the fire and energy for a dozen Branches, while the
average of the membership was extraordinarily good.
[Postmarked] Asheville, N. C., October 16th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
Just got yours from Syracuse. You will get one at Buffalo. C.F.W.’s lecture
was a success, although only 175 people were there, where 1,500 ought to be.
Ha! ha! your first money? Is it so? If so, do tell the Ks. That $10 fruit of
your brain and your bent legs is worth 500. Glad of it. It is an omen—good.
How did you feel over it, and did you make an ass of yourself in the way you
took, just as Caesar gently, all too so, put back the crown?
Your judgments of the Bostonians are correct. Richardson is what you say.
Oh it’s a strong movement. At that instant, as I wrote, my jigaree exploded
a loud and fine metallic crack close by.
Good Lord, what a world. I am (for a long time) much occupied thinking of
the mental development of the day, and how we might best affect it more. It
is a big question, and I don’t think the T.S. can by any means do it alone.
There’s an idea in me struggling to get out. Do you get it? I can’t yet. But
it is high and mighty. I don’t think India is in it at all, but Europe and U. S.
If I could only get at it. We are a lot of poor devils anyway, so go on and
lecture.
Adieu,
■4.
Judge enclosed the following undated note with a letter received by him
from W. W. Harmon, President of the Malden Branch, requesting me to convey
his answer either orally or in writing. It is a good indication of the way Judge
handled “Branch troubles”.
Harmon.—Express sorrow. It must be obvious that I can do nothing unless
I can use names. Will he therefore consent to my saying to Ayers and anyone
else he names as the offender, that he has so written, and thus focus the matter.
There is no other way. I have given no orders, suggestions or indications there
to anyone, save that I disapproved bad business policy and debts. Or, take
another way. Say boldly to those you [Harmon] mean, that you [Harmon]
have written me that letter. Surely 3 or 4 can’t be a majority.
208
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Following the Boston Convention of April, 1895, the reorganization of the
Movement which resulted, and the election of Judge as President of the Theo-
sophical Society in Europe, he was called upon to deal with many Constitutional
and similar matters which arose in the various national sections. As a lawyer,
he did not always find the procedure followed, either logical or simple, as this
note witnesses:
These, received from -, are forwarded E.T.H. as he has a hand ip the
matter. When done with them, send on to C.F.W. as by request of W.Q.J.
so that they may be filed among my European T.S. archives (if any). As usual
they have gone ahead piecemeal, and it will all be a patchwork like the laws of
England. Oh gawd!
No news.
As ever,
%.
Judge’s enemies never tire of asserting that he “consulted mediums” and
was “guided” by them. Judge did not consult mediums, and although he was
pursued by psychics with their special revelations, he practised what he
preached, and “tested all things” with unfailing detachment and clarity. Mrs.
McKinstry was one of those who have been named as “influencing” him. The
following letter should indicate how absurd the accusation is. Judge had sent
me some of her lucubrations—partly, for me to practise on—and the opinion
I sent him, with my reasons for it, which Judge approved, would not have
pleased their author.
[Postmarked] Asheville, N. C., October 26th, 1895.
Dear Chew Yew,
Read enclosed and then return to me. The envelope is the one in which
came the paper by Omega. It was sent over to me by-, who seems affected
by it. I am not, but see ignorance and fraud in it. I want your intuition also
on it, and on the affair which C.F.W.’s letter details. Be as clear about the
Omega thing as you were about McKinstry. Meant to write you a long letter
but can’t. Just got yours from Toronto. I send this to Stevens [Buffalo]. I
want Omega paper back soon, as I may want to use it in Path some way.
As ever,
%•
As explained in an earlier instalment, lecturing tours were supposed to pay
for themselves, each Branch visited contributing the cost of transportation to
the next Branch. I had sent Judge a statement of expenses and receipts, add¬
ing: “I yet have 2 dollars surplus on travel excluding the $50” [advanced by
the Headquarters’ Lecturing Fund, when I started from New York]. Judge,
on a slip, wrote: “Does this mean you have the 50 yet? If so, why not say so;
I cannot tell.” It did mean that: but how he hated ambiguity!
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE
209
[Postmarked] Aiken, S. C., October 29th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
Don’t feel well, so write briefly. Yours about Harding, and enclosing the
financial statement, I was to reply to by wire. But on reading it I think it
unnecessary to wire. You and Harding will not clash even if you do meet.
But you cannot expect payments by Columbus, Dayton or Toledo. Toledo
alone paid in $168 to the Committee Harding is under.
Before you plan beyond Kansas City I want you to let me know. I have to
write to Lopez in New Orleans. There is a Branch at Macon, Georgia, not far
from here; they are active and good. Please write C.F.W. for particulars as to
places between Kansas City and New Orleans.
Be sure at Cincinnati to say nothing about money. They are large, but
poor, and most of it falls on few, who are just now hard up.
I know your trip is going off well, and hope you will get all valuable expe¬
rience possible out of it.
The financial statement is very encouraging, is it not? God looks after his
sparrows and hawks.
What you say of Toronto kickers is what I thought. It is true of all. Don’t
spit on or kick any such, but don’t go off to labor with them. If there is a ghost
of a show for such to return, it will be voluntary. Glad you thus again agree
fundamentally with me. There is a similar condition in Toledo, only the
kickers are self-satisfied prigs.
Well, I’ll get down to a longer letter later. Meanwhile I am always regarding
you and your shadow on the wall.
As ever,
%■.
[Postmarked] Aiken, S. C., November 4th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
The enclosed from your folks was misdirected by Claude. It was at a time
he was sending me many letters. I got it this a.m., and send it out to you the
same p.m. There is only one mail out per day.
I am away in the rear with my Path work, and not yet have had time to write
you. Have you yet received from me “Omega’s” paper?
Harding says that Columbus wants only one; so if you like, avoid it.
I hear that Sturdy brought over Vivekananda to London from here, and the
sly fellow is now smashing at Theosophy. It will do good, as all such attacks
do, though the faithful are now and then scared. Arch and J.C.K. say the
throat-cutting still goes on—God bless them. It was really a good thing that
the Burrows ass didn’t bray until he did. He has done those people much
wounding indeed. In various other ways, hell is threatened to the crew all
round.
210
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Well, adieu again, and may you be blessed.
As ever,
%
[Postmarked] Aiken, S. C., November 5th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
Just got your article. Thanks. Very good. But it’s less than 2 pages. I am
stuck all the time. For each article try and make 3 pp. at least, or 1,500 words
(500 to the printed page). It is very timely. Write as often as a good idea
strikes, and if I get a small stock on hand, all the better. We must get in now
and then, article or articles on some striking point. There are several.
Now I like the yellow ruled paper your article is written on, and wish you
would send me some or tell me where to get it. I don't want much at first as I
wish to try it.
Just glance at what I have to do medically:
Water, drink 4 times a day. Carbon pills.
Hepar Sulph. and Phos.—homeopathic.
Oxygen, inhale 3 times.
Lynosulfite, inhale as often as you can.
Listerine, gargle to try to stop sore throat.
Some d-thing after meals.
Hot treatment nightly.
Be in the open air all the time.
Where does the Path , etc. come in.
As ever,
%•
[Postmarked] Aiken, S. C., November 5th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
It is delightful to get that letter from Toledo returning Omega’s paper. Am
very glad to see that you are succeeding. But I expected it. Two things are
being thereby done. You are doing them good and getting experience yourself.
And it is not at all subsidiary that you are making personal acquaintance with
our people. That will be needed in the future. Besides, it becomes a fine
connecting thread with each one. And among them you will find some men
whom it will be well to have as friends.
I know your experience exactly with letters and private talks. They are such
idiots. It is the personal element, and you must always look out. “Eternal
vigilance is the price of liberty.” A gentle reply is enough. Not every question
has to be answered. And if I could I would not reply to any letters from women,
except on business. Give them no holy talk in letters: it reads badly after-
LETTERS FROM W. Q. JUDGE 211
wards. I am simply telling you my ideas, as it is possible you know all this
yourself.
Make yourself especially kind and friendly with Buck, and be as nice as
possible with the family. I do not say this because you wouldn’t, but for other
reasons. As I know nearly all the people you are seeing, I have considerable
fun with myself about it, as I can see exactly the effect. All you have to do is
to see it does not hurt you via vanity, and, second, that you do not get con¬
temptuous.
Now my boy one person in writing, casually said you stooped a little. Ha!
ha! You must look out for this; and you must draw up to the last inch. How
many years will it take to drive the fact into your head that, aside from health,
you look better when all your inches are straight? And this holy war demands
the use of every element and factor. If you do not fix this matter we will call
you, “The stooping Theosophist”. The person who spoke of this is Mrs. Fen¬
ton, who wanted an explanation of the wonderful thing, etc. [This did not refer
to the stooping!] I told her it was the impression of the picture on her senses,
and not to make mystery, and that it was recorded of Webster and others that
they changed when speaking on great subjects.
I will write to Constance [one of my sisters, a devoted member of the Society,
who died a number of years ago].
Now for Omega. I think you are right. I can’t catch the clues, but your
analysis is so good it must be true. My own judgment was that the writer
knew a lot by reading, but not enough to avoid a lot of errors, and that the list
of names would be a grand clue to some one. There is gush in it also. It is
singular that-was to some extent taken in by it. I wrote yesterday saying
the paper was bosh, but couldn’t go into your details as I knew no one. I dis¬
carded A.P.S. [Sinnett], I.C.O. [Mrs. Cooper-Oakley] etc., one after the other.
Have no news from the New York episode. Guess you are right there too, as
the large money could only exist in summerland, and no one who knows me
would dare to think they could have any influence in this case by any talk of
money.
I feel very pleased and justified in you after this reply on Omega. You may
know why, and you may not; the fact remains.
As to your father, I can’t say. When I first heard of him I felt he was not a
long liver, but in “the matter of hyleg”, or of life and death, no prognostication
is reliable.
Can’t say much as to W.Q.J. Varying days. Much bronchial cough; fits of
indigestion; bad nights; good days. Damn mess. Voice gone absolutely,
etc. Got the digestive tract all squee-gee and am trying to right it. Look
out for yourself and see that you have good digestion and good enough
exercise. Doesn’t seem that climates are of any value. I haven’t got better
anywhere but in Cincinnati and New York, neither having any climate to
speak of.
Your southern trip will not be so much as the others. You have only Mem¬
phis, Nashville, Macon, New Orleans, Washington and Baltimore. The south
212
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
is petrified in orthodoxy, and is full of niggers. It has always been weak for
T.S. But I expect great good to result from your work even there. You must
say I sent you to these places. I hope I shall be near enough to see you. If
I am here when you are in Macon, that is not far from here. Good-bye.
As ever,
%•
[Postmarked] Aiken, S. C., November 15th, 1895.
Dear Ernest,
I enclose question for Forum. Will you please write out a good answer and
send on to C.F.W. for Forum , saying I asked you to do so.
Haven’t time to-day to write at length. But I am full of “ideas”. The
Masonic is, yes, an old scheme; yet it is not given up.
Toledo also writes. The good you are doing is splendid. Don’t think of it,
but of Master and that friend of yours.
As ever,
I was in St. Louis when I received Judge’s next letter, forwarded to me by
Dr. Buck from Cincinnati.
[Postmarked] Aiken, S. C., November 19th, 1895.
Dear Chewytz,
Don’t know where this will catch you. This last from you was done in
Columbus and posted Cincinnati. I will send this to J.D. [Buck].
The enclosed I send you to read and destroy now that a sufficient time has
elapsed. It came with the fool paper [“Omega’s”]. It is a sign I do not like
that this mistake was made,—to give so much attention to it. What is the
cause, do you suppose?
I have millions of things to say to you that I can’t write. I believe I will
stay here long enough for you to come here. That will be on way back and I
suppose by coming from Macon. I propose that you stay here a week with me,
and we can then pow wow to satisfaction. The food and beds here are good,
and I don’t think all their boarders will be here by that time.
Don’t know what you can do at St. Louis. It needs some men of different
calibre and stratum. That is the trouble. Some poor devil will some day have
to sacrifice himself by going there for a space to try to work it up.
It seems to me you ought now and then to send to your sister at any rate a
good newspaper report about you.
Well, no other things. Don’t forget a Path article.
As ever,
l;.
(To be continued)
DESCARTES AND THE EASTERN
WISDOM
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat:
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth.
I T has seemed to many that the hemispheres of our globe are divided by
an abyss, by a chasm which no bridge of thought can ever span. It is said
that the Occidental can never understand the Oriental, nor the Oriental
the Occidental, because they respond to such different motives and dream of
such different ideals. Europeans and Americans who are obsessed by the
notion that Asiatics live in a separate world, frequently quote the first two
lines of Kipling’s stanza. They omit or forget the other two.
“East is East, and West is West”, but it is unfortunate to imagine a great
gulf fixed between them. It would seem that their differences are more aptly
described as “differences of polarity”. Their thought-processes appear often
to start from opposite points in consciousness and to move in inverse direction.
One may illustrate what is meant in terms of the laws of reflection. When an
object is reflected in a mirror, its image is an exact replica, with one exception.
There is a reversal of aspect: the right side appears the left and the left side
appears the right. So, if we examine some of the ways in which Eastern and
Western minds differ, we shall find that there is no essential contradiction
between them, but only a “reversal of aspect”. They reach the same terminus
though they seem to move away from each other; as two men making the circuit
of the earth in opposite directions will ultimately meet.
If one adopt such a method of comparison, many things become clear which
have baffled the Orientalists. For example, one no longer has to suppose that
the motive which inspires the Buddhist disciple to practise austerities is the
assurance that if he persevere to the end he will be completely annihilated.
Such has been the supposition of many Occidental scholars, but they would
never have fallen into this error, if they had recognized that, exoterically, the
Buddhist Way of Salvation is in general outline almost diametrically opposite
to the Christian. They have tried to conceive it as if it were a copy or imita¬
tion of Christianity, and have not unnaturally been astonished to find that
Nirv&na bears no superficial resemblance to the orthodox Christian picture of
Paradise. But the apparent contradiction disappears if we consider the actual
documentary evidence. This indicates very clearly that the Way of the Buddha,
in the phase known to us, is primarily a discipline of detachment from form, in
particular from the illusion that the separate ego is a reality; while the Way
213
214
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of the Christ may be described as primarily a discipline of attachment to the
highest form that can be conceived; the ego or personal self is to be transmuted
into a vehicle of Divinity. It is no wonder that Nirvana, the ideal of “form¬
lessness”, seems negative and lifeless to the exoteric Christian; or that to the
exoteric Buddhist the Christian emphasis upon personal or formal excellence of
conduct seems only to fasten consciousness more securely to the “heresy of
separateness”.
However, in the last analysis, the difference is only one of emphasis. This is
equivalent to saying that as they progress along their respective paths, the
Buddhist assimilates the virtues of the Christian, and vice versa. They are
like two men, one left-handed and the other right-handed, but united by their
common destiny, which is to become ambidextrous. Thus it has been said that
esoterically Nirvana and the Kingdom of Heaven are one. “In Heaven”, states
Plotinus, “the sun is all the other stars, and again each star is the sun. One
thing in each is prominent above the rest, but it also shows forth all.” This is
the state where “there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Brebd, nor Birth”.
These considerations suggest that the two hemispheres are as complemen¬
tary in terms of consciousness as they are in terms of geography. The East
needs contact with the Western genius for action, to preserve from degenera¬
tion its own genius for contemplation; for too often the Oriental confuses
quietude and selflessness with their psychic counterfeits, passivity, fatalism,
indifference. The whole history of the West shows how easily its love of action
is degraded into a restless craving for excitement and sensation. Left to its
own devices, the Occidental mind tends to become hard and materialistic; it
needs contact with the Eastern genius for contemplation.
According to tradition the Lodge has made several carefully planned attempts
to infuse a measure of Eastern thought into the consciousness of the West. At
least four of these infusions were followed by marked revivals of spiritual life.
There was the movement associated with the name of Orpheus which is con¬
nected with the beginnings of Hellenic civilization. There was the work of
Pythagoras who gave a definite impetus to the philosophical genius of the
Greeks, and who revived the Orphic tradition. There was Christianity which
contains so many Oriental elements in spite of its predominantly Western tone.
There was the Neoplatonist School which nurtured the genius of Plotinus and
which has had so profound an influence upon the history of Christian mysticism.
Many believe that in our own century we are witnesses of another attempt
of the same order. If asked to define one ultimate goal of the Theosophical
movement, one might reply,—to make manifest the point in spiritual space
where East and West meet.
We can illustrate by an historical example what happens even to a very great
Western mind when it is virtually closed to all Eastern influences. If Ren6
Descartes had studied the work of some one Oriental philosopher, of Shankara
Acharya for instance, the whole course of modern philosophy might have been
changed. Descartes might have become a mystical philosopher. As it was, he
became a brilliant mathematician whose principal avocation was metaphysical
DESCARTES AND THE EASTERN WISDOM
215
speculation. Unlike some more recent mathematical philosophers, he had an
exceptionally clear intellect. He certainly would not have shared Bertrand
Russell’s notion that mathematicians are the only people in the world who do
not have to know what they are talking about. In a sense, his superb lucidity
was actually a misfortune, for his works are easy to read and easy to under¬
stand; it provided a medium for the quick and wide dissemination of a system
of ideas which has had a poisonous influence upon Western thought. He was
the father of the mechanistic hypothesis and of many other metaphysical
nightmares. Yet, in spite of his rigid rationalism, in spite of the spiritual myopia
which dimmed his inner vision, Descartes began his philosophical career with
an immediate experience of spiritual truth such as seldom falls to the lot of
any philosopher.
The errors of his philosophy may be said to have resulted from his failure to
understand the meaning of that experience. But one wonders how, in the cir¬
cumstances, he could have understood it. If he had sought and discovered the
Christian Master, the wisdom which he needed would have been found. But
Descartes seems to have had no conception of Christianity apart from the
official creed of the Church, to which he was quite indifferent. That is why
it was suggested that the work of an Eastern philosopher, with its new mode
of approach, might have brought light to his mind.
Descartes describes this crucial moment of his life in the Third Part of the
Discourse on Method. He explains that he was bewildered and confused by the
numerous conflicting conceptions of truth which were prevalent. All of these
ideas could not be true, and he could not help wondering whether any of them
could be regarded as unassailable. He felt a pressing need for experimental
proof that there is such a thing in the universe as a truth which must be ac¬
cepted as absolute. It was not enough to know the truth; he must know that
he knew it,—in other words, he must know it self-consciously.
He proceeded to conduct a very interesting experiment upon himself. “Be¬
cause our senses deceive us sometimes, I decided to pretend that nothing is
what we imagine it to be; and because men deceive themselves in their reason¬
ing, even as regards the simplest matters of geometry, . . . judging that I was
as subject to error as any other, I rejected as false every reason which I had
formerly taken to be a demonstration; and finally, considering that all the
thoughts which we have while awake* can also come to us while asleep, when
none of them is true, I resolved to feign that everything which had ever entered
my mind was no more true than the illusions of my dreams. But immediately
afterwards I took note that while I willed thus to think that everything was
false, necessarily I who was thinking these things must be something: ... I think ,
hence I am , was so firm and so certain that all the most extravagant supposi¬
tions of the skeptics could not shatter it, and I judged that I could accept it
as the first principle of the philosophy which I was seeking.”
Descartes’ report of the event is deceptively impersonal and detached. It is
quite probable that the experience which he records and which he himself pre¬
cipitated by concentrated effort, was sufficiently intense to endanger his sanity.
2l6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
This becomes obvious, when it is realized that, even if but for an instant, Des¬
cartes was certain of only a single reality, the reality of his selfhood, of his ego.
Traditions of occultism indicate that an overwhelming sense of “I am I” is
imposed at one stage or another upon every aspirant to real knowledge, and
that the prolonged contemplation of the bare ground of the self brings a sense
of solitude which is almost unbearable. But one need not be, in any sense, an
extraordinary person to have some idea of what Descartes passed through.
Anyone may have a sudden glimpse of the bare ground of the self. It is an
experience of which it is exceedingly difficult to speak, for it is as if one were
immersed for a fraction of a second in the most profound of mysteries, the
mysterium magnum itself. Perhaps this explains why Descartes gives so few
details. A modem French philosopher has said that the attentive reader often
suspects an esoteric substratum beneath the rather prosaic surface of Descartes’
description.
The experience of “I am I”, if intense enough, forces upon the soul a choice
which cannot be evaded. It is like Pascal’s “abyss”. One must advance or
retreat, for no one can remain on the brink and retain control of his faculties.
To advance means to extend the zone of pure and immediate experience beyond
the sphere of the ego proper. To retreat means to return to the light of common
day, to identify the sense of selfhood once more with the mind and the emo¬
tional nature and the body, to accept the phenomenal world as it appears to
the senses, to seek the comfortable shell of old habits and old beliefs.
Descartes retreated in the end, but not before he had made a further advance.
He began to meditate upon the connection between the self and the atmosphere
of mind-images which surrounds it. He observed that those images are not all
of equal value. Pondering upon their source, he was ready to admit that many
were reflected from the ground of the self; but there was one idea which per¬
sistently entered the field of consciousness and which he could not derive from
his ego. This was the idea of a being more perfect than himself.
“To have received it from nowhere was manifestly impossible, and since it is
no less repugnant that the more perfect. . . should depend upon the less perfect,
... I could not have received it from myself; therefore, it must have been im¬
planted in me by a nature which was veritably more perfect than I was, and
which indeed had in itself every perfection of which I could have any idea, that
is to say, to express myself in a word, which was God.”
This experience of the Divine, though according to his fashion he demon¬
strates it logically, seems to have been as real and as direct as the primary ex¬
perience of the ground of the self. He was not merely copying the arguments of
St. Anselm and Aristotle and Plato. It is clearly attested in the Meditations
Metaphysiques that Descartes was as certain of the being of God as he was of his
own being. He knew that the soul is not alone in an infinity of non-being, for
its “aloneness” depends upon the supreme “aloneness” of God.
In a magnificent phrase, Plotinus describes the mystical way as “the flight
of the alone to the Alone”. Descartes seems actually to have reached a point
in consciousness where he possessed certitude as to the eternal reality of the
* DESCARTES AND THE EASTERN WISDOM
217
two terms, but he did not essay the flight. Like Moses, he viewed the Promised
Land from a mountain top but descended on the hither slope.
Unlike Moses, he does not appear to have been aware that he actually looked
towards the Promised Land. There is no evidence that he tried to repeat his
experiment or to broaden its scope. Only one part of his personal nature seems
to have been profoundly affected, his mind, which was stimulated to extraor¬
dinary activity. But this activity led him into a morass of speculative thought,
far from the spiritual height on which he had stood. Doubtless, there was in his
intellect no pattern, no mould, to which he could conform his inner experiences.
On the other hand, the truths which he had proved could be adopted as axioms,
as starting-points for an interminable series of inferences about everything under
heaven. He indulged in an orgy of inductive reasoning. By a curious and
tragic inversion, spiritual truth served as the basis of one of the most unspiritual
systems in the history of thought.
Let us try to imagine what might have occurred if Descartes had had in his
mental consciousness some abstract understanding of what happened to him.
In such a case, he would have had some dim recognition that the soul and its
Divine Master are not two beings, but one; that their apparent duality veils a
fundamental unity. But if we accept the testimony of those who have become
mystics, this premonition of The One which transcends all duality might have
increased, until it became an all-consuming desire to realize that unity here and
now by determined effort, as he had already realized the duality which is, in
essence, only a polarization of The One.
He could have found the necessary formula for his intellect, if he had read
such a work as Shankara’s Crest Jewel of Wisdom ,—the Vivekachudamani, to
give it its Sanskrit name. Shankara teaches the doctrine of the One Self. His
treatise is a manual for those who would attempt the flight of the alone to the
Alone. It is not suggested that his method is suitable to everyone. His disciples
were men of the East, and the practical ideal which he held before them is not
unlike that of the Buddha. He stressed detachment, quietude, selflessness. It
is not his method, however, which concerns us here, but his general vision of
the nature of the Real, and in particular his conception of the relation between
the soul and God; for he had the same fundamental experience which came to
Descartes,—with this distinction, that he extended it far beyond the range of
Descartes’ consciousness and resolved its duality into unity.
What Shankara proposes to the student is, in fact, an indefinite extension of
the limits of self-consciousness. In this process of progressive introspection
and self-examination, the human reason has a most important r61e, but it is
the servant of the spiritual will and not its master. It is interesting to note
that he uses his mind chiefly to deduce the nature of particulars from general
principles. In his thought there is comparatively little inductive inference;
that is to say, he does not make a practice, as Descartes did, of inferring the
general or universal from the particular. If we understand correctly, the
Sanskrit word Chit , which is often translated as “intelligence”, has a special
meaning. It is not an analyzing but a synthesizing power, and seems to denote
2 18
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
a condition in which the Self understands general principles by immediate per¬
ception of them. In the Buddhist phrase, the soul sees the Universe face to
face. There is no need, then, for inferential reason to prove the existence of
any universal principle. When we see a tree or a dog, we do not generally feel
obliged to demonstrate by a series of syllogisms that it is really there.
In one sense, the purpose of introspection is to enter into the realization of
Chit or universal knowledge. This knowledge is latent in everyone, and the
various modes of spiritual discipline are intended to awaken the soul, by de¬
grees, to an awareness of its own powers. As each degree is attained, the aspirant
participates in a greater portion of the universal wisdom, Brahma Vidya , and he
is thus able to illumine the particular problems confronting him, by reference to
his increasing understanding of the general laws which determine all right
action.
However, as Shankara describes the way of the disciple, the motive which
drives him forward is certainly not desire for personal knowledge, as this is com¬
monly understood. It is defined negatively, as the anguish of the soul when it
becomes aware of the glamour which separates it from the Divine Self. That
glamour is to be dispelled by the birth of the spiritual will, and by the conver¬
sion of the powers of imagination and desire to serve the upbuilding of the
Immortal.
Therefore, introspection in the Vedanta is regarded as a creative act, being
identical with the transformation of the soul into a series of “impersonations”
or forms, each more sensitive and more subtile than its predecessor, until that
“formless” state is reached wherein the Individual Self attains full conscious¬
ness of its oneness of essence with the Universal Self, the Eternal.
“Freedom from self-indulgence is ... a surrender of the allurement of all
non-eternal things from the body up to the Formative Power, continually made
through a realization of the faultiness of all objective things” (22).
“In the text of Scripture, ‘That thou art’, the Eternal and the Self are indi¬
cated by the words, ‘That’ and ‘Thou’; when they are thus understood, the
oneness of the Self and the Eternal is clearly seen. . . .
“The seeming difference between the two is caused by the vestures which
contain them, but these vestures are themselves unreal. Hear the truth: cosmic
differences, beginning with the world of abstract forms, come into being through
the Lords power of Glamour, Maya; the five vestures come into being through
the separate self.
“When these vestures which enwrap the Lord and the separate self, are cast
aside, there remains neither Lord nor separate self. The king has his kingdom,
the vassal his village; when these are taken away, there is neither vassal nor
king” (244, seq.).
The One Self which is the centre of Shankara’s system is not a mathematical
formula. It is pure consciousness, pure intelligence, pure experience. It is
described in abstract and impersonal terms only because it cannot be identified
with any form or body, and because its sole object of contemplation is said to
be itself. Cosmic Mind, Ishvara , and the individual mind or ego, Ahamkara ,
DESCARTES AND THE EASTERN WISDOM
219
are polarized centres within the One Self. Polarization or duality must be
known as the product of ignorance or “not-knowing”, Avidya , before the soul
can know the bliss of unlimited consciousness, Ananda , the “positive charac¬
teristic of the esoteric Brahman which presupposes the negation of all differ¬
ences”. When such an experience is known, it is so intense that no image, no
symbol, no idea can express it. The images of thought, like the images per¬
ceived by the senses, may figure the transcendent reality; but they become
irrelevant when that reality is seen in its proper nature.
“The Scripture explains that the undifferentiated Brahman is pure intelli¬
gence and free from all that is different from it, for it says: ‘As a block of salt
has no inside or outside; but through and through consists only of salt taste,
so also this Atman has no inside or outside but consists throughout altogether
of intelligence’” (Commentary on the Brahma Sutras , 3, 2).
We assumed a great deal when we suggested the possibility that an acquaint¬
ance with ideas such as these, might have helped Descartes to comprehend what
is really involved in the great antinomy of the soul and God which he discovered.
Descartes’ mind was hard and positivistic, nor would it have been easy to im¬
plant an idea foreign to it. After all, God implanted the idea of himself there,
as Descartes testifies, and yet his other ideas were not greatly affected thereby.
He had, indeed, that type of intelligence with which we have become painfully
familiar in the modem world, the type which is known as scientific. It has its
magnificent qualities,—perseverance, concentration, respect for facts of a cer¬
tain order; the inventions which have metamorphosed the surface of the earth
are its handiwork. But also it is capable only of receiving ideas of external
things, its comprehension of consciousness is nil;—like the moon, on one side
it is radiant with physical light, but on the other side all is dark and cold.
Nevertheless, Descartes was something more than his mind, for he proved it
even to himself, and no cut-and-dried rationalist would ever have undertaken
the experiment which he attempted or, in any case, would have gone so far
into the true “land of mystery”. We like to think of him as a potential mystic
who might have “broken through” under more favourable auspices. Perhaps,
he will “break through” next time, if he has not already done so. But we feel
certain that such an event will not occur until some of the wisdom of the East
is mingled in his nature with the Western love of concreteness in form and
action. Moreover, this reflection is equally applicable to others besides Des¬
cartes. Stanley V. LaDow.
ONE PURPOSE OF
THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
HE Theosophical Society has often been described as “a missionary
organization for the conversion of people to their own ideals”. No
greater service can be rendered a man than to reveal to him the true
ideal of his own heart and soul. Once seen, if it be in truth the ideal of his
heart, he cannot but love it, and loving it, will seek to follow and attain it.
The war showed that the world is capable of responding to an ideal that it can
see. Belgium’s King answered the call of honour—delaying thereby the
German armies for a few urgently needed days—and the nation followed
him. In England, after Zeppelins and atrocities in Belgium had made clear
the character of the enemy, four million men volunteered before conscription
became necessary. Thousands of men who in peace had led dull, common¬
place lives, attained to heights of heroism and endurance. The war over,
they seem to have sunk back to the level from which they rose, as if they saw
nothing worthy of their further effort.
What the world needs is an ideal, a vision of something that men can
love; that will call forth all that is best in them,—something that will lift
them from interest in the material to the things of the spirit, from their false
to their true selves. Devotion to a cause, as in the war, to a leader or to
their religion, has done this in the past. The trouble to-day is that men
see no cause worthy of their whole-hearted devotion; personal loyalty to
a leader is out of fashion, and men do not understand their religion. Time
was when whole nations responded to the call for the Crusades with the
answering cry: “Crosses, crosses, give us crosses.” They knew that their
Master had died for them, and leapt forward at the chance to serve Him in
return, to give their lives for him as he had given his life for them.
Men are less simple to-day. They have ceased to believe in a jealous God
who insisted on a victim, however innocent, to appease his wrath at the sins
of men. To the ordinary man, the story of the incarnation is unjust or mean¬
ingless. As presented to him, it insults his conception of Deity. For the
most part, he has ceased to believe in hell, and hence sacrifice to attain sal¬
vation, for himself or for others, seems unnecessary to him. As a result, the
passionate gratitude and devotion of the times of the Crusades are seldom
found. Modern feeling rarely goes beyond admiration for nobility of char¬
acter. As usually pictured, the so-called Christian ideal is an ideal
of meekness, of patient endurance, of indiscriminate and premature forgive¬
ness; but it contains no element of the powers of accomplishment. Men
know, instinctively and rightly, that the world needs men of action. They
give lip-service to Christianity, but their real worship goes to accomplishment.
220
ONE PURPOSE OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
221
The ideal that does not include effective power is no ideal of theirs. The
Master Christ is represented to them as being led unresistingly to torture and
death by the forces of evil. They admire his self-sacrifice and courage, but
have no slightest trace of desire to grow like him themselves. It is not the ideal
of their hearts, and hence has little power to draw them.
Students of Theosophy know that that picture is a terrible travesty. Christ
was not led unresisting and submissive where the powers of evil chose to take
him. His whole life was war against those powers, his passion a single-
handed combat to the death,—a combat which he won before he died. Prob¬
ably no one but a Master can understand all that is involved in the incarnation
of an Avatar and its portrayal of the life-cycle of the soul, but even a little
knowledge of theosophical principles brings greatly increased light and under¬
standing, making it evident that infinitely more lies beyond, hidden in golden
mist. Let us see what light such theosophical principles as we do know, will
throw on the battle fought and won by the great Western Avatar, nearly two
thousand years ago.
We know that there is a White Lodge and that there is a Black Lodge, and
that they are at war. The battle-grounds are the hearts and minds of men,
to which both sides have access. As has often been pointed out, all battles of
every sort, in outer as in inner warfare, are fought, and won or lost, within the
hearts and wills of those who fight. He who refuses the longest to admit defeat,
wins the fight always. It is also a fact that in inner as in physical things,
action and re action are equal and opposite. Hence, when an attack is re¬
pelled—or a temptation resisted—the attack recoils with equal force on the
attacker. It follows that every temptation conquered, is a positive blow
for good, weakening to that extent the evil of the world at its source.
We know further that spiritual power is given on the condition that it shall
not be used for self. The penalty is the loss of the power. We can see, even
on lower planes, how power perverted to self becomes blunted, weakened and
finally lost. On higher planes, the results must follow much more rapidly and
completely. The Masters have gained and hold all of their great powers in
trust, in accordance with this law. Still another principle, and one that the
modem world sorely needs to learn, is that Masters never compromise with
unrepentant evil. They act on their principles and leave results to the Law.
Tradition says that the members of the Great Lodge were not unanimous in
approving the incarnation of the Western Master at the time chosen, on the
ground that the risk of defeat and resulting loss was too serious, the evil in the
world too powerful. We think of the Master Christ’s victory as a foregone
conclusion, but it was far from being so. His danger was very real, and the
outcome was not determined until that final cry of triumph: “It is finished.
When he incarnated in a physical body, he entered the lists, like a knight
in the days of chivalry—he was himself the source and embodiment of
chivalry—throwing down his gauntlet to the hosts of evil. 1 o take such
a body was in itself to enter the lists, for the body is the battleground, to
which all the forces of evil have access, and against which, in his case, they
ONE PURPOSE OF
THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
HE Theosophical Society has often been described as “a missionary
organization for the conversion of people to their own ideals”. No
greater service can be rendered a man than to reveal to him the true
ideal of his own heart and soul. Once seen, if it be in truth the ideal of his
heart, he cannot but love it, and loving it, will seek to follow and attain it.
The war showed that the world is capable of responding to an ideal that it can
see. Belgium’s King answered the call of honour—delaying thereby the
German armies for a few urgently needed days—and the nation followed
him. In England, after Zeppelins and atrocities in Belgium had made clear
the character of the enemy, four million men volunteered before conscription
became necessary. Thousands of men who in peace had led dull, common¬
place lives, attained to heights of heroism and endurance. The war over,
they seem to have sunk back to the level from which they rose, as if they saw
nothing worthy of their further effort.
What the world needs is an ideal, a vision of something that men can
love; that will call forth all that is best in them,—something that will lift
them from interest in the material to the things of the spirit, from their false
to their true selves. Devotion to a cause, as in the war, to a leader or to
their religion, has done this in the past. The trouble to-day is that men
see no cause worthy of their whole-hearted devotion; personal loyalty to
a leader is out of fashion, and men do not understand their religion. Time
was when whole nations responded to the call for the Crusades with the
answering cry: “Crosses, crosses, give us crosses.” They knew that their
Master had died for them, and leapt forward at the chance to serve Him in
return, to give their lives for him as he had given his life for them.
Men are less simple to-day. They have ceased to believe in a jealous God
who insisted on a victim, however innocent, to appease his wrath at the sins
of men. To the ordinary man, the story of the incarnation is unjust or mean¬
ingless. As presented to him, it insults his conception of Deity. For the
most part, he has ceased to believe in hell, and hence sacrifice to attain sal¬
vation, for himself or for others, seems unnecessary to him. As a result, the
passionate gratitude and devotion of the times of the Crusades are seldom
found. Modern feeling rarely goes beyond admiration for nobility of char¬
acter. As usually pictured, the so-called Christian ideal is an ideal
of meekness, of patient endurance, of indiscriminate and premature forgive¬
ness; but it contains no element of the powers of accomplishment. Men
know, instinctively and rightly, that the world needs men of action. They
give lip-service to Christianity, but their real worship goes to accomplishment.
220
ONE PURPOSE OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
221
The ideal that does not include effective power is no ideal of theirs. The
Master Christ is represented to them as being led unresistingly to torture and
death by the forces of evil. They admire his self-sacrifice and courage, but
have no slightest trace of desire to grow like him themselves. It is not the ideal
of their hearts, and hence has little power to draw them.
Students of Theosophy know that that picture is a terrible travesty. Christ
was not led unresisting and submissive where the powers of evil chose to take
him. His whole life was war against those powers, his passion a single-
handed combat to the death,—a combat which he won before he died. Prob¬
ably no one but a Master can understand all that is involved in the incarnation
of an Avatar and its portrayal of the life-cycle of the soul, but even a little
knowledge of theosophical principles brings greatly increased light and under¬
standing, making it evident that infinitely more lies beyond, hidden in golden
mist. Let us see what light such theosophical principles as we do know, will
throw on the battle fought and won by the great Western Avatar, nearly two
thousand years ago.
We know that there is a White Lodge and that there is a Black Lodge, and
that they are at war. The battle-grounds are the hearts and minds of men,
to which both sides have access. As has often been pointed out, all battles of
every sort, in outer as in inner warfare, are fought, and won or lost, within the
hearts and wills of those who fight. He who refuses the longest to admit defeat,
wins the fight always. It is also a fact that in inner as in physical things,
action and re action are equal and opposite. Hence, when an attack is re¬
pelled—or a temptation resisted—the attack recoils with equal force on the
attacker. It follows that every temptation conquered, is a positive blow
for good, weakening to that extent the evil of the world at its source.
We know further that spiritual power is given on the condition that it shall
not be used for self. The penalty is the loss of the power. We can see, even
on lower planes, how power perverted to self becomes blunted, weakened and
finally lost. On higher planes, the results must follow much more rapidly and
completely. The Masters have gained and hold all of their great powers in
trust, in accordance with this law. Still another principle, and one that the
modern world sorely needs to learn, is that Masters never compromise with
unrepentant evil. They act on their principles and leave results to the Law.
Tradition says that the members of the Great Lodge were not unanimous in
approving the incarnation of the Western Master at the time chosen, on the
ground that the risk of defeat and resulting loss was too serious, the evil in the
world too powerful. We think of the Master Christ’s victory as a foregone
conclusion, but it was far from being so. His danger was very real, and the
outcome was not determined until that final cry of triumph: It is finished.’
When he incarnated in a physical body, he entered the lists, like a knight
in the days of chivalry—he was himself the source and embodiment of
chivalry—throwing down his gauntlet to the hosts of evil. To take such
a body was in itself to enter the lists, for the body is the battleground, to
which all the forces of evil have access, and against which, in his case, they
222
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
were later to hurl their full power. This attack, we may be sure, was not merely
to inflict meaningless suffering. Its aim, in part at least, must have been to
force a great Master to violate spiritual law. If the Black Lodge could succeed
in any particular, the victory to that extent was theirs.
The conditions of the battle and the weapons available to the Black Lodge
would be determined in large measure by the evil of the world; the degree to
which men could be dominated through their vices, on the one hand, and, on
the other, the extent to which they would respond to the Master’s call. An¬
other great Avatar, Buddha, was not crucified outwardly—though outer cruci¬
fixion, terrible as it is, must be only a small part of the crucifixion of the soul
involved in the physical incarnation of a great Master, and in the subsequent
waiting for the return from men of the love and life which he, as Avatar, pours
out upon the world. (“The ingratitude of men is more painful to me than all
the sufferings of my Passion.”)
The great task of a soul on incarnating is to come to consciousness of itself,
of its purpose and its immortality; “to know itself to be,” in the words of
Light on the Path. To do this, it must pierce the darkness made by the sin
and materialism of the world, must “break down the middle wall of partition,”
as St. Paul says, between its temporary dwelling in the body and its true home
in the spiritual world. The greater the wickedness of the world at any given
time, the denser and blacker its atmosphere and hence the greater the difficulty
of the soul in coming to self-consciousness. At times this difficulty must be so
great that only a very high soul has any chance of success. Krishna, speaking
as the Oversoul, says in the Bhagavad Gita, “When there is a withering of the
Law and an uprising of lawlessness on all sides, I manifest Myself for the sal¬
vation of the righteous.” At such times some great soul incarnates and re¬
establishes the connection with the spiritual world. The way once broken and
the light let through, it becomes more possible for others to follow. Men can
grope their way toward a glimmer of light in the darkest night, when, without
it, they might be hopelessly lost.
At the time of the incarnation in Palestine, the materialism of the world
seems to have been at its deepest, and the power of the Black Lodge at its
height. It may be that, had this condition continued, millions of men would
have sunk so low that their redemption would have become impossible.
Sometimes it is necessary to check an advancing enemy at almost any cost.
Once during the Indian mutiny, a force of Sepoy cavalry surprised an English
battery and charged down a narrow road to capture it. To gain the few
precious minutes needed to enable the guns to be brought into action, the
officer commanding the battery leaped on his horse and dashed alone against
the head of the charging column. The force of his impact overthrew the
first few men, blocking for a moment the narrow road and throwing the head
of the column into confusion. Then he was himself ridden down. But he had
gained the time needed to load the guns, and the battery was not taken. That
act, in its dash and utter self-immolation, suggests on its small scale, the
“cavalry charge” aspect of the Master Christ’s incarnation.
ONE PURPOSE OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
223
Or we may picture him as in the scene in Letters to Friends (p. 185), where
the “youngest of the gods,” he who was “of all most faithful,” stands on the
battlements of heaven, pitying the misery on earth, and asking himself if there
be no way to help.
‘“There is a way,’ he said.
“Like light, bursting from the dark rim of a cloud, or like a shooting star,
the youngest of the gods plunged from heaven into the depths of space.
“Far, far below, drawn from the utmost Nadir, there rose a cloud of dark¬
ness to meet that straight diving ray of light. As it rose it took shape, till
Queen Nephthys saw spread out before her the mighty hosts of evil, ranged
rank upon rank of chariots and horsemen, spearmen and bowmen, fire-breath¬
ing dragons and demons of the pit. Rank upon rank, they rose from the
distant pole; yet it seemed that they rose not of their own will, but drawn
forth by the swift coming of the youngest of the gods.
“Midway they met. And now, as when the sun has freed itself from
clouds, its rays spread forth covering all the land, so from the youngest of the
gods went forth his light, engaging all that mighty host of evil in such combat
as the worlds had never seen before. Like rain upon the earth fell the life¬
blood of the god; like brimstone from the pit fell the bodies of his foes; till
naught of all that marshalled host remained, nor light nor darkness reigned.”
Christ’s life on earth was a battle throughout. In that battle, one of the
main objectives of his foes of the Black Lodge must have been to force him to
violate his own code of honour,—one with spiritual law itself. We are not
told the extent to which he knew in advance the details of what was to occur*
or the exact time a given event would happen. Such prevision of the future
is hidden from the eyes of men, and he took many of man’s limitations upon
him. Surely he must often, and at critical times, have had to press forward
in the dark, as we have to do. Guidance is given to us in the form of duties.
“Duty” is only another name for the plan of God for us. When we are
wanted to do something, either for our own growth, or for others, or for the
warfare of the Lodge in the world, outer circumstances are so arranged as to
make what is wanted our every-day duty. No voice speaks from the sky.
We are not told the inner reason why we are to do a given thing, or what the
outcome will be. All that we may know is that something has become our
simple duty. Our path to the true objective of our souls in coming to incar¬
nation lies always through our duties; never apart from them. Did the
Master Christ know in his humanity just what was to happen to him and
when ? Or did he know only that it was his duty to do certain definite things,
and that, if he did them, the temper of the Jews was such as to make his
torture and death certain ?
Take, for example, the final phase of the battle, the last desperate struggle
of the Black Lodge to redeem the day. Let us remember that the Master’s
victory was by no means sure. Was, or was not, his will as a man, in his
humanity, stronger than all the force the powers of evil could bring against
him ? They used all their weapons in that final stage to force him to abandon
224
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
his purpose or to violate the law of his spirit,—the extreme of pain and torture
brought to bear on an exhausted body, ignominy, shame, ridicule from those
he despised, pain to those he loved, ingratitude and desertion from those for
whom he was laying down his life. It is this tremendous, single-handed
conflict, with its heaping of suffering on suffering, which seems so meaningless
to many men; yet perhaps we may get glimpses of some small part of what it
means. We know that an Avatar pours out his life and love and compassion
upon men until the very rocks and trees respond, and the whole earth is made
new. If by blackest ingratitude or severest torture from those he came
to help, his love and compassion could be weakened or made to falter; or if,
by subjecting him to the extreme of agony, the representative of the White
Lodge could be forced to break whatever it may be that, with a Master,
corresponds to the rule that those trusted with spiritual power must never use
it for themselves, the victory then might be with the powers of evil, and the
White Lodge be weakened by the loss of one of the greatest of its warriors.
There was no time during the scourging or the crucifixion when the Master
could not have stopped the pain and ended the battle by asking his Father for
“more than twelve legions of angels,” or by simply willing it so. “Yet for this
cause came I unto this hour.” Every moment of pain endured, of compassion
poured out in spite of the wickedness of men, was a new victory; and he fought
to the end. The scourging is passed over quickly in the Gospels, yet it is
the most terrible of all punishments. Every blow of the scourge was a fierce
effort by his bitter enemies to make him yield. The taunt, “If thou be the
Christ, free thyself and come down from the cross,” was perhaps no idle jibe,
but may well have been the expression of what the Black Lodge was desper¬
ately trying to accomplish. He could have come down, and he would not.
His unconquerable love and compassion for men, and his perfect obedience to
spiritual law, turned every weapon, every attack, back on the forces of evil,
their onslaughts recoiling on themselves with overwhelming force.
Some day, when the world is ready and can understand, the story of the
Passion will be told as it occurred—and as it is to-day. Then the heart of the
world will catch fire at the foot of the Cross, and passionate devotion to the
great Western Master will flame forth once more. Those on his ray, who belong
to him, will see him for what he is, the greatest of warriors, and will recognize
in him the ideal of their own hearts, with nothing lost of what they truly see to¬
day, and all they long for added,—the fountain head of heroism, of chivalry,
of wisdom, effectiveness and power, as well as of love and tenderness and
compassion. In the Great War men showed that they could still give all for
an ideal, dimly seen, blurred and obscured though it was. What might they
not do if they could realize that the deepest, truest ideal of their hearts is
embodied in their Master, and that he lives, and calls them to his warfare.
To understand, requires preparation, and knowledge of spiritual law. To
lay the ground-work of this preparation, and to conserve knowledge of spiritual
law in the world, is one of the tasks of The Theosophical Society.
J. F. B. M.
WAR MEMORIES
XVIII
Post-Armistice Days
HE signing of the armistice changed practically every outer circum¬
stance of life, and after the long years of wartime conditions, the re-
adjustments seemed even more drastic than when we had been shot from
the pre-war state of peace, into the turmoil of July-August-September, 1914.
Until the armistice I had always believed it far too easy to resume old habits,
no matter of what nature they might be; they simply resumed themselves,
sometimes most inconveniently but always more or less automatically, I thought.
Now , I found it dreadfully uphill work to face the idea of doing the old, old things
in the same old, dull, respectable way—regular hours for everything, instead
of doing unexpected every things at almost any hour, day or night: dinner
uneventfully at half-past seven, with a maid in spotless cap and apron, instead
of snatching a meal when you could, served by an improvised orderly in horizon-
blue or in khaki; being prosaically sure that you would have a substantial roof
over your head, instead of enjoying the more spontaneous and satisfactory
feeling that you were glad to have any roof at all; to be obliged to waste good
time planning your new wardrobe, when it had been so simple, all these years,
merely to order a new uniform when you needed it—what an awful fuss and
bore these outworn “manners and customs” seemed now! Yet Paris, with
that serene, silent and most ancient witchcraft of hers, passed gracefully over
the breach, without hesitation and without delay transforming herself almost
overnight. How she did it, Paris herself only knew, but before you had time so
much as to notice it, she had begun to shed her wartime look; the streets were
brilliantly lit again for the first time in more than four danger-darkened years,
the dismal blue lining of the lamp globes was removed as if by magic, the great
arc-lights blazed out again, making Paris more fairylike than ever; the shop
windows were illuminated to their utmost; the mountains of sandbags which
covered the facades of the public buildings and monuments, and even from end
to end of the Rue de Rivoli, began to melt away as snow does under a summer
sun; the narrow strips of paper pasted with the usual care and precision, and
with the characteristic French eye for the beautiful, in intricate, geometrical
designs over many of the large, plate-glass windows, to protect them against
shattering by bomb explosions, vanished from sight, while to our unbounded
pleasure, the great fountains in the Place de la Concorde began to play again,
and, after their long sleep, were throwing their splendid, silvery jets high
into the cool air, splashing joyfully into the wide, round basins below. Perhaps
most unbelievable of all, however, we realized that we no longer had to keep
our blinds down at night—no fear of air raids now! As a matter of fact, it
225
226
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
took me more than two years to get over the habit of thought, as night came on:
“I must close the shutters before I turn on my electric lights”, so indelible
had been the impress of the Defence of the Realm Acts—as ineffaceable as a
Government Seal. So I found that the old peace-time habits had been far
easier to cast off than were the habits of War.
The armistice revelry in Paris continued, of course, for several days; the
German guns—those that were not too heavy to be moved by hand—con¬
tinued to be dragged about town (there were rumours that Clemenceau had
given full consent to this), and the streets continued to be thronged. Then, on
Sunday, November the seventeenth, came Alsace-Lorraine Day, with High
Mass at Notre Dame, which all Paris attended; a great parade down the Champs
Elys6es and the joyous news of th^ official repatriation of the ‘‘lost provinces”,
known of old, and again now spoken of as ‘‘The Nursery of French Generals”—
the homeland of at least two of Napoleon’s Marshals and two of his Generals:
Ney, Kellermann, Rapp, Kldber—news of the triumphal entry into the beloved
fortified towns there, which, for forty-eight years, had been in alien hands.
Yet, despite the splendid and stirring accounts of the ceremonies which took
place in that peculiarly French city, Metz (the very keys of which had never
been surrendered to the Germans, because when they so shamelessly stole it in
1871, those keys—symbol of true ownership—had been rescued by one whose
heart was ablaze with patriotism, and ever since had been preserved in French
hands)—even so, you could not help regretting that well-planned drive, frus¬
trated by the armistice: the drive for which Foch had made all the detailed
arrangements, including a quick advance along both sides of the Moselle, and a
sharp attack which would certainly have taken the old, grey city as a mili¬
tary achievement, instead of as the result of an ill-judged cessation of hostili¬
ties. You felt that even if we had had to wait another fortnight or so, to be
assured that French flags were once more streaming from the topmost pinnacle
of the cathedral, flying triumphantly from the ring of forts crowning the encir¬
cling hills—as we were told they now did—nevertheless we should have been
better satisfied to know that it was because the Germans had been driven out
d, coups de baionnette instead of being allowed to withdraw in safety. However,
we read with misty eyes of the deeply moying and unaffected rejoicings of the
people, as they watched the French troops come marching in, and when, a few
days later, the entry into Strasbourg was made, we in Paris had our share in it
because that night the great statue, in the Place de la Concorde, of the long-
ago lost and now happily-recovered town, stripped of its mourning crepe and
its funerary wreaths, was dramatically draped in a vast French flag which
swept to the very earth, while the most brilliant Bengal-fire lights, blazing
from the gaping mouths of huge enemy trench-mortars drawn in a wide circle
around it, illuminating it from below, transformed it into such dazzling whiteness
that you could hardly look at it. People who were present at that entry into
Strasbourg, said that the scenes which took place there were unforgettable;
the inhabitants were like people long imprisoned in dungeons finding them¬
selves in the sunlight again; women and children of all ages and classes, dressed
WAR MEMORIES
227
in the national costumes and with the cocarde fastened to their huge Alsatian
bows, dancing through the old and narrow streets, often actually impeded the
regular marching of the troops; all of them marched with the troops, singing,
throwing flowers, waving old, torn banners—banners which had belonged to the
happy days before the Franco-Prussian War. We were told that one of the very
first things which the French did when they entered Strasbourg, was to set the
famous great clock at French time again, to set it once more beating in unison
with every other clock in France.
The return of Alsace-Lorraine to the mother-country was everywhere accom¬
panied, over the length and breadth of the land, with the same profound thanks¬
giving, the same undisguised, unaffected transports of joy, and we heard the
most touching accounts of old people who had been young when the terrible
blow of separation fell,—old people who, all those long years, had kept French
flags concealed at home (it was a “crime”, followed by the severest punishment
to possess them), and who now brought them out to wave again in the light of
day; of others who, not having been able to preserve the old, made new ones
out of Second Empire material, the existence of which even the Germans had
not suspected. Everywhere, as the French troops advanced toward the Rhine—
in Metz and Strasbourg, in Colmar and MulhoUse, in Chateau-Salins and
Sarrebourg, in Saverne with its bitter memories of an injustice which became
famous the world over, in Morhange where the French defeat of 1914 was more
than revenged—in every town the French troops were treated with rapturous
outbursts, all in the mother-tongue, by the heart-hungry inhabitants who, for
nearly fifty years; had kept the French language alive in their homes and fam¬
ilies, despite every effort of the Germans to prevent it. The old, hated German
spelling given to the dearly-loved and lost French towns, was altered without
delay; the German signs in the streets disappeared at a stroke; the old German
names for public buildings and hotels changed overnight. In the smallest
wayside villages, in the remotest twilight-haunted valleys, the unfaltering loyalty
to France was made so touchingly, so searchingly evident that it was said many
of the common soldiers, marching with the advancing French Armies toward
the old German frontier, marched with the tears streaming down their bronzed
and furrowed cheeks, so deeply moving was the reception given them. All this
is very ancient history now, but it was indescribably stirring to us at that
time.
Of course, the armistice was soon followed by a series of royal and diplomatic
visits of congratulation—King George, and then King Albert with Queen
Elizabeth, were among the first. But even these ceremonies were relatively
simple and quiet affairs, for Paris was waiting for just one thing—for the great
day when the Armies of France should come marching home, and nothing else
in the way of a celebration really mattered; Paris was not going to dim the
glory of her dear poilus, or their triumphant entry, even for so great and revered
a War-hero as King Albert—and he would have been the first to wish it so.
Besides which, even at this early period, there was already a growing, anxiety¬
breeding realization, rapidly spreading even among those who had appeared
228
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
to be the most optimistic about the armistice, that “defeated Germany” was not
going to live up to her promises. Just how or where this feeling first began,
in a wider sense, I cannot now remember, even if I ever knew, but men on leave
from the Rhine districts brought back stories about things they had seen and
heard there—stories which were not calculated to allay our uneasiness. It
was quite evident that, as Germany had never suffered the horrors of invasion,
as no part of her territory had ever been destroyed or whole populations (old
men, women and young children) deported and pressed into slavery and abject
misery through the years, as life there had never been disorganized (towns
razed so that you could not even distinguish them from the land which sur¬
rounded them, and fertile fields laid bare)—it was quite evident that in a far
shorter time than France was now facing, Germany would be on her feet again;
it was also evident that she herself already knew this. Therefore, with the
most heartbreaking tales daily reaching us from the devastated regions of
France—regions where there was hardly a house left standing, where as yet
there was practically no food or any immediate hope of food; where the fields
which might have been cultivated had been systematically, scientifically made
barren for years to come—it is not surprising that at first incredulity, and
then the utmost indignation was felt in France when we heard it said (even
within a few days after the armistice was signed) that in America, where the food
relief campaign was vigorously being pushed, there was serious discussion and
apparent intention “to feed the starving Germans” who, moreover, were demand¬
ing it as though by right! For four long and bitter years the Germans had been
methodically and with malign purpose, starving millions—women and children
as well as men; now they were eloquently pleading hunger on their own account;
they were demanding that food be sent them without delay. I believe that,
apart from the burning indignation which was felt when the pitiful condition of
the returned French prisoners became generally known, there was nothing, at
least in the later part of the War, which roused public feeling to such a pitch as
did this amazing idea from overseas (the plan to feed the Germans was referred
to there as proof of “impartiality”!), and many of us who were Americans living
in France, particularly those of us who were daily learning more about the
fearful destitution which existed in the devastated regions, were outspoken in
our protests against the injustice of feeding the murderers while the victims were
still dying of hunger. France did not feel “impartial”—why should she? How
could she? Did America imagine that France could feel and act as though
nothing had happened? The Germans had not yet even acknowledged their
guilt, and we felt they could quite well feed themselves out of their superfluity
of land—land which had never been laid waste. Perhaps for many people it
is difficult to realize to-day, when so much has been forgotten, how strong and
deep and unrelenting was our condemnation of the organized atrocities in
Belgium and in France; of the shameless deportations of noncombatants,
especially of the women and young girls; of the unheard of cruelties to the
Allied prisoners of war. But perhaps it is even more difficult to realize to-day,
how, with some of us who were there, and who saw with our own eyes what was
WAR MEMORIES
229
taking place, this condemnation, this burning indignation still remains, and
must remain, unquenchable.
News of the most distressing kind came in from the devastated regions—
stories of unbelievable misery and need. Those civilians who, despite every¬
thing, had remained in or near their old, now ruined homes, were facing con¬
ditions which mortal man could not live through unless immediate help reached
them. Those who were slowly returning, after evacuation, found the con¬
ditions almost as dangerous as before they had left, for, of course, not only were
the fields strewn with still unexploded bombs (which, however, did explode if
inadvertently jarred), but the retreating Germans, true to their fiendish methods,
had left time-fuse bombs in countless semi-demolished houses all over the coun¬
try from which they had been driven out, so that a returning family, thankful
to find even a few tottering walls of what had once been their home, would be
blown out of existence the moment they crossed their shattered threshold.
Even small children, who had escaped the savagery of earlier days, now fell
innocent victims to this later, perhaps more refined and diabolical atrocity,
being killed without a moment’s warning, as they played in the ruins of their
former homes. So it was dreadfully dangerous to return at all, both because of
live shells in the fields, or those hidden in broken chairs or under innocent
enough looking tables in the smashed-in houses; and also because even if these
poor, foot-weary wanderers did return, where was their food coming from—
and with winter setting in, too?
France, of course, was quick to recognize the immense, far-reaching need,
and, almost before the ink of the signatures to the armistice was dry, relief on
an even larger scale than that which had been organized and working from the
beginning (for civilian relief organizations had steadily advanced as the enemy
retreated), was mapped out and set rolling. Close in the contaminated wake of
the retreating Germans, followed the various French Relief Committees, and
although it was poignantly realized that years and years of work, and milliards
in money, could not restore the North to what it had been before the War,
everyone set heartily to work to do whatever he or she could do. It was at this
moment—about two weeks after the armistice—that my Committee asked me
to go up to the Dtpartement du Nord on a quick tour of inspection; to come back
and report and, if it appeared feasible, to return there and open a supply depot
in that devastated region, by means of which the Committee would undertake
to furnish warm clothing, shoes, blankets and other necessities to a given number
of villages. The general area I was to investigate was that part of the country
which lay between Douai and Valenciennes; I was to get details of the varying
needs of towns and villages in the locality, and as, on my return from this first
trip, we knew the French authorities would officially assign us a definite number
of communes, we should thus lose no time in getting started. I had little diffi¬
culty in obtaining my various passes, for not only was my Committee well
known, but the French were, of course, eager to push all relief work, and they
offered those engaged in it every possible facility and assistance. So, toward
the end of November, I started on what proved to be one of the most harrowing
230
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
yet, at the same time, one of the most deeply interesting journeys which I have
ever made. The camionnette furnished me by my Committee was, I believe, a
Ford—though everything, to my uninitiated eye, appeared to be a Ford in
those days—and the driver was a young French girl in the Motor Service Sec¬
tion, who proved to be as eager for the trip as I was. She was very good natured
about the load we had to carry, for it was not only heavy, but cumbersome as
well. It needed good packing to get in all that we had been told we should
find necessary: our petrol for the entire trip; a formidable array of tires, for we
had been informed of the condition of the roads we should have to pass over;
all our food—for even if, as relief workers, we might be offered a meal here and
there, we naturally had no wish to take a single mouthful from those who were
in far more need than we could possibly be. In addition to this we took all we
could squeeze in of clothing for the most destitute, especially for the children—
blankets and condensed milk. For although this was really but a tour of
inspection, we knew that we were going where, as yet, little relief had penetra¬
ted. When we had completed our packing and were at last ready to start, we
looked rather apprehensively at the springs of our poor old Ford—they were as
near flat as they could well be! Nothing daunted, however, we determined to
start, taking whatever chanced, and we left Paris shortly after noon one bright,
late November day.
We had, of course, made many inquiries as to our best route, wishing to make
good time if we could, and feeling somewhat as though we were on an exploring
expedition into an unknown country, so uncertain was the going on almost all
of the roads toward the North; but we could learn little save that we had'better
head straight for Beauvais, and from there go on to Amiens, where we could
probably stop the first night; after that we must shift for ourselves as well as we
could; no one in Paris (no one that we came upon, at least) had any idea what
lay beyond that point.
As far as I can now remember, this first part of our journey was compara¬
tively uneventful, for, in order to avoid difficulties, we kept as far to the west
as we could, thus skirting the high-water mark of the German advance, even
that of 1914. As we passed through Beauvais I was greatly relieved to see
that the beautiful cathedral was apparently unharmed, but as we continued
our way toward Amiens, the wide-rolling country became increasingly seamed
by long, waving, white lines—trenches which stretched away as far into the
distance as we could see; deep, cruel slashes on the face of the earth. We also
came upon many blown-up bridges, and soon gave up counting them. It has
been estimated that the Chemin de Fer du Nord alone lost well over fifteen hun¬
dred, and as for the bridges which spanned any river we came to—all seemed to
have been sacrificed. We reached Amiens long after dark, and finding, as we
might have expected, that every available building which had been left intact
had been “taken over by the military”, my little French driver began to be
worried as to what we were to do next, especially with the car. Being in the
English sector, however, I felt quite at home, and more than equal to taking
any liberties which might prove to be necessary. The streets were thronged
WAR MEMORIES
231
with the familiar British khaki, and everywhere you heard English spoken (not
a little of it unmistakably hailing from that indefinable, but by no means mythical
region which lies within the sound of Bow Bells); so, way-laying a friendly
N.C.O. who chanced to pass just at the right moment for us, I appealed to him
for help. With my usual good luck I had fallen upon a Secret Service man who
knew all the ins and outs of Amiens at that time. It was a lucky thing for us
that we found him, for he assured us that he knew of only one house in the whole
town where he felt we could be even half comfortable or reasonably quiet and
undisturbed, and that house was practically windowless (all the glass having
been shattered), and was riddled with shrapnel holes. However, he took us
under his protection, and left not a stone unturned until he had got us safely
lodged, fed and our car put up for the night. He was up at dawn the next
morning to see us on our way, telling us to take the Albert-Bapaume-Cambrai
road which would be the least impassable, as well as the least destructive to
ouf small car. We wanted, before nightfall, to reach a tiny village somewhat
to the north of Cambrai, where a Paris friend had offered us the use of what
remained of her ch&teau (her two old caretakers and the cur£ being in charge);
there we could make a kind of temporary headquarters with at least a roof over
our heads, and could obtain what was of far more importance—good, local
advice which would be invaluable to me in starting a centre for work.
That second day’s journey was one long, black horror, yet, back of the horror,
perpetually shone the glory. Shortly after leaving Amiens we entered an inde¬
scribably awful desolation—we were crossing the old battle-fields of the Somme—
a desolation which, once seen, was to haunt me for ever after.
It was in the summer and autumn of 1916 that the great Allied offensive,
the First Somme, was fought—fought, as far as Great Britain was concerned,
chiefly by Kitchener’s “New Army”, the result of that superb and instant
response of five million British Empire volunteers to the call of their great
chief. Most of the “Old Contemptibles” had already fallen at Mons and
on the Aisne, at First and Second Ypres, at Neuve Chapelle and Festubert in
the following months, and it was here, in the lovely, smiling, agricultural country
which stretched from Amiens to Bapaume that, between July and November,
a vast portion of the younger generation of Great Britain and her colonies was
wiped out—those hills and valleys of Picardy were to prove the last resting place
of the most gallant, the most single-hearted among her younger sons. The
real object of the Somme offensive was to relieve the terrific pressure at Verdun,
but for two years the Germans had been uninterruptedly busy here, strengthen¬
ing their defences, so that the obstacles which would have to be overcome
before any breach in the enemy lines could be made were well recognized as
almost insuperable. Perhaps it would be safe to say that, since the end of open
warfare in the autumn of 1914, scarcely any offensive on the western front had
been more hazardous or more momentous than this one. It was here, too,
more than at any previous time, that the terrible truth was at last realized—the
truth of what Kitchener had, for so many futile years, been openly and cease¬
lessly declaring: the wicked folly of unpreparedness. I have always found it
232
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
an arresting circumstance that it was less than a month after Kitchener s own
tragic death, that the men of his splendid New Army faced (and how they faced
it!) their first great baptism of fire; that through all the blood and agony of
that long, disheartening struggle, those men who, but two years before, had
known absolutely nothing of military training or of what the life of a soldier
involved, demonstrated the stern metal of which they were made, fully lived
up to the high traditions with which Kitchener himself had inspired them.
The First Somme has always seemed to me one of the highest tributes which
could have been paid him, for, while the military results may have fallen short
of what was hoped, the superb, unflinching valour of those troops, in the midst
of that unprecedented carnage, and under conditions which, up to that time,
had never even existed, would be difficult to surpass.
The Grande Route Nationale which we were now following, and which runs
eastward out of Amiens, leads at first through somewhat level country, and
then, toward Albert, enters a region of low-rolling hills, the ground rising grad¬
ually until it reaches “the ridge”—that famous ridge!—a little beyond Pozi&res,
where it descends again gently toward Bapaume. It was on either side of this
great highway, for some miles to the north and south (to the south where, at
Maricourt, the British lines joined those of the French), that the severest of
the fighting of that summer and autumn took place; and it was straight through
what remained of the country, not only after the first bitter and sanguinary
struggle, but also after the second and third, that we were now passing. From
the first advance of July, 1916, on a front of twenty miles, to the last phase at
Beaumont-Hamel, the following November, that gigantic effort, that fighting
against what proved to be overwhelming odds, resulted in little less than anni¬
hilation for a great part of the British forces; while as for the land itself, what
had once been spoken of as a smiling “garden” became known, at the end of 1916,
as “La Picardie Mutitie", and still later, when Second and Third Somme had
been fought in 1917 and 1918, as “Le Royaume de la Mori
The day was dark and gloomy, which intensified the awfulness of what we saw,
and the farther north we got, the more the horror grew. Before we had reached
Albert, practically all vegetation had disappeared; no grass, no shrubs, no trees;
the face of the earth, as far as the eyes could reach, a vast desolation of mud,
noisome, black mud everywhere, and in this mud, half floating, all that one
could expect or dream of finding on an abandoned battle-field—all the ghastly
relics, the memories of war: gun carriages shot to pieces, with shreds and tatters
of uniforms still hanging to them, caught in the wreckage, and telling of the
men on whom the lightning had flashed, and who, in a moment of time, had
lost even the semblance of men; guns which had foundered in the morass,
dragging living men down with them; floating carcasses of mules and horses;
and out across the rotting waste, above which great, hideous flocks of carrion
birds constantly hovered, as we sped on, mile after mile, were huddled groups of
charred and blackened stumps of trees, lifting shell-splintered, ghostly arms in
silent protest, where, in happier days, shady forests had once grown. It was
in 1916 on the Somme, that tanks were first used, and everywhere we saw their
WAR MEMORIES
233
huge, dark shapes, floundering like great Tertiary monsters, in the slime of a
primeval world; enormous shell-holes made by Cyclopean explosions, wide and
deep like the craters of extinct volcanoes, stretched as far as our eyes could
reach—it was as lonely and awful as the dead face of the moon. And over it
all was the mournful greyness of the wintry day, the bite and sting of the wintry
wind. Often too, as some hillock lifted itself painfully out of the surrounding
quagmire of death and decay, were to be seen those little, solitary graves so
familiar to us all by now, each with a wooden cross, and a name written crudely
upon it, or perhaps the single, eloquent word, “Unknown”, with sometimes a
trench helmet or even a Highlander’s glengarry laid at the foot of the cross.
The mutilation of the surface of the earth, its actual transformation, by the
levelling of hills due to the springing of gigantic mines, and by the obliteration
of valleys, was beyond anything I had ever seen before, and helped me to under¬
stand why the toll of life in that offensive, had been what it was. Of the hun¬
dreds of little villages which had been scattered all over this fertile and pros¬
perous land, only a few shapeless mounds remained to show that clustering
houses, under their sheltering trees, had once been there; some, we knew, actually
lay at the bottom of the measureless, black-water-filled craters into which
also, during night attacks or advance under heavy fog, both men and horses
(whole battalions at a time it has been said) fell and were drowned. It was a
devastation terrible beyond words to describe. Once or twice 1 had the car
stopped and, getting out, walked off a little distance alone: there was the
stillness of death; I missed the sound of the guns! The only normal things
we saw in that forlorn and dreadful waste—something which helped to
keep the balance—were the groups of friendly Tommies, mostly R.E., at
work on the road, or who splashed past us in their solid British lorries, and
to all of whom I called a greeting, their faces lighting up with surprise and
pleasure when they heard what must have seemed to them like a voice from
home.
As we passed through Albert we looked in vain for one unbroken wall to
relieve the monotony of the destruction which had been wrought there; we
found not one. The great cathedral where, until the German advance of 1918,
the famous Virgin and Child still hung so miraculously, was a wreck of a few
crumbling arches and mountains of piled-up stone—aching, gaping spaces
through which the cold November winds were moaning. A little way out of
Albert, at a particularly dreary, ravaged spot, on a bare knoll which raised itself
beside the road, we passed a lonely Calvary—it might have towered on the
bleak heights of Golgotha itself, so utterly abandoned was it; and in the gloom of
that November light, the face of the Crucified One held you in awe, so great was
its appeal; a special atmosphere seemed to emanate from that sad and quiet spot.
Later it was told me, by one who was there during those terrible months of
crisis, that that Calvary was well known to all, and that it had upheld and
fortified many a man who knew, as many a man did know beforehand, that his
last hour was near. We came to La Boisselle, another heap of ruins, and from a
rise of ground I looked back westward, to where, toward Amiens, the friendly
234
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
green of vegetation, and little, shapely houses which were still standing, could
faintly be discerned, and it seemed to me as though I were looking out on
another and a happier world, a world which I had left for ever behind me,
having wandered into a strange, twilight region from which I could not hope
to find an escape. What must that same view have meant to those men of
1916 (because many of them must have stood just there, on that very spot), as
they turned for what they well knew was the last time, to take farewell of the
old, dear and familiar life, before entering the death-filled trenches! Then, on
again we went. A little farther along that melancholy road, we passed through
what had been Pozi&res, and over the famous “ridge”, so bitterly contested,
and then slipped down the incline toward Bapaume, and out beyond the line of
the old battle-fields, out of the worst of the wrack and ruin, out of that over¬
whelming desolation.
Future generations may (perhaps justly) remember the immortal stand on
the Marne; the splendour of the struggle for Verdun and the epic battles in the
deadly Ypres salient, long after the incalculable sacrifice of the First Somme
has been forgotten; but our memory of the thousands upon thousands of the
flower of Great Britain’s New Army—Kitchener’s Army—who fell there on
the chalk uplands of Picardy, or those whose young bodies were hopelessly
crippled and broken there, can never really fade. Somewhere that magnificent
if unsuccessful effort must be for ever graven in the annals of the ages. The
First Somme has been called “the supreme tragedy”, but to many of us it will
for ever remain a supreme glory, and those dear British lads, and those lads
from the far-off colonies who, in that fearful summer of 1916, there met death
so gallantly, helped in a way which, perhaps, they may never even have guessed,
to bring about the final victory of Verdun itself—so inextricably interwoven
are our destinies in war!
In Bapaume we discovered that we had another bad puncture as well as engine
trouble (no wonder, considering the roads we had just been over!), and my
little French chaufeuse , without a moment’s hesitation, heroically disappeared
under the car—at least, most of her did—while I looked about for help, way¬
laying a youthful and amiable one-star subaltern, who chanced, to his misfortune,
to be passing our way. With the usual wartime effrontery, I immediately
commandeered his attention. He was charmingly amenable, and took us to
the nearest repair station, where the car was soon patched up according to the
most approved British Army methods, and we were on the road again. This
road, from Bapaume to Cambrai, was of great interest to me, for it was here, in
November, 1917, that the British, mostly infantry with the aid of many enor¬
mous tanks, had plunged forward in their terrific drive which came so near to
breaking through the Hindenburg Line. Had the Battle of Cambrai been
wholly successful, it would have put an end to trench warfare, then and there.
Yet, even failing in this, the battle was of importance, as it held out a distinct
hope which was, in fact, fulfilled the following spring; it presaged the open
warfare of 1918. The country beyond Bapaume had a far less exterminated
look than that which we had just been passing through; the miles of mud and
WAR MEMORIES
235
slime were being replaced by increasing stretches of grass,—the poor earth
began to take on a more familiar look.
It was night (and pitch black night too) when we reached Cambrai, only to
discover that we had still another puncture; but, emboldened by my past suc¬
cesses, this time I appealed to the Town Major himself (I was coming up in
the world!), who soon got us into shape again, and, with his metaphorical
blessing, started us off once more, explaining, as well as anyone could explain
to anyone else—a greenhorn at that—the confusion of the roads, once we had
left the beaten track; telling us the best course to follow if we wanted, that same
night, to reach the small village toward which we were headed, and where we
knew we were impatiently awaited.
This last lap of our journey was, in a way, the worst we had had as far as
actual roads went, for, on leaving Cambrai, we also had to leave the main
thoroughfare, and head, in the darkness, rather indefinitely north-east. Despite
the fact that we were far behind our pre-arranged schedule time, we were obliged
to crawl along, for, every few yards, shell-holes yawned ahead of us, and these
back roads not being paved, the ruts made by the heavy motor lorries and other
traffic were so deep that we lurched ominously from side to side. It was too
dark for us to see anything to right or to left, and the chumed-up road as we
ploughed through the mud, looked dismal enough. To add to our general dis¬
comfort, perhaps to a general sense of uneasiness, enormous and loathsome
rats kept scurrying across our path, lit up for the moment by our headlights,
their elongated, black shadows magnifying their real size to dreadful propor¬
tions. It was quite late by this time, and these smaller roads were very confus¬
ing. We had long since ceased to meet the friendly Tommies who, throughout
the day, had given us so much help, encouragement and cheer, and we were
beginning to feel terribly lost and strange, two lone women out there in the
night, when suddenly, at a sharp bend in the road, we almost bumped into an
overturned lorry, lying ignominiously in a ditch by the roadside, while only a
few yards away, in the adjoining field, were two of the familiar, khaki-clad
figures, warming themselves beside a cosy-looking camp fire. They were a
welcome sight indeed, to our bewildered eyes, and I called to them gladly. In
an instant they were on their feet, naturally as astonished to hear themselves
addressed in their native English and in a woman’s voice, at that hour of the
night, and in that remote and desolate region, as we ourselves had been to find
them there—at a moment too, when we were beginning to be so much perplexed
and in such great need of help. They came stumbling toward us, over the
rough ground, their honest young faces peering eagerly at us through the dark¬
ness as they reached the side of our car; they had not seen an English-speaking
woman for a long time, and could not believe their eyes or ears. Having ditched
their lorry by mishap that morning, they were waiting for the help which had
been promised them, to get it out on the road again, and we spent a happy few
minutes discussing that never-failing topic of conversation, “Blighty”, and
their homes there, and what they had done before the War, and what they
hoped to do once they were “demobbed”, telling us as much about themselves
236
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
as they could crowd into those few minutes, in turn asking me boyishly and
frankly all about myself—where I had come from and where I was going to, and
why I was there at all. All the little conventional nothings which mar so
much of ordinary life, had dropped away, as I believe is always the case in times
like this—we were just like old friends, reunited. Then, at my request, they
explained the false turning we had taken, putting us on the right track again,
and reluctantly we drew off, leaving them standing there, side by side, until
they were lost in the darkness. I have always remembered that little incident,
though I do not exactly know why, for it was a common enough thing during
the War; but it remains a vivid if fleeting picture to this day:
We finally reached our destination—the beautiful but semi-destroyed ch&teau
lent us by our Paris friend—and though, of course, everyone had long since gone
to bed (we were hours later than we had hoped we should be), we nevertheless
received a warm welcome from the two old caretakers, and the aged curd who was
living there, his own home having been destroyed. The following few days
were busy ones, while I was making my investigations regarding the need for
help in the surrounding cantons; but one case stands out from that grim and
sombre background of misery—one case which alone would have been sufficient
to fix me in my determination to come back again to the devastated North, as
soon as my report was turned in at headquarters in Paris.
It was the evening after our arrival, and we had returned from a full day
in the outlying districts where I had had my first glimpse of the heroic endur¬
ance, the silent suffering of these people who had lived through four long years
of the German occupation—suffering which had left its mark on every face. It
could not have been much more than nine o’clock, but the small household had
already settled for the night. Everyone kept early hours in this part of the
world, chiefly to save light and heat. Even my young French driver had fallen
into a deep sleep, tired out with her exertions, for it was no easy task day after
day to guide the car over the tom-up roads. As I sat there, reading by the
light of a single, flickering candle which I had brought with me for the purpose,
the absolute quiet within was only broken by the tempestuous winds without—
winds which shrilled eerily around the broken corners of the old building, making
a heavy shutter, partly loosened from its hinges by some well-aimed shot, bang
suddenly to, and then bang again with a disturbing, slow, broken rhythm. The
splendid great trees out in the park, groaned and swayed in the heavy gusts,
and an ice-cold draught swept suddenly across the room, finding its way through
a great shell-hole in the wall—a hole which was too wide and gaping to be securely
closed.
Suddenly I was startled by a sharp, new sound—a loud, insistent knocking
on some downstairs door. A pause, and again that loud knocking, even more
pressing this time. Then I heard someone stirring in an adjoining room, and
footsteps going quietly down the stairs; bolts pulled back and a heavy door
opening somewhere below. I went out into the hall, my candle almost extin¬
guished by the strong current of air which was rushing along the corridor, and I
waited there to learn what the matter was. Up the stairs I heard feet slowly
WAR MEMORIES
237
climbing, and one of the old caretakers appeared with a troubled face, telling
me that a man had come, and was asking for “the relief ladies”—he wanted
their help for a neighbour’s child who was dying. He had walked many miles
across the sodden fields, having, in some way unknown to me, heard of our
arrival (the rapidity with which the news of relief travelled at this time, showed
only too well the desperate need), and he begged us to return with him to his
village; he would not go away, he said, until the caretaker had promised to tell
us that he was there, and the reason of his coming. I went back into the room
I had just left, and roused my poor, exhausted driver, knowing well she would
never forgive me if I did not call her. While she was getting into her warm
things, I went downstairs to gather what information I could from the man who
had come so far to find us, and then, collecting some of the clothing and blankets
which we had brought in our car, condensed milk, a “Tommy cooker” and
whatever else I could find, with the man as guide, we started. A few dark and
dismal miles brought us to a ruined village where but a handful of wrecked
houses was left—I could distinguish their poor, misshapen forms even in the
blackness of that night—and we drew up at the broken door of one of them. As
we entered, I heard a little weary, feeble cry, but I could see absolutely nothing
in the darkness of that forlorn interior, so, shading the dim light of a small
electric torch which I had brought with me, I looked about. A woman, dressed
in some dull, threadbare material, was kneeling beside a disordered pile of straw,
on which lay a delirious child, tossing feverishly under a rag of covering—part
of a khaki overcoat, probably taken from some dead British soldier, or dis¬
carded on an old battle-field—her little, burning, restless hands plucking at the
few discoloured buttons of the coat, in a kind of wild distress. The woman’s
attitude was one of absolute despair, and I have never forgotten it. She knew
there was nothing she could do as she knelt there on the cold flagstones—nothing
except watch the ebbing life of her child. She was evidently quite destitute;
there was no heat in that shattered room, with its shell-splintered walls, where
the icy winds drifted in; there was no light, save that of my own electric torch;
there was not a crumb of food anywhere to be seen—there was only that heart¬
broken, lonely, ragged mother bending over her dying baby. When she heard
us enter, she lifted tearless, unseeing eyes in which I instantly read that we
had come too late as, indeed, in a very few minutes we knew for ourselves.
It had been nothing less than a case of out-and-out starvation; exhaustion fro m
lack of food, and then the inevitable consequences—something I was to meet
with, over and over again.
The thought of that one woman was with me perpetually during the following
days before I started back to Paris, for perhaps even more than the child, was
she herself, in her abandoned sorrow, unforgettable; in her inarticulate anguish,
her desolation, it was she, I think, more than anyone else I saw at that time,
who made me feel that I must not and could not rest one unnecessary hour until
I had returned again to the North, and to the work of which this stricken area
was in such crying need. Volunteer.
{To be concluded)
236
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
as they could crowd into those few minutes, in turn asking me boyishly and
frankly all about myself—where I had come from and where I was going to, and
why I was there at all. All the little conventional nothings which mar so
much of ordinary life, had dropped away, as I believe is always the case in times
like this—we were just like old friends, reunited. Then, at my request, they
explained the false turning we had taken, putting us on the right track again,
and reluctantly we drew off, leaving them standing there, side by side, until
they were lost in the darkness. I have always remembered that little incident,
though I do not exactly know why, for it was a common enough thing during
the War; but it remains a vivid if fleeting picture to this day:
We finally reached our destination—the beautiful but semi-destroyed chateau
lent us by our Paris friend—and though, of course, everyone had long since gone
to bed (we were hours later than we had hoped we should be), we nevertheless
received a warm welcome from the two old caretakers, and the aged cur£ who was
living there, his own home having been destroyed. The following few days
were busy ones, while I was making my investigations regarding the need for
help in the surrounding cantons; but one case stands out from that grim and
sombre background of misery—one case which alone would have been sufficient
to fix me in my determination to come back again to the devastated North, as
soon as my report was turned in at headquarters in Paris.
It was the evening after our arrival, and we had returned from a full day
in the outlying districts where I had had my first glimpse of the heroic endur¬
ance, the silent suffering of these people who had lived through four long years
of the German occupation—suffering which had left its mark on every face. It
could not have been much more than nine o’clock, but the small household had
already settled for the night. Everyone kept early hours in this part of the
world, chiefly to save light and heat. Even my young French driver had fallen
into a deep sleep, tired out with her exertions, for it was no easy task day after
day to guide the car over the tom-up roads. As I sat there, reading by the
light of a single, flickering candle which I had brought with me for the purpose,
the absolute quiet within was only broken by the tempestuous winds without—
winds which shrilled eerily around the broken comers of the old building, making
a heavy shutter, partly loosened from its hinges by some well-aimed shot, bang
suddenly to, and then bang again with a disturbing, slow, broken rhythm. The
splendid great trees out in the park, groaned and swayed in the heavy gusts,
and an ice-cold draught swept suddenly across the room, finding its way through
a great shell-hole in the wall—a hole which was too wide and gaping to be securely
closed.
Suddenly I was startled by a sharp, new sound—a loud, insistent knocking
on some downstairs door. A pause, and again that loud knocking, even more
pressing this time. Then I heard someone stirring in an adjoining room, and
footsteps going quietly down the stairs; bolts pulled back and a heavy door
opening somewhere below. I went out into the hall, my candle almost extin¬
guished by the strong current of air which was rushing along the corridor, and I
waited there to learn what the matter was. Up the stairs I heard feet slowly
WAR MEMORIES
237
climbing, and one of the old caretakers appeared with a troubled face, telling
me that a man had come, and was asking for “the relief ladies”—he wanted
their help for a neighbour’s child who was dying. He had walked many miles
across the sodden fields, having, in some way unknown to me, heard of our
arrival (the rapidity with which the news of relief travelled at this time, showed
only too well the desperate need), and he begged us to return with him to his
village; he would not go away, he said, until the caretaker had promised to tell
us that he was there, and the reason of his coming. I went back into the room
I had just left, and roused my poor, exhausted driver, knowing well she would
never forgive me if I did not call her. While she was getting into her warm
things, I went downstairs to gather what information I could from the man who
had come so far to find us, and then, collecting some of the clothing and blankets
which we had brought in our car, condensed milk, a “Tommy cooker” and
whatever else I could find, with the man as guide, we started. A few dark and
dismal miles brought us to a ruined village where but a handful of wrecked
houses was left—I could distinguish their poor, misshapen forms even in the
blackness of that night—and we drew up at the broken door of one of them. As
we entered, I heard a little weary, feeble cry, but I could see absolutely nothing
in the darkness of that forlorn interior, so, shading the dim light of a small
electric torch which I had brought with me, I looked about. A woman, dressed
in some dull, threadbare material, was kneeling beside a disordered pile of straw,
on which lay a delirious child, tossing feverishly under a rag of covering—part
of a khaki overcoat, probably taken from some dead British soldier, or dis¬
carded on an old battle-field—her little, burning, restless hands plucking at the
few discoloured buttons of the coat, in a kind of wild distress. The woman’s
attitude was one of absolute despair, and I have never forgotten it. She knew
there was nothing she could do as she knelt there on the cold flagstones—nothing
except watch the ebbing life of her child. She was evidently quite destitute;
there was no heat in that shattered room, with its shell-splintered walls, where
the icy winds drifted in; there was no light, save that of my own electric torch;
there was not a crumb of food anywhere to be seen—there was only that heart¬
broken, lonely, ragged mother bending over her dying baby. When she heard
us enter, she lifted tearless, unseeing eyes in which I instantly read that we
had come too late as, indeed, in a very few minutes we knew for ourselves.
It had been nothing less than a case of out-and-out starvation; exhaustion fro m
lack of food, and then the inevitable consequences—something I was to meet
with, over and over again.
The thought of that one woman was with me perpetually during the following
days before I started back to Paris, for perhaps even more than the child, was
she herself, in her abandoned sorrow, unforgettable; in her inarticulate anguish,
her desolation, it was she, I think, more than anyone else I saw at that time,
who made me feel that I must not and could not rest one unnecessary hour until
I had returned again to the North, and to the work of which this stricken area
was in such crying need. Volunteer.
(To be concluded)
THE MYTHS OF PLATO
I T is risky to recommend books to people. The trouble is I have discovered
Plato in my old age and am inclined to be rather noisy about it,—noisy,
but not bold, not even venturing to lift the eyes to that scholarly minority
among my friends who know all about Plato, but speaking only to those who,
like myself, have been taught by wrong methods, or intimidated by big names,
or bewildered by the dissensions of experts, and then left high and dry in a no
man’s land of thought. Queer beings that we are, we plume ourselves on queer
things. It is quite usual to hear people boasting of no ear for sound, no eye for
colour, no respect for the ocean, as though these drawbacks were distinctions,
to be carried like panaches; so a lifelong ignorance of Plato is nothing to be set up
about, even should egotism take that crazy twist. Speaking for myself, he was
badly introduced in school days,—we were left blind to the charm and the beauty
and the fun, we choked over the dialectics, dismissed Socrates as rather an old
dear but lamentably plain, and only vaguely glimpsed that his display of jiu
jitsu on young Greeks was quite a performance. Then we left school, “finished”,
and forgot all about it. Years later it was borne in upon me that many writers,
indeed all philosophical religious writers, seemed to have to refer to Plato every
so often, and I began to wonder what I had missed at sixteen. The hour had
struck for Karma to give one of those educational shoves. The next step in a
dunce’s progress was the discovery that Plato was an initiate, and the next a
determined search of The Secret Doctrine. That discovery was a blessed incen¬
tive, for with all deference to the awesome language they use, the stock philoso¬
phers are distinctly not initiates. Now a start was made, seeking I should find,
and Karma had a book ready for me. With subtle wisdom, and for purposes of
infuriation, it was the wrong book, the very book a well-meaning, pedagogical
sort of teacher would veto as too upsetting for an ignoramus—a suave, adroit,
witty, well-bred, misleading book, the clever shallows of a brilliant essayist
who had rushed into a temple with his boots on, and greeted the unseen with a
sneer. It did its appointed task of rousing antagonism and stubborn protest.
Here were the facts—Plato was an Initiate—a member therefore of the White
Lodge—a philosopher therefore to whom later philosophers, skating on one skate
like small boys down the alley, could go to find the other—a thinker with whom
the world agrees or quarrels, but who, deriving from the Ancient Wisdom, must
be reckoned with by the student of that Wisdom.
My soul and my body! but these belated struggles toward an education are
wearisome. The dialectical method, as of old, is still obnoxious to the lazy
mind, and the droning boredom of dead afternoons comes echoing back.
Once more, I said, is there anything beautiful?
Yes.
238
THE MYTHS OF PLATO
239
To which the only opposite is the ugly ?
There is no other.
And is there anything good?
There is.
To which the only opposite is evil?
There is no other.
Then every opposite has one opposite and no more ?
He assented—and on, and on, and on.
And then the books about him and about. There was no time to go climbing
all over Plato on step ladders. My kingdom for a book, and a book by a lover.
It passes belief how these writers fuss and squabble. For example, in The
Platonic Tradition in English Religious Thought , Dean Inge, in his fine, sane way,
says that “Platonism is essentially a philosophy of values—the famous Ideas
are values—not unrealized ideals, but facts understood in their ultimate signifi¬
cance”. Now what is there to question about that? Positively nothing. But
along comes Santayana, with page after page (so exquisitely written that they
cannot be skipped, bad cess to him!) fussing about the precise meaning in this
connection of the word “values”, and gets a body all mixed up again. Ignorance,
conscious of hunger, cannot be bothered with games of metaphysical spillikins
or with the pros and cons of the academical-minded. My kingdom for a book—
another book! Then destiny stood smiling—a friend, the servant of destiny,
said, “What you want is a book called The Myths of Plato ”, and put it in my
hand. It was the right book at last, a lover’s book, and the exotericists ceased
from troubling, for “beyond these voices there is peace”.
A brief word is called for here as to just what purpose this book is meant
to serve. It shall be spoken by Professor Stewart himself:—
That Myth is an organic part of the Platonic Drama, not an
added ornament, is a point about which the experienced reader of
Plato can have no doubt. He feels, when the brisk debate is
silenced for a while, and Socrates or another great interlocutor
opens his mouth in Myth, that the movement of the Philosophic
Drama is not arrested, but is being sustained, at a crisis, on another
plane. The Myth bursts in upon the Dialogue with a revelation of
something new and strange; the narrow, matter-of-fact, workaday
experience, which the argumentative conversation puts in evidence,
is suddenly flooded, as it were, and transfused by the inrush of a
vast experience, as from another world—“Put off thy shoes from
thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground”. . . .
Each Myth is a unique work of art, and must be dealt with individ¬
ually in its own context. ... It is good that a man should be made
to feel in his heart how small a part of him his head is. Herein
chiefly lies the present value of Myth (or of its equivalent, Poetry,
Music, or whatever else) for civilized man.
So the charm of these Myths is that of poetry; to arouse, as Dante, that other
great maker of Myth, arouses it—“Transcendental Feeling”, to regulate it and
to satisfy it. Dr. Stewart argues that the Categories of the Understanding are
240
THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
one thing, and the Transcendental Ideas are another; that in the mind of Plato
they are mutually implicit, but that, in the Myths, he lifts us to a region where
we are made to feel “the futility of rationalism, a region where Hope is confirmed
by the ‘vision splendid’.”
This method of approach to the truths of life is distinctly obnoxious to certain
types of mind; they complain that Socrates has become unhinged, they want his
“demon” psycho-analyzed. A classical instance of this shortage of under¬
standing is the charge brought against Plato by Kant, in the Critique of Pure
Reason:
The light dove, in free flight cleaving the air and feeling its resis¬
tance, might imagine that in airless space she would fare better.
Even so Plato left the world of sense, because it sets so narrow
limits to the understanding, and ventured beyond, on the wings of
the Ideas, into the empty space of the pure understanding. He did
not see that, with all his effort, he made no way.
It is waste of time to argue with those who hate mysticism, who look askance
on “esoteric jargon”, and smile at the idea of Initiates. To that large and useful
class, with heads like four nails and both feet on the ground, we would say with
all friendly goodwill, “stay there and don’t irritate yourselves with Myths—
Plato’s or another’s.” These things are for the others, (and surely the littlest
theosophist is numbered among them) who prefer wings and intend to use them,
intermittently and feebly now—but wait!
It was my avowed intention, when beginning this article, not to smarten
it up with little tags and ends of Greek scrip, not to enrich it with long words
like eschatological and etiological and suchlike, and above all not to start
talking about any particular Myth—for are not these all written in The Book?
I did not know how hard it would be to refrain, for Greek is lovely and the Myths
endearing. How much of the Ancient Wisdom dare we read into them? What
is the prevailing obsession of the mind behind them—the thinker, poet, knower,
and impassioned lover of the race? It seems to me to be the kamic struggle,
the unending contest of the Desire of the World with the world’s desire. In
an effort to pierce the fog of human thought, the Myths unfold how it was in the
beginning, how it is now, and how it ever shall be.
How often have we wailed, or heard each other wail, “In what way can we
best get rid of Kama?” How often have we heard the patient answer, “Never
try,—foster, train, transmute, it is your most precious possession.” In the
Symposium Myth, the Lady Diotima, treading with agile, cautious steps along
the edge of mystery, speaks of the soul’s ascent through the passing shows of
Beauty up to the Eternal Beauty. “ ’Tis then, dear Socrates, said the Woman of
Mantinea, that life is worth living, and then only, when a man cometh to behold
Beauty Itself. Then he hath become beloved of God and is himself immortal.”
There are many ways in which to say it, and our Lady Diotima knows them
all—“Love is the power that moves the world, the only power that moves the
spiritual world.”
L. S.
f
MATERIAL WEALTH AND
CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
A horse is no wealth to us if we cannot ride , nor a picture if we cannot see , nor
can a noble thing be wealth , except to a noble person .— Ruskin .
W HEN St. Paul wrote to his lay-chela, Timothy, that “the love of money
is the root of all evil”, he probably meant just what he said; and,
furthermore, knew what he was talking about—living, as he did, a
Jew in a commercial age corrupted by wealth and plenty. Moreover, we have it
on the high prophetic authority of Isaiah that mankind shall be redeemed
without money and without price”—a statement of Celestial Economics in
obvious contrast with the way the world sets about its philanthropic saving
of anybody—be he War Veteran or mere unemployed. The antithesis between
love of money and complete independence of it, is a commonplace; and, gen¬
erally speaking, the idea is still not unfamiliar in religious circles, however much
disregarded. Redemption—the Kingdom of Heaven—cannot be bought with
money, but with “the blood of the heart” alone,—“thy money perish with
thee”. Since, therefore, this era of special “enlightenment” in which we now
live, has been heralded as one pre-eminently commercial and economic; since
the “economic virtues” are extolled by teachers and publicists, endorsed by the
clergy, and applied by statesmen to the solution of the world’s political prob¬
lems; and since the root-principle of all economic theory is the enhancement of
material wealth and well-being,—the need for clear thinking, and vigorous,
disciplined action on the part of students of Theosophy is obvious. How many
individuals has one met, inside as well as outside Ihe Theosophical Society,
who have no wish for more money or a larger income? Our outlook as children
of the age is bound to be coloured; our personal Karmic inheritance is almost
certain to be tainted; our working ideals as well as our practice may well need,
not merely to be bettered, but revolutionized. The old-fashioned theory of
release from this universal problem of God versus Mammon—that of simply
dying, after doing one’s blundering best, and going with any luck to a moneyless
heaven—is no longer open to most members of the Society, for they realize that
ultimately the lessons of life cannot be side-stepped; every one of them has to
be learned, and all problems solved by each in turn. Membership in the Lodge,
not heaven (Devachan), is our destiny, for Devachan is but an interlude. More¬
over, the next Lodge Messenger will have enough to do, without having to
straighten us out about money matters.
Few people seem to appreciate the extent to which the traditional Christian
and therefore Western European—attitude towards money and commercial
undertakings has changed, due, historically speaking, to what is known as the
241
242
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Reformation. What may be called the true Christian ideal of money is almost
unheard of, or unknown or disregarded, to-day. It survives in the ideals of a
few of the old-fashioned aristocrats, who, while still maintaining their code
to their own pecuniary disadvantage, are by now probably unaware that it was
fashioned out of purely religious principles, which have existed and been taught
since the dawn of Christianity. The change was decidedly for the worse, not
for the better; it was a typical Kali Yug lowering of ideals, as unmistakable as
the accompanying decline in art and architecture. “When man became
wealthy”, writes Mr. F. R. Webber in Church Symbolism (1927, p. 18), “and
even before the wheels of the factory system had begun to whirr, an artistic
decline set in. Read Mr. R. H. Tawney’s Religion and the Rise of Capitalism ,
and escape that conclusion if you can.” This reference led to the reading of
Professor Tawney’s book, and it would seem that such a conclusion cannot be
escaped. The volume is a study of the highest interest, demonstrating, with a
wealth of facts and unmistakable cogency of argument, that the rise of capital¬
istic enterprise, with its concomitant attitude towards both money and religion,
was a direct consequence of the deliberate and prolonged disregard, by church¬
men, of the early Christian ideal, leading to a divorce between religion and busi¬
ness affairs, and, by reaction, to the wide-spread debasement, not only of ordinary
practice, but precisely of the ideals of business ethics. The ethics of organized
religious business seems supinely to have followed suit. May not the time
have come when the Theosophical leaven will begin to restore these ideals in
both domains? Professor Tawney’s book provides a new incentive to this end;
it was published in 1926, and the author has been a Fellow of Balliol College,
Oxford, and is now a Professor of Economic History in the University of London.
Before, however, attempting to survey in part, and perhaps interpret, Chris¬
tian thought on the general subject of the “economic” use of money, it might be
well to remind ourselves of what our own Movement has contributed directly,
during the past fifty years, to elucidate the principles involved. Such principles,
being the principles of the Lodge, are absolute, and inherently right in them¬
selves. They foreshadow the actual practice of men of future ages and races.
It will be easier, with this in mind, to measure the approximation of the exoteric
Christian ideal, and to see more clearly in what directions effective future
effort lies. Those who believe that the Lodge is preparing to send another Mes¬
senger in the near future; those who believe with Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell, as
expressed in his inspiring article, “The Purpose of Chivalric Codes” (Quarterly,
January, 1931), that: “As a man’s code is, so is he”, and that: “Obviously it
follows that the way to grow, and the only way, is constantly to raise the level
of the code by which one lives”,—will wish first to understand, and then to
bring their lives into conformity with, the Code of the Lodge in all financial
matters, so as to meet the next Messenger as nearly as possible at that point,
on prepared ground. It is obvious that the way properly to regard and admin¬
ister finances concerns not merely every ch£la, but every would-be servant of
the Lodge in any capacity, however humble; and how far apart the Code of the
Lodge is from that of the world, would hardly seem to need characterization.
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
243
Yet we do need reminders of just this antithesis, because we have grown accus¬
tomed to what seems so overwhelmingly inevitable in conditions about us, and
have all adopted more or less of a compromise even with our own present ideals.
It has become a characteristic of the Western mind to agree to the beauty and
desirability of an ideal, and then to disregard it almost completely in action,
a fact which the Maha Chohan himself called to our attention in his letter of
1881. It is not until confronted with a pressing personal problem that most
men give heed to the implications of many of their ordinary acts. Ch£laship
may be defined in terms of a growing self-consciousness, and of the ability to
become self-moving, to seize the initiative away from the Karma of one’s own
past and that of one’s race and country, and so to “stand alone” on the right-
hand side. For a thousand years the Christian Church itself has, while pre¬
serving the ideal, at the same time deliberately acted contrarily to it. An
incident told of Pope Innocent IV is unfortunately typical, and explains why
lay-ideals have since fallen so low. The papal office, some claim, has always
represented the great Western Master visibly on earth. Innocent IV has been
characterized admiringly as “a consummate man of business, a believer, even
to excess, in Realpolitik , and one of the ablest statesmen of his day”. There
was, perhaps on that account, little of “innocence” or other-worldliness about
him. He is described as having stood with Thomas Aquinas on a balcony of
the great Lateran Palace in Rome, watching a guarded caravan of mules, heavily
laden with treasure, safely entering the Papal gates. Perhaps noting the expres¬
sion on St. Thomas’ face, he exclaimed, laughing: “The day is far past when the
successors of Peter could say: ‘Silver and gold have I none’.” “Yes,” replied
the Angelic Doctor, “and equally so their ability to say to the lame and halt
what followed: ‘Rise up and walk’.” Even such a Pope must have glimpsed
then, if only for a moment, the direct relation between a cause and its effect.
If such things pertain to Kali Yuga, must not the new Race be launched with
better ideals and a higher common level of practice? Spiritual wickedness in
high places cannot be permitted to hold the citadel of religion when the new
“Golden Age” is inaugurated. Fortunately, as preparer for that great event,
The Theosophical Society knows where to turn for the ideal, and also for the
guidance to re-establish it on earth.
A fact which must give any serious member of the Society food for thought, is
that Madame Blavatsky, the accredited Lodge Messenger of her century, had to
earn her own living throughout her years of service, supporting herself by writing
articles for the Russian papers, etc., while donating most of the proceeds of her
books to the Work. Furthermore, she frequently rejected flattering financial
offers in order to devote all the time possible to her theosophic writings. Recent
letters of Mr. Judge in the Quarterly show how little money was available
in his time for the Work, and how carefully he calculated the expenditure of
every dollar. Certainly in the case of Madame Blavatsky, her poverty did not
prevent her from appealing for and getting help on at least one occasion, nar¬
rated by Dr. Keightley, striking because of its very simplicity, when a five pound
note to be used for an urgent charity was materialized through occult channels
244
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
at her request. H.P.B. at the time explained that “under certain circum¬
stances of merit she had the right to call on certain funds and on certain centres
in charge of her occult friends for such aid to others” (Quarterly, VIII, Oct.,
1910; p. 120). But apparently cMlas could never assume that such money
would be forthcoming for their own use. It has been said that since money is of
the earth earthy, it is peculiarly the instrument of the Black Lodge. The
implications of this, and the need for strict rules, therefore, are manifest. A
ch£la in the world, we are told, is expected to be able to earn his own living and
fulfil pecuniary family obligations; in other words, to be master of his own
environment and in no sense the inferior of, or dependent upon, worldly men,
however capable.
A moment’s thought will show how in important essentials this whole approach
and mode of life is superior to that existing, not, of course, in Wall Street, but
throughout the organized churches to-day, Protestant and Catholic alike.
St. Francis of Assisi, whose spirit and effort were set against the worldly attitude
towards money, was not wise enough to provide that monks must have it in
them to earn their own living, and that his Order should refuse endowments.
Laziness became an outstanding Franciscan fault. The churches one and all
are notoriously acquisitive, as is even the Franciscan Order as a whole to-day;
and the Roman Church is probably the richest single organization in the Western
world. Ch£las must be completely detached from money, not as the negative
result of total abstinence (which is, as far as “practical”, the basis of exoteric
religious practice), but by means of the harder and higher discipline of its right
use—to be “in the world but not of it” in literal fact. No man can be a real or
dependable soldier until he has learned to handle with the indifference of com¬
plete mastery the most dangerous explosives, and weapons which, improperly
used, would deal death to his own comrades as readily as to the enemy.
There can hardly be any need to discuss the obvious fact, therefore, that a
right attitude towards money is essential, and an attitude not limited to common
honesty, but one of rigorous discipline and detachment. We live, however, in a
“commercial age”, an age in which the popular demand is not even that what¬
ever gods may be should prosper business, but that all religion, with its religious
principles and ideals, must keep “hands off” business. It should be needless to
say, however, that a Lodge Messenger can hardly be expected to conform to
worldly requirements, or to fit his ideas into modem economic theories. Many
people know that the current attitude of business towards religion is not that of
the Middle Ages; and the most frequent explanation of the backwardness,
relative poverty, and economic ignorance of the Middle Ages is precisely that
“theology”, enforced by ecclesiastical courts, anathemas, and a subservient or
coerced secular power, dictated the canons of commercialism. But what those
religious principles and ideals, which endured for more than a thousand years,
really were, is forgotten to-day. Forgotten, also, is the fact that behind the
technical formulations of theology lay a spirit, upon which the Church Fathers
and Mediaeval theologians drew, or into which they entered,—for a Thomas
Aquinas literally wrote on his knees. It is highly instructive to appreciate
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
245
this traditional ideal, and to study the course of events and of actions which
led to so complete a volte-face —and to the virtual loss, for all practical purposes,
of a body of ideals which approximated far more nearly that of the Lodge than
anything now held. The transition cannot be dealt with here; but a brief
review of the Mediaeval Code will be attempted, together with some indication
of the contrast with modem points of view. It should without doubt be easier
to reclaim or to revive the dynamic ideals of our own Western religion, than to
adopt a new code which might appear to be alien. Moreover, the Western
Master’s method seems to be, not to destroy but to fulfil, the old dispensations.
We might also surmise that most of us must have lived during the Middle Ages;
so the foundations of a truly “Christian” ideal may already have been laid in
our characters, and the fact be that once we held worthier ideals of money than
those which we may now have adopted because universally current to-day.
Throughout the Middle Ages the Church was a kind of state, superimposed
upon, or interpenetrating, the kingdoms, feudal estates, and peoples of Europe.
No one conceived of a society which “treated religion as a thing privately vital
but publicly indifferent” (Tawney, Religion and the Rise of Capitalism , p. 6);
on the contrary, religious sanctions for every activity of life, and not “natural”
or “economic” or “rational” motives, were universally admitted, at least in
theory, to be essential. Human life and progress had no meaning unless con¬
ceived in religious terms. Progress meant an advance towards the realization
of the Kingdom of Heaven, not the stabilizing or equitable distribution of wealth,
and the multiplication of contrivances to reduce manual labour, provide amuse¬
ment, and lighten the burdens of life. Church and King and Emperor, knights
and military leaders and scholars, one and all held “supernatural commis¬
sions”,—a last echo of the days of Adept Kings, and colleges or schools of an
initiated Priesthood. No man was popularly considered really to be King
until properly consecrated—as witness Charles VII and the mission of Jeanne
d’Arc—for even in the XVth century the instinct of the people was still sound,
and the Church taught traditionally what it no longer understood,—though
“the light eternal” of a great mystic theologian like Siger de Brabant could
declare that after consecration the King carried “the living image of God within
him.” 1 The outer, visible estate and power of the Church merely reflected the
extent to which the mind and thought of Europe were saturated with Christiark
conceptions, however exoteric, which were focussed in the one common mind
of the Church—its teachings, its practices, its ideals. To-day the divorce is
so complete between the different and differing religions, and all the rest of
life—family, business, political, and even military—that it is hard to realize
the extent of this earlier single religious interpenetration and influence. The
final “end”, or object of every man, as ostensibly of institutions, was to achieve
salvation, and to be assured of heaven in the next world. This world was
therefore still the God-given means to an other-worldly end,—not yet an end in
1 Quoted by Louis Madclin in Jeanne d’Arc, by Marshal Foch and others; Paris, 1929, p. 69; cf. Dante's Paradiso,
x. 133-8, for the characterization of Siger.
246
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
itself, as it has become to-day. Men, it is true, did not by any means live up
to their code; but the code itself had maintained its level, and was rooted and
grounded in religious principle. It is precisely the loss of this code that marks
the decline of to-day. Not until the deliberate and prolonged corruption of the
Church’s hierarchy, from the top down, had spread its evil influence broadcast,
was there any serious questioning of the ideal itself. “A cynical unscrupulous¬
ness in high places is not incompatible with a general belief in the validity of
moral standards which are contradicted by it”, writes Professor Tawney (p. 9);
but though this can seem true for a while, events have nevertheless proved that
what started as despairing criticism of the Church’s iniquities gave place at
length to open revolt, schism, and defiance. For this, the Church was primar¬
ily responsible. With revolt came the loss of much that was good, and the per¬
version of a righteous teaching which, while being proclaimed and enforced on
the laity, had been belied in act by ecclesiastics. It is unfortunately true that
the attainment of intelligence and power has tended to produce more “blackies”
than saints, and the ofliciaj Christian Church became the antithesis of
Christianity.
The change from higher to lower ideals, which began with the debasement of
ecclesiastical conduct, found its first outer expression in the “emancipation”
of the secular state from religion. With the best of motives, rulers could no
longer in conscience obey Popes and archbishops,—while the best of motives
were as scarce amongst worldly rulers then as now. A separation became
inevitable; and Machiavelli’s famous formulation of the new ideas in the first
quarter of the sixteenth century was a direct outcome of ecclesiastical mis¬
demeanours. Moreover, at the same time that the new and secularized philos¬
ophy of government and human behaviour was being worked out, the knowledge
of the great pagan classical achievements before Christianity was recovered,
which reinforced the secular attitude and, because of their fruits, seemed to
justify it; while at the same time a tremendous treasure of gold, silver and
precious things came pouring into Europe from the plundering of the newly dis¬
covered Americas, which served to whet man’s natural appetite for gold. With
the rise of new governments, therefore, entirely independent of the Church and
often openly hostile to it, and with the enormous expansion of trade and wealth,
a new set of laws grew up, outside the ecclesiastical courts and canon law, which
was deliberately designed to further business enterprise, and which no longer
regarded the old religious sanctions. We take for granted this condition of
affairs to-day, and suppose that what is, has always been. But such was neither
the Christian theory, nor, in essentials, its practice: “Whatsoever ye do in word
or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus” (Col. iii. 17). Two centuries,
roughly from 1500 to 1700, witnessed a momentous change in polarization. At
the earlier date, “the typical economic systems are those of the schoolmen;
the typical popular teaching is that of the sermon, or of such manuals as Dives
et Pauper; the typical appeal in difficult cases of conscience is to the Bible, the
Fathers, the canon law and Its interpreters; the typical controversy is carried
on in terms of morality and religion as regularly and inevitably as two centuries
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
247
later it is conducted in terms of economic expediency” (Tawney, p. 9). In
England, even as late as the reign of Charles I, to discuss business solely in
terms of profit and loss, or of expediency, was still considered disreputable
and cynical. The desire to “get rich quick” smacked of defiance of God’s will
and His Providential ways with men. To make money, if it meant to take a
profit from one’s neighbour, so as to amass riches for oneself, was usury , and put
a man outside the pale. The courts severely punished such an offender, and
always made him restore the money he had gained. But after the Civil War
in England, and the religious wars on the Continent, it became apparent that
division among the Churches, and contradictory teaching emanating from high
quarters, no longer left unquestioned a common standard of economic conduct,
and the ecclesiastical courts found themselves unable to enforce their decisions,
and soon became impotent. Furthermore, where religious tolerance existed—
which implied a relaxation of all harsh measures to maintain and enforce the old
commercial standards—trade flourished, as in Holland. The effect was inevi¬
table, human nature and human appetites being what they are. Able business
men, usually unscrupulous, acquired for themselves as much money as they
could get, and worked out economic theories to justify the gratification of their
desires. Their very success and prosperity, which in due time good and worthy
people shared also, enabled them to overcome the prejudice grounded on the old
religious ideals. God manifestly prospered their undertakings! So religious
standards no longer restrained “economic appetites”, and the so-called “economic
virtues” first appeared.
But before 1500, such things as “economic appetites”, by the gratification
of which merchants and bankers could amass fortunes, were not paraded as
virtues, nor were the public conveyances and country landscapes given over
to the artificial stimulation of those appetites. The Schoolmen and Church
Fathers applied, instead, simpler and more homely terms, namely, “avarice”,
“usury”, “gluttony”, “luxury”, and the like. Asceticism, exemplified however
imperfectly by the religious Orders, was the ideal; and the simple layman admired
and revered where he did not, or felt that he could not, follow. Christ’s King¬
dom of Righteousness, the ever-watchful eye of ministering and protecting angels,
the Communion of Saints, were still everyday realities. Worldly activities
could not escape the heavenly witness, and so, sometimes perforce, accepted the
heavenly standards. “Paradise is everywhere”, Dante tells us, “though the
grace of the highest good is not shed everywhere in the same degree” (ParA
iii. 89-90)—expressing in matchless phrase the beliefs not merely of a truly
Christian poet, but of his age.
The first and fundamental assumption of the Middle Ages, therefore, was
that the ultimate standard of human activities and institutions was religion.
Could there be a sharper contrast between this and the modern assumption
of “economic expediency”? Professor Tawney seems justly to characterize the
temper of English commercial enterprises in the last quarter of the XVIIth
century (during the Restoration after the Civil War), as ‘‘a ruthless material¬
ism, determined at all costs to conquer world-markets from France and Holland,
248
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
and prepared to sacrifice every other consideration to their economic ambitions”
(p. 268). Two centuries later, Ruskin was constrained to write of his own
countrymen: ‘‘I said in my last paper that nothing in history had ever been so
disgraceful to human intellect as the acceptance among us of the common doc¬
trines of political economy as a science. I have many grounds for saying this,
but one of the chief may be given in a few words. I know no previous instance
in history of a nation’s establishing a systematic disobedience to the first prin¬
ciples of its professed religion. The writings which we (verbally) esteem as
divine, not only denounce the love of money as the source of all evil, and as an
idolatry abhorred of the Deity, but declare mammon service to be the accurate
and irreconcilable opposite of God’s service: and, whenever they speak of
riches absolute, and poverty absolute, declare woe to the rich, and blessing
to the poor. Whereupon we forthwith investigate a science of becoming
rich as the shortest road to national prosperity” (Unto This Last , end of
Essay III).
This spirit, typical of man’s lower, selfish, and acquisitive nature, had once
been held in check by the religious teaching of the Church. Exoteric religion,
whatever its limitations, is a step in the right direction; and the religious code
of the Christian Middle Ages was better than any purely worldly or business
code to-day. Religion has a spiritual end, dependent upon moral attainment;
and therefore it envisages results, not in terms of expediency, but in terms of
principle based on whatever vision it has of everlasting truth,—on that which
is inherent in the very nature of the Universe. To-day, any idea of a spiritual
end is held to be chimerical; nothing is visualized above material prosperity,
on which human happiness is supposed to depend. So a lowering of the physical
standards of living is held to be a crime against civilization, a hideous backward
step, provoking an outcry far louder than the most terrible lowering of moral
standards, as, for example, the murder of the Russian Imperial family, which
evoked no single official protest, any more than did the subsequent governmental
sale of the victims’ stolen personal effects. Science having greatly enlarged
the average man’s idea of the duration of time, without having given him the
least indication of his own reincarnation throughout that stupendous sweep,
the millennium of an Archbishop Usher, if there will ever be such a thing, is
held to be indefinitely remote, of no practical personal concern, and so is left
to take care of itself. Similarly, the Kingdom of Heaven, if there be any out¬
side the dreams of men, is confounded with the millennium; and both are
denominated “mystical concepts”. What the Western world wants to-day are
“practical” ideals; and the practical is something which man’s lower nature
can grasp without taxing either his imagination or his faith. The Great War
demonstrated that men are not yet incapable of responding to an ideal; but
even so, in the case of several of the nations involved, the demands of an ideal
were enormously reinforced by a very evident necessity. But when the appeal
of the ideal involves money, where is there evidence of response to idealism?
To-day, the remission of the debts of the Allies by the United States is again
being publicly discussed; but the majority of those advocating it make their
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
249
appeal on the ground that remission would pay more than collection. Men of
consequence are prepared to state openly that: “Aside from the question of the
justice of cancellation, I am firmly convinced it would be good business for our
government to initiate a reduction in these debts at this time.” 2 An appeal to
justice, honour, and righteousness has so far failed, and would still fail; there¬
fore those who would get action must appeal to business ‘‘horse sense” and to
economic expediency. When ideals and economic expediency clash, ideals are
brushed aside as unessential, however ornamental; while if the two are occasion¬
ally seen to coincide, and the masses can be convinced that for once they really
do, then all good people are outspokenly delighted, cynics are amused, while
politicians can wax, not merely rhetorical, but eloquent.
In the Middle Ages, however, it was still taught, and believed, that ‘‘the
perfect happiness of man consists in the vision of the Divine Essence”, and
that this ‘‘perfect happiness is not possible without a righteous (rede) will” 3
—things which no accumulation of gold would ever buy, and which experience
has taught are actually impeded by even a slight gratification of ‘‘economic
appetites”. For ‘‘Divine Essence” we might substitute the term ‘‘the Masters”
—with all that that implies. ‘‘It is impossible for man’s happiness to consist in
any created good,” writes Aquinas, Pope Innocent IV notwithstanding. 4 Such
bald statements are actually far more needed to-day than in the Xlllth cen¬
tury when Aquinas made them, for to-day even theologians might hesitate to
proclaim such a doctrine too often and too loudly. Mediaeval Society, accepting
the teaching of Christianity, had a genuine and dynamic code; but it should
be obvious that ‘‘expediency” and ‘‘appetites”, based on a ‘‘ruthless material¬
ism”, can never become the basis for a code in any true sense. Admitting that
the sins of mankind have always been numberless and always black; that ‘‘from
the middle of the thirteenth century a continuous wail arises against the in¬
iquity of the Church, and its burden may be summed up in the one word,
‘avarice’” (Tawney, p. 29); that therefore the very citadel of religion no longer
reverenced the Gospel according to St. Mark, but ‘‘according to Marks of
Silver”, 6 —nevertheless the Middle Ages had an ideal, and achieved as a result
a virtue, which has been submerged to-day, and which it must surely be the
part of Theosophical leaven to reintroduce, purified and reinforced, into the
minds and hearts of men.
It is a mistake to picture the mediaeval man of affairs as too naive, or too
ignorant, economically speaking, to recognize where his immediate and persona^
economic advantages lay. On the contrary, he saw them; but because he had a
code which made a genuine appeal to something finer and better than his sole
material prosperity, he rejected them. Jewish money-lenders and Lombard
bankers were outcasts and became a byword, though ecclesiastics did not hesi¬
tate to do business secretly with them; and finally, though Dante put the
* Albert W. Wiggin, “head of the world’s largest bank”, as quoted in The New York Times, January 12, 1931.
•Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I a II®. Quast. jii, art. vii; and Quaest. j v , art. j v .
* Summa, I a II®, Q. ii, art. viii.
* From a 13th century MS. known as “Carmina Burana”, extracts from which are translated by G. G. Coulton
in A Mediaeval Garner, 1910, pp. 346-7.
250
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Cahorsine money-lenders in hell, Pope Innocent IV gave them the title of
“peculiar sons of the Roman Church” (Romance ecclesice filii speciales; Tawney,
p. 29). Nevertheless, the universal theory was that “economic advantages”
had to be subordinated to the real business of life, which was salvation. Ma¬
terial riches are a part of worldly life; men cannot support themselves without
them; but because they provoke powerful appetites, like other strong passions,
they must be repressed, not given a free field. “There is no place in mediaeval
theory for economic activity which is not related to a moral end”; and, “to
found a science of society upon the assumption that the appetite for economic
gain is ... to be accepted, like other natural forces, as an inevitable and self-
evident datum , would have appeared to the mediaeval thinker as hardly less
irrational or less immoral than to make the premise . . . pugnacity” (Tawney,
pp. 31-2). To “better oneself” in the Middle Ages meant either to advance in
royal favour, or to enter religion; to-day it means to make, or to be in a position
to make, more money. “Now it is lawful to seek of God in prayer temporal
good things”, wrote Aquinas, again epitomizing Christian teaching, “but not,
however, putting them in the first place, as though setting our end therein, but
regarding them as helps whereby we are assisted in tending towards blessedness,
inasmuch as they support the life of the body and are of service to us as instru¬
ments in performing acts of virtue.” 6 So as to leave no possibility of misappre¬
hension, he adds later: “Temporal goods are to be despised as hindering us
from the love and service ( timore) of God”, though, ideally, “they are not
to be feared”, because they help us “as instruments to attain those things
that pertain to Divine fear and love.” 7 Surely this ideal is one which the
ch£la might make his own without qualification. As the sainted Arch¬
bishop Antonio of Florence (c. 1450) wrote: “Riches exist for man, not man for
riches.”
The Mediaeval Code had its foundation in three main currents of thought,
which represented, as they should, the best of the past; first, Christ’s teach¬
ing which reinforced the Old Testament practice; second, Roman commercial
ethics and procedure; and third, Greek ideals as they affected Roman theory
and the earlier Church Fathers. Together they throw into bold relief the utter
materialism and selfishness of to-day,—though, alas, these ancient ideals
remained too often in the realms of abstract ideas. The field is large and full
of interest, but can only be briefly summarized here. Perhaps the heart of
the matter lies in the actual use of money, or capital, for it is the modern methods
of making money “work”, of deriving income or interest from capital given out
for use, which primarily distinguishes this age as a capitalistic one from those
which preceded it. Naturally the influence of Christ’s teaching, together
with the Old Testament legislation, provided the principal basis for the Medi¬
aeval Code; and it will probably be a surprise to discover how far the modern
Jew has fallen from his own original standards. Inevitably, back of any code
as to the use of money, stands the Code of the Lodge; and an Initiate, such as
6 Summa, II a II®, Quaist. lxxxiii, art. vi. The condensed Latin phrases require an expanded rendering.
7 na q cxxv j ( ar t. x> re piy to objection 3.
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
251
a Moses or a Plato, in the nature of things must have expressed the Code of the
Lodge in terms fitting the times and the people addressed. Plato in his Republic
(Bk. II, 357) spoke disparagingly of “the business of money-making, which
no one would choose for its own sake”—an assumption refreshingly at variance
with modern conceptions; and he pointed out that the more men prosper in
trade, “the more they think of this and the less they think of virtue; for when
riches and virtue are placed together in the scales of the balance, the one always
rises as the other falls” (Bk. VIII, 550). Aristotle defined money, not as a
thing in itself, which it has now become to all intents and purposes in the popu¬
lar mind, but as “a sort of medium” which has, “not a natural, but a conventional
existence” {Ethics, Bk. V, cap. viii).
As for taking accumulated wealth, or capital, and lending it at interest, or
making it “work” in the sense of “turning it over”, rather than oneself using it
creatively,—such a thing was forbidden, and denominated “usury.” Usury
has come now to mean iniquitous or illegally high interest, but formerly it meant
interest of any kind on money lent. In the quotations that follow, usury always
means the taking of any interest or increment on a loan. Aristotle stated outright
in his Politics (I. 10) that “to make money by usury is exceedingly unnatural”.
Plutarch, an initiated Greek whose life almost spanned the first century of
Christianity, spoke of “the strong and unpleasant smell of usury”, and wrote a
delightful and penetrating essay “Against Running into Debt, or Taking Up
Money Upon Usury”. * 7 * Money, in Rome, was once upon a time minted as a
sacred thing at the temple of Juno, and derived its name, moneta , from a sur¬
name of that goddess. Roman law forbade the taking of interest upon money
lent, until a late date, and even then, prohibited the collection in interest of more
than the equal of the original sum loaned, no matter how long the debt ran, nor
how high was the rate of interest originally agreed upon. This concession to
money-lenders was later specifically repudiated by the Church Fathers and by
canon law.
The principles underlying this attitude towards the use of money are nowhere
more clearly defined than amongst the Jews. It is not always remembered
that to take interest was forbidden by the Old Testament legislation, and no
Jew charged another Jew interest for money loaned;—though with typical
concession to the hardness of their hearts, exception was made where strangers
were concerned. 8 “Thou shalt not lend upon usury to thy brother; usury of
money, usury of victuals, usury of anything that is lent upon usury: Unto a
stranger thou mayest lend upon usury; but unto thy brother thou shalt not
lend upon usury: that the Lord thy God may bless thee” etc. (Deut., xxiii,
19-20); “And if thy brother be waxen poor, and fallen in decay with thee; then
,a Plutarch’s Lives and IVri/ings, ed. by A. H. Clough and Professor W. W. Goodman, New York, 1905; Vol. X,
pp. 412-424-
8 This exception enabled the Jew money-lenders of Mediaeval Europe to control the money-market and bank¬
ing. For Christians, all men were brethren; but as that did not result in any readiness to lend to each other or to
hold all things in common, frequently the only money accessible was that of the Jews. Finally, Christians could
no longer endure the strain, and they took to lending to one another at interest as avidly as the Jew to strangers.
To-day the Christian and Jewish precepts alike are utterly disregarded and forgotten.
252
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
shalt thou relieve him: yea, though he be a stranger, or a sojourner; that he
may live with thee. Take thou no usury of him, or increase: but fear thy God;
that thy brother may live with thee. Thou shalt not give him thy money upon
usury, nor lend him thy victuals for increase” (Levit., xxv, 35-6-7; cf. Exodus,
xxii, 25; Ezek., xviii, 8, 13, 17; Ps. xv, 5). The Jew for the most part lived up
to his code with amazing strictness, sparing his brother, but finding an out¬
let for human nature in grinding his neighbours. We find Philo, as might
be expected from one whom H.P.B. calls an Initiate, emphasizing the under¬
lying principles clearly: ‘‘Moses prohibits a man from lending upon usury
to his brother, meaning by brother not only him who is born of the same par¬
ents as oneself, but everyone who is a fellow citizen or a fellow countryman,
since it is not just to exact offspring from money, as a farmer does from his
cattle. And he enjoins his subjects not on that account to hold back and to
be more slow to contribute to the necessities of others; but rather, with open
hands and willing spirits cheerfully to give to those who are in need,—believing
that gratitude may in some degree be looked upon as interest repaid in a time
of greater prosperity for what was loaned in an hour of necessity,—and as paid
back voluntarily by the recipient of the kindness. And if a person be unwilling
to make a gift outright, still, let him anyhow make a loan, so as to provide
freely and cheerfully the temporary use of what is wanted, without expecting
to receive back anything but the principal. For in this way the poor will not
become poorer, by being compelled to return more than they received; nor will
those be committing any wrong if they receive back that only which they lent.
And yet they will not receive nothing more in return, for with the principal—
instead of the interest which they have not required—they will gain the best
and most honourable of all human things, as they will have been kind and
magnanimous, and will have earned goodwill and a good name. And what
acquisition equals this? For verily the mightiest king appears poor and help¬
less if he is compared with one single virtue; for he has only inanimate riches
stored in his coffers or in the earth, but the wealth of virtue is stored up
in the superior part of the soul; and that purest of all essences, heaven, claims
itself a share in that, as also does the Creator and Father of the Universe,
God.
“Therefore we must look upon and call the riches of money-changers and
usurers as poverty, though they appear to themselves to be mighty kings,
whereas they have never even seen that wealth which is itself endowed with
sight, no, not even in their dreams. And these men are so extravagant in
wickedness, that if they lack money, they make usurious loans even of food,
lending it on condition of receiving back more than they lent. Accordingly,
such men will at once contribute to those who ask; and will even prepare a famine
or scarcity at a time of plenty and abundance, and make a profit out of the
hunger of the stomachs of miserable men, weighing out the food in a scale, and
taking care not to give overweight. Therefore he [Moses] necessarily com¬
mands those who live under his sacred regime, to eschew every kind of such
revenues; for all such pursuits are the sign of a thoroughly slavish and selfish
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
253
mind, which must be changed into savageness and become like that of brute
beasts, before it could adopt them.” 9
The Rabbis interpreted and applied these Mosaic principles with distinct
fairness, and aimed at preventing the borrower from suffering any detriment,
and the lender from gaining any advantage. The following quotations con¬
trast so directly with modem usages, that they speak for themselves. In the
Tannaite Midrash on Exodus (the School of Ishmael) one reads: ‘‘If a man
lends a sela (worth four denars) on condition of receiving five denars at the
expiration of the term, or two seahs of wheat to receive three, this is usury.” 9 * 1
“Increase”, the word used in Leviticus, is interpreted as follows: “A man
(A) buys of another (B) a quantity of wheat at the market price of twenty-
five denars a kor , and pays cash for it, but leaves the grain warehoused with
the seller (B). The market price goes up to thirty, and (A) claims delivery of
the wheat, proposing to sell it and with the proceeds buy wine. The original
seller (B) offers to buy back the wheat at the current price of thirty denars
[quite legitimate], and to give to (A) wine of equivalent value at the then ruling
market price, having at the time of the negotiation no wine in his possession.
This is constructively usurious, because in the interval before delivery the price
of wine may advance, and (A) may thus receive more than his due.” On this
Professor Moore comments: “The effect of this and similar regulations was to
prohibit dealing in futures which have so large a place in modem speculation.”
Another example is equally illuminating. “A man may not give a shop-keeper
produce to sell with an agreement to share equally the profits made in disposing
of it at retail, nor give him money to buy at wholesale and sell at retail on the
same conditions, unless he pays him wages, because, if the venture proves
unprofitable, the shop-keeper will be out of his time and labour, besides the
risk of loss by fire or larceny, or by depreciation.” Half of modem business
would cease if such principles were applied, but who can say that men’s souls
might not be benefited! All the persons involved in any way in a usurious
transaction were guilty—the lender, the borrower, the surety, the witnesses,
and even the scrivener who drew up the contract. Interest actually paid might
be recovered at law during the lifetime of the lender (but not from his estate).
Is it to be wondered at that “a usurer is represented by Rabbi Simeon ben
Yohai as saying: Our master Moses was wise and his law is true; but if he had
known what profit there was in the business, he would not have written the
law”. 10 Is it not the spirit of the outcast usurer of old that has inherited the
earth to-day, abrogating wisdom and true laws, and substituting fat profits
and economic virtues? Plutarch tells us that usurers “laugh at those natural
philosophers who hold that nothing can be made of nothing and of that which
9 Peri Philanthropes; text of Sigismund Galenius, Frankfort, 1691, pp. 701-2. It may be found under a dif¬
ferent title and placed as part of a treatise On Three Virtues, by Yonge in the Bohn translation. Vol. Ill, pp. 430-
31, which was of assistance in making the above translation. Cf. for a briefer and less illuminating exposition,
Josephus, Antiquities, Bk. IV, cap. viii, sec. 2$.
9a M. Baba Me$i‘a, 5, 1; quoted by Prof. George Foot Moore, of Harvard, in Judaism In The First Centuries of
the Christian Era, The Age of the Tannaim, Cambridge, 1927, Vol. II, p. 143. The following citations are quoted
from the same work, pp. 143-6.
10 Baba Mesi'a, 75b; quoted in a foot-note by Prof. Moore, op. cit., p. 145.
254
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
had no existence; but with them usury is made and engendered of that which
neither is nor ever was”. Persians, he tells us, ‘‘repute lying to be a sin only
in a second degree. . . . Now there are not in the whole world any people who
are oftener guilty of lying than usurers, nor that practise more unfaithfulness
in their day-books, in which they set down that they have delivered such a sum
of money to such a person, to whom they have not given nigh so much. And
the moving cause of their lying is pure avarice, not want or poverty, but an
insatiable desire of always having more, the end of which is neither pleasurable
nor profitable to themselves. . . . The usurer . . . reaps no other advantage
from it but only that he now and then takes his book of accounts, and reads in
it . . . whence his money came which he is always turning, winding, and
increasing.”
From these quotations it is evident that the issue was clearly joined; and
Mediaeval Christianity recognized quite as fully exactly where the conflict lay.
What, and what only, can be the object, the end, of trading for a profit and gain¬
ing interest and increase on one’s money? Simply to get, and to have, more
money, with all that that implies. Christ specifically said: ‘‘And if ye lend to
them of whom ye hope to receive, What thank have ye ? for sinners also lend to
sinners, to receive as much again. But love ye your enemies, and do good, and
lend, hoping for nothing again: and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be
the children of the Highest” (St. Luke, vi, 34-5). The Jew who heard him could
comprehend this, but the modem business man does not even listen,—so far
has the left hand of progress carried him to superior heights of worldly knowledge.
To make or take a profit was obviously to grasp after the material and base
things of this world, in contradistinction to something honestly produced or
earned by the sweat of one’s brow, thus increasing wealth. The craftsman,
with hand or brain, labours to earn a living; and he rises in the scale of life in
direct proportion to his industry and talents. The trader seeks, not merely a
livelihood, but a profit, and profit upon profit. Such profits are the fruit of
another’s toil and production, and are therefore made at the expense of one’s
neighbour. The trader has a right to payment for his services as an agent,
and no more. To use his position as middleman to amass wealth from profits is
to offend against charity, as Bunyan pointed out. * 11 The man who makes money
out of the turn of the market, or who takes advantage of, or even creates, a
shortage, as Wyclif says, must be wicked, or he could not have been poor yes¬
terday and rich to-day. 12 Gratian, whose great summary of all the Church’s
canons (1139-42) expressed the mind of the Church for centuries, put the dis¬
tinction thus in his Decretals : ‘‘Whosoever buys a thing, not that he may sell
it whole and unchanged, but that it may be a material for fashioning something,
he is no merchant. But the man who buys it in order that he may gain by
11 The Life and Death of Mr. Badman, in The Complete Works of John Bunyan, ed. by Rev. Henry Stebbing,
London and New York, Vol. IV, pp. 46 ff.
11 On the Se\'en Deadly Sins, in Select English Works of John Wyclif, ed. by Thomas Arnold, Oxford, 1871; Vol.
Ill, p. 153. **Bot men of lawe and merchauntis, and chapmen, and viteleres, synnen more in avarice then done
pore laboreres. And this [is the] token hereof; for now ben thei pore, and now ben thei ful riche, for wronges that
thei done."
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
255
selling it again unchanged and as he bought it, that man is of the buyers and
sellers who are cast forth from God’s temple.” 13 And Thomas Aquinas, approv¬
ing of proper trade, whereby ‘‘one commodity is exchanged for another, or
money taken in exchange for a commodity, in order to satisfy the needs of
life”, asserts positively that trade ‘‘for a profit” is “justly deserving of blame,
because, considered in itself, it satisfies the greed for gain, which knows no
limit and tends to infinity.” 14 Furthermore, trading, not to satisfy natural
needs, but merely for its own sake, and “considered in itself, has a certain
debasement attaching thereto, in so far as, by its very nature, it does not imply
a virtuous or necessary end” (ibid.).
One cannot but feel that we have here a Code based on a genuine apprehension,
not only of right and wrong, but of spiritual principle. Would not a Master
concur with the statement that, intrinsically, trading for profit “does not imply
a virtuous end”? Certainly gentlemen in England and France in the 17th
century, and in many cases up to the generation preceding our own, steeped in
the Church’s traditional teaching, not only felt strongly about the reprehensible
nature of trade, but, however impecunious, would not debase themselves by
entering into business. A gentleman, if impoverished, could find some suitable
work', or he could starve, but he could not lower his colours. Honour was, in
actual practice, esteemed above riches; and the innate reaction of the gentle¬
man was grounded on the recognition of a principle which might be expressed
in the words of one of the Pythagoric sentences of Demophilus, centuries ago:
“A lover of riches is necessarily unjust; and the unjust is necessarily profane
towards Divinity, and lawless with respect to men”; which might be coupled
with another: “A timid man bears armour against himself; and a fool employs
riches for the same purpose.” Professor Tawney sums up the Mediaeval Code
with admirable succinctness as follows: “To take usury is contrary to Scrip¬
ture; it is contrary to Aristotle; it is contrary to nature, for it is to live without
labour; it is to sell time, which belongs to God, for the advantage of wicked
men; it is to rob those who use the money lent, and to whom, since they make it
profitable, the profits should belong; it is unjust in itself, for the benefit of the
loan to the borrower cannot exceed the value of the principal sum lent him; it
is defiance of sound juristic principles, for when a loan of money is made, the
property in the thing lent passes to the borrower, and why should the creditor
demand payment from a man who is merely using what is now his own?” (pp.
43 - 4 )-
When it comes to the practical application in present commercial life of this
Code—which as far as it goes, has represented the Christian Code—we are
faced with another series of problems, which cannot be dealt with here. The
best modern writer on the subject still seems to be no less discarded and neglected
a prophet than Ruskin, whose courageously downright declaration of principle,
as against the primary assumption of avarice, led to such a storm of protest,
*» Decretum, Pt. I, Distinctio Ixxxviii, cap. xi; quoted by Tawney. p. 35. Cf. the Homily xxxvii in a treatise
Opus Imperfeclum. ascribed to St. John Chrysostom, which reads: “What is trade but buying at a cheap price
with the purpose of retailing at a higher price? Such were the tradesmen whom our Lord cast out of the temple.”
i4 jja jib; Quscst. lxxvii, art. iv.
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
256
that his articles in the Cornhill magazine had to be discontinued abruptly by
its editor, his personal friend Thackeray. Those which were published, appeared
later under the title Unto This Last —taken from the parable of the idle workmen
in the market place;—while Ruskin completed his thesis in Munera Pulveris ,
sometimes entitled Essays On Political Economy. He lays it down as axiomatic
that: “No human actions ever were intended by the Maker of men to be guided
by balances of expediency, but by balances of justice,” for the whole question
“resolves itself finally into one of abstract justice.” He says that “the real
reason of the general lowness of estimate in which the profession of commerce is
held [written in 1862!] . . . will be found to lie in the fact that the merchant is
presumed to act always selfishly. His work may be very necessary to the com¬
munity; but the motive of it is understood to be wholly personal. The mer¬
chant’s first object in all his dealings must be (the public believes) to get as much
for himself, and leave as little to his neighbours (or customer) as possible”;
and Ruskin asks pertinently “whether, among national manufactures, that of
Souls of a good quality may not turn out a quite leadingly lucrative one?” ( Unto
This Last). His whole plea is that traders, who are necessary to civilized life,
should live up to the same standard as that of the soldier, whose “trade, verily
and essentially, is not slaying, but being slain”, and that it is as true for the
merchant as for the soldier, priest or physician that “the man who does not
know when to die, does not know how to live.” Therefore: “Sixpences have to
be lost as well as lives, under a sense of duty”; and, “while many a zealous
person loses his life in trying to teach the form of a gospel, very few will lose a
hundred pounds in showing the practice of one” {ibid.). In the light of such
ideals*—which in fact are nothing more than the teachings of Christ strictly and
fearlessly applied—we may see why a statement once made by Emerson is true:
“A nation is dedicated to trade for some centuries; that occupies the vast
majority of men every day for all that long duratioh. Yet the last day it is not
more elevated than the first day, and cannot command our respect.” 16
If this, therefore, be a commercial age, given over to the selfish acquisition of
personal riches, while the essence of the soldier’s life is that of readiness to lay
down his life, the need for war as a corrective becomes manifest. And it seems
that it is precisely to, and through, war, that a beneficent Karma has been
leading, and is again about to lead, the souls of men. There are more reasons
than one why the present situation “will really need a Genghis Khan to do it
justice”, but one of them will be to overcome, by sheer force of necessity, the
concentration of a whole race on material well-being and the gratification of
economic appetites. Celestial Economics starts with a different principle, and
altruism—a favourite word of H.P.B.’s—is at the foundation of occultism.
“Men so universally draw their characters after the pattern of their times that
great regard is due to any who, spurning the character and humour of an ignoble
age, act upon principles not apprehended by the vulgar” (Emerson, ibid. } I, 259).
Our task, as members of the Theosophical Movement, is clear: first, not to
lose ourselves in a cloud of words, or, on the other hand, forget that “the letter
14 Emerson’s Journal, ed. by Edward Waldo Emerson and Waldo Emerson Forbes. Vol. VII, p. 8.
MATERIAL WEALTH AND CELESTIAL ECONOMICS
257
killeth, but the spirit giveth life”; second, to face the facts, recognizing, for
instance, that the logic of the Mediaeval Code, as summarized by Professor
Tawney, would make it usurious to accept interest from a Bank on our current
balance, or interest payments on Government, Railroad or other bonds, or rent
from our tenants if we were the owners of land or of houses; third, as we cannot
change the character of our civilization overnight, or retire from the world and
live like hermits on the produce of our own labour (seeing that this most happy
condition would, in most cases, either be impossible or a self-indulgence),—we
must strive ceaselessly, though living in the world, not to be of the world, and
must keep alive within us, and within each other, our vision of the ideal, and of
the lamentable conditions which make it impracticable at present to live as
that ideal ordains,—except in spirit, for in spirit we are free, not bound, and in
spirit we can hate the necessities under which we labour, can love and desire
the nobler Code which was, and which again will be, if only our desire for it
prove stronger than our worldliness. Qu^sitor.
Let temporal things serve thy use , but eternal be the object of thy desire .—
Thomas X Kempis.
Beware of the pride of humility; and having renounced the desire to attract by
thy fine raiment , seek not to call forth attention by thy rags. —St. Jerome.
A MEDITATION
Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our
Lord Jesus Christ .— Paul to the Ephesians.
Rejoice evermore .— Paul to the Thessalonians.
T O whom or to what, should I, as a student of Theosophy, give thanks?
I can begin, in any case, by feeling grateful, and by expressing that
feeling, to those from whom I receive kindness or spiritual help among
my friends and companions. Do I fail in this from self-absorption, from shy¬
ness, or for any other reason?
To give thanks to “the Lords of Karma” is very abstract, very remote, so
far as I am concerned; but my own Master is one of the Lords of Karma, just
because he is a Master; and certainly he holds back from me personally “still
worse evils”, creating around me a “Guardian Wall” of protection—as the
Notes to The Voice of the Silence make clear. This means far more than appears
on the surface. It means that I owe to him every blessing, every good thing,
that comes into my life, and that even its trials and temptations, out of the
overwhelming accumulation from my own wrong-doing of the past, are pro¬
portioned by him according to my strength. Thus he converts them into aids
to growth—if met and used properly by me—instead of into calamities and
extinctions.
Am I grateful for this? Am I grateful merely in a general way, or do I specifi¬
cally thank him throughout the day for all things? Do I, in other words, say
that I am grateful, and at the same time deplore, resent, and inwardly rebel
against this or that necessity under which I labour?—against my inability to
do or get something on which my desire is set? Do I inwardly croak and groan,
think of my life as “hard”, and mentally pick on this or the other “handicap”
as making things almost intolerable? Do I blame my surroundings or my
associates for my failures? In brief, am I a hopeless ass?
In any case, it is incredible that I am entirely free from these cheap and
vulgar weaknesses, or that I could ever live to give thanks enough. My friends
are friends through the everlasting mercy: not through any merit or beauty of
mine; it is thanks to the same mercy that I know of Theosophy, that I desire
good rather than evil, that I have a roof over my head and a bed in which to
sleep (for the inherent idiocy of lower nature would have deprived me of these
years ago, unless that mercy had prevailed),—that I can still look up into the
face of heaven, and laugh.
My Karma—like the Karma of the world—would blot me out, if it were not
for that Guardian Wall of unthinkable compassion. In the long run , “rigid
justice rules the world”, for some day before the day “Be with Us”, I must pay
back what I owe; but meanwhile! Oh debt piled on debt,—endless, boundless,
258
A MEDITATION
259
utterly undeserved, irrational, divine, never-ceasing generosity! That I should
have a friend: is not that in itself a miracle? May the Lord give me of his grati¬
tude that I may be grateful to him. . . . Dear Lord, in spite of all this talk,
I am not grateful. I take so much for granted, as I accept the presence of a
tree, which has always been there,—part of the landscape, which does not
move, and for which, therefore, thanks are needless. I do not mean to grumble,
but a quite ordinary pain, if it interferes with what I choose to call my work,
is enough to start a Book of Lamentations in the privacy of my mind. Cure
me of such blindness; help me to sense thy blessing in all that happens, in all
that is,—and if I do not sense it, not to make a grievance out of that, but to
know that it is there, remembering also that they are blessed who have not
seen, “and yet have believed”. . . . Give me of thy gratitude, that I may be
grateful to all to whom I owe it, for all that life brings me,—to thee for every¬
thing. B. A. R.
Eternal is his gladness who rejoices in an eternal good. —S. Augustine.
Yes, here, in this poor, miserable, hampered, despicable Actual, wherein thou
even now standest, here or nowhere is thy Ideal: work it out therefrom; and working ,
believe, live, be free .— Carlyle.
Men continually forget that happiness is a condition of mind and not a dis¬
position of circumstances . . . confusing happiness with the means of happiness ,
sacrificing the first for the attainment of the second .— Lecky.
KARMA AND BATTLE
E usually accept it as a fact, when wo meditate on the Law of Karma
or discuss it with others, that our personal Karma must, of necessity,
take a very long time to work out. We are often singularly rigid in
our views in this respect, and as we grow in age and in experience, we do not
grow in the grace of flexibility. Our studies, and what we have been told, make
it clear to us that we are now contending, both inwardly and outwardly, with the
results of our own wrong thoughts and actions in past lives. We visualize
ourselves going on in much the same way, taking things up again, life after life,
at approximately the point at which we left off at the end of the last incarnation,
and carrying them a bit further. We feel sure that there is progress on our part,
we feel confident that there will be progress in the future. But we think that
this progress must of necessity be uniform, that all the elements of our nature
must advance together, that we must maintain an even development as we go
forward. As we bend our energies for the moment on some backward quality
within us, on some particular fault or weakness, in our effort to push it up into
line and so prevent what we think of as the retarding process, we feel that
progress is indeed slow, and we are thankful for the mercifulness of the great
Law, for the hope which it holds out, for the assurance that no right effort is
ever wasted or lost, for the certainty that in the long future we shall have the
time that we so sorely need.
Indeed, we are right in thus feeling thankful. But there is danger in resting
too long in this spirit of thankfulness, for, if we do, it is only a step to feeling that,
after all, there is no hurry about it. We run the risk of dwelling to such an
extent upon the chances and the opportunities which we are to have in future
lives, that we fail to recognize as such those which are ours here and now, and so
fail, too, to seize upon them and use them as a means to immediate and more
rapid progress and growth. We should do well always to remember that the
rapidity with which we can overcome our personal Karma must, of necessity,
depend in large measure upon the intensity of our present desire, of our present
effort. If our desire and our effort are sufficiently strong now, or if we can
make them so; if we can reinforce them with all the resources of our imagination
and of our will, and increase these resources as we progress; if this intensity of
effort and desire, and this reinforcement, are steadfastly persisted in and steadily
continued,—it must be possible to work out certain elements of our personal
Karma much more rapidly than we realize at present, with the result that we
shall be under no necessity whatever of carrying them over into future lives.
All this involves the right use of desire, imagination and will, the great crea¬
tive forces, the great liberating powers. How does it “work”, practically speak¬
ing? Let us make use of our imagination, and let us assume, as a practical illus¬
tration, the theoretical case of a man holding an important position in the
260
KARMA AND BATTLE
261
world of affairs. This man, at the age of twenty-five, at the very start of his
business career, is hard, unjust, grasping, even dishonourable in his business
methods and dealings. Because of his attitude in regard to money matters,
he does a great wrong to certain people with whom he is then associated in
business, and makes them suffer in countless other ways as a result. Let us
assume further that almost immediately this man, for good and sufficient reasons,
realizes fully just what he has done, and has a complete change of heart. He
abhors the evil which he has brought about, still more does he abhor the evil
within himself—the selfishness, the cruelty and the greed—which have made
his action possible. The whole force of his desire is bent to the effort to atone.
He turns completely about. He spends the next twenty-five years of his life in
trying to undo, to make up for, the wrong which he has done. More than
this, he traces the connection between his inner sins and weaknesses and the
form of their outer expression, he sets himself to make over his whole nature
so that these sins and faults may be transformed into their opposite virtues.
He goes about it with understanding, through the light which has been increas-
ingly given him because of his true and entire repentance. He uses his imagi¬
nation to the fullest extent to think of ways in which he can gain his objective.
He bends every effort of his will to the accomplishment of his purpose. He
acts for these twenty-five years with an ever-increasing intensity of desire and
effort, with an ever-increasing rightness of principle. He carries this into all
the relations of life, not alone into business. His own life, both business and
personal, becomes a great inspiration, of untold help to countless new people
in a great diversity of ways. He is able to reach out, to give help, because he is
able to understand. It is what he has become, what he has made himself, that
counts.
Moreover, he goes back and does his utmost to help, directly, those whom he
has so greatly wronged, those who have suffered so much through him, because
of what he did at the age of twenty-five. He seeks them out. He makes
every possible effort to set things right again for them. He continues this effort
over a period of years. But these people are bitter, revengeful, vindictive;
their one idea is to “get back at him”. Not only do they consistently repulse
all of the advances which he makes, but they do their utmost to persecute him,
to spread malicious reports about him, to undermine him whenever and wherever
they can. Nothing daunted, not one whit discouraged, this man accepts all
this as part of the personal Karma which he has created for himself, and fights
on,—for he is a great fighter, a “first-class fighting man”, once he has turned.
For all of these twenty-five years he is continually attacking his lower nature
at all points, so that it is continually on the defensive, constantly losing ground
and in retreat. He leaves the evil within himself no opportunity, he seizes
upon every inner advantage gained and makes use of it to the fullest extent, in
order to make more rapid progress, to go as far as he can, towards the objective
which he has set for himself, and which is continually becoming more clearly
defined as his vision increases and as his self-conquest becomes more and more
complete.
262
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
What is the result of all this, for this man, at the age of fifty? Surely the
intensity of his desire to atone for the wrong which he has done to these people,
surely the very opposition which they have set up to his every effort on their
behalf and the vindictive attitude which they have adopted towards him,
must have operated to speed-up the working out of his personal Karma as re¬
gards them,—perhaps even to cancel, to obliterate a large element of it entirely.
But, if not, what of the transformation in the inner nature of the man himself?
Surely that in itself was sufficient, and more than sufficient, to wipe out the
balance of that early wrongdoing in the eyes of the great Law. For consider
the extent of that transformation, and its results. Entirely apart from these
particular people, the intensity of his inner desire and of his inner effort over all
these years, his continued right use and constant development of all the quali¬
ties which he possessed and of others which he acquired, the expression of all
this in deeds of self-sacrifice and acts of kindness as regards others, must have
established for him a Karmic credit balance on the right side. This transfor¬
mation, and its results, must have helped all along the line, must have modified
and accelerated the working out of other phases of his personal Karma which
were not in any way directly connected with this particular early wrongdoing,
so that in the general quickening which took place, in the speeding up of the
whole Karmic process which ensued, there was an entire change of relative
values. The former things had passed away; all things had become new. We
forget too often the extent to which the various phases of our Karma overlap,
the degree to which our efforts and progress in certain directions will help to
improve the situation for us at other points,—pull them up into line, or over the
line, as it were. This man whom we have been considering, may well, at the age
of fifty, have found himself, had he known it, in the position of having completely
eliminated the necessity of carrying over into another life the Karma of an early
wrong act which, once realized and acted upon, through the right use of imagi¬
nation and will, had become a tremendously creative and liberating force. No
need for him to face a long, laborious process life after life. His freedom, in this
life, had been gained. His victory had been won, and with speed, here and now.
Marshal Foch’s book, the Principles of War , has often been mentioned, both
iff meetings of The Theosophical Society and in the Theosophical Quarterly,
as being a Manual of the Inner Life, a Guide to Ch 61 aship, if read and interpreted
theosophically. In view of this, a more recent book, the Memoirs of Marshal
Foch } translated by Colonel Bentley Mott, is of intense interest. It might be
said that, in the earlier book, there are laid down the fundamental principles
upon which military strategy and tactics are based; we are given the theory and
we recognize it as true, as universal in its application, and, therefore, appli¬
cable not only to the outer conflict in the world between the Powers of Light
and the Forces of Darkness, but also to the inner warfare in which we ourselves
are engaged. In the Memoirs } we find these fundamental principles expressed
in Marshal Foch’s preliminary instructions and observations, in his Battle
Orders, to his commanding generals. We read, for instance, in regard to some
specific situation in which those in his Armies may have assisted at the time,
KARMA AND BATTLE
263
without having then been conscious of its ramifications, his estimate of the situ¬
ation; the dispositions of the enemy and of the Allied Forces, as seen in the
perspective which was his alone; the mission which he proposed for the attacking
units; the definite ways in which he suggested that this mission must be carried
out. We remember what happened at the time as a result of the execution of
his commands, we remember the success of the outcome, and, in the light of
retrospect, we can also see that no other possible method or plan would have
served, and that the success was gained because the conception of the plan
itself was based on a fundamental principle that was universal. Marshal
Foch’s observations and his Battle Orders were practical, concrete directions &s
to what to do about it, and, as such, they can constantly be applied to the
problems of our own inner warfare.
As a direct illustration, let us remind ourselves for a moment of the military
situation as it was on the first day of November, 1918, just ten days before the
Armistice. The long German line from the Vosges to the Sea was giving way;
everywhere it was being struck by the Allied Armies in rapid succession with
powerful sledge-hammer blows; everywhere the enemy was losing ground, in
retreat. On that day the First American Army, and the Fourth French Army
on its left, were about to start a powerful joint attack, which had as its objective
unblocking the line of the Aisne from the East. An army offensive, worked
out as it is on the maps beforehand, is designed to reach certain successive lines
on certain successive days, the position of each of these lines depending upon
the nature of the terrain, the probable strength of the enemy’s resistance at
various points, the character and ability of the other attacking troops on the
flanks, and, finally, upon the part which this particular offensive is to play in
the larger purpose of the High Command. The battle, if it goes as planned,
thus resolves itself into a succession of phases, which are numbered. Marshal
Foch thought that the preliminary plans for the attack, which had been sub¬
mitted to him by General Pdtain and General Pershing, were too rigid. He
thought that far too much emphasis was being laid upon alignment, upon the
necessity for all the attacking elements being up on the first phase line, with
contact on the flanks maintained, before the attack could proceed to the second
phase. He thought that speed, and the possibility of rapid exploitation of
success gained, were being sacrificed by this rigidity. Accordingly, he issued the
following memorandum to General P£tain and General Pershing:
“Important results such as we are pursuing in the present stage
of the war, when we are confronted by an enemy whose exhaustion
increases every day, can only be achieved by progress as rapid and
as deep as possible.
“Troops launched into an attack need not think of anything ex¬
cept the direction of their attack. In that direction they must go as
far as they can, attacking and manoeuvring against the resisting
enemy with no preoccupation as to alignment—units which have got
the furthest forward working for the advantage of those temporarily
264
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
delayed. They must operate, not against lines indicated a priori
and suggested by the nature of the ground, but against the enemy;
and once they have seized him, they must never let go their grip”.
We must bear always in mind that these suggestions referred to an enemy
giving ground, in confusion and in retreat. The attacking forces, under such
conditions, “must go as far as they can”. And so must we, in the inner life,
in the inner warfare, under similar conditions. The parallel is perfect. We
must steadfastly set our faces to go forward, through all resistance, at those
pbints where the best and the most rapid progress can be made, with no thought
of alignment; with no thought as to whether or not we are going to be able to
make this or that quality within us do its part; with no thought of anything
except our direction, our Goal. As we do this, and as we progress, we, too,
shall find that those elements within us which have got the furthest forward
will work for the advantage of our weaker qualities; will pull them up into the
attacking line, as it were, stimulating them to do their part. Surely this is just
what happened to that man in business, whose problem we have been considering.
If we will free ourselves from the rigidity of our views, from our too narrow
preconceptions, as to the nature and working of Karmic Law, we shall in this
way, as he did, at once accelerate the working out of our personal Karma,
progress in one direction improving the situation for us at other points. Above
all, as he found, is it essential, once we have seized upon our inner enemy,
that we, too, must never let go our grip, for what we want, in terms of Karma,
is not victory in some nebulous future life, but Victory with speed, Victory
here and now.
Stuart Dudley.
Few things can resist him who is able to conquer himself .—Louis XIV.
The brave soul can mend even disaster .— Catherine of Russia.
Destiny bears us to our lot , and Destiny is our own will .— D’Israeli.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
T HE Philosopher asked if he might make a statement. “I was reported,
and correctly reported, in the last ‘Screen of Time 7 ’ he said, “as hav¬
ing quoted a cable from London to The New York Times in which it
was alleged that the German Kaiser and the former German Crown Prince
were to be reinstated as Knights of the Order of the Garter, at the request of
the King of England, as the King wished ‘to forget old quarrels’. I need not
repeat my comments, except this: ‘It is charitable, as well as polite, to assume
that Ramsay Macdonald instigated the King’.
“That cable was dated August 14th. The information it contained was abso¬
lutely false, as, on the best authority, I have since learned with pleasure. I
regret having misled the Quarterly and its readers in regard to a matter of
fact, but I do not regret any of my comment because there are fifty other facts,
beyond dispute, which more than justify the spirit and trend of what I said.
I concluded by asking: ‘Is it right or manly to have the memory of a butterfly?
Can England have sunk so low as that!’
“Macdonald is Prime Minister of England, for the second or third time since
the War; and Macdonald, throughout the War, was so Pro-German and Pacifist
that the National Seamen’s and Firemen’s Union, under the leadership of Have¬
lock Wilson, resolved that their members would neither sail nor work in any
ship carrying Macdonald or his associates, when in May, 1917, Macdonald had
applied for a passport to go to Russia to consult with the Workmen’s and
Soldiers’ Soviets. At the infamous Leeds Conference of that year, he was
elected to the committee for action, the primary object of which was to bring
the War to an end so far as Britain was concerned through the outbreak of a
revolution which would paralyse military operations.
“We can forgive a man anything if he sees the error of his ways, and admits
it; but Macdonald has done nothing of the kind. In a booklet entitled Potted
Biographies , published by the Boswell Printing and Publishing Co., 10 Essex
Street, London, which gives the War utterances and activities of leaders of the
Labour Party in England, it is stated (p. 61) that at Leicester, on April 25th,
1929, Macdonald said: ‘By hook or by crook, diplomatic relations should be
established with Russia’, and now, supported by the Conservative Party , Mac^
donald, in the name of the King, receives an Ambassador from the Soviet, duly
accredited to the Court of St. James’s!
“In the same booklet, on the same page, I find that, speaking at Wolverhamp¬
ton, he was reported by the Daily Herald (then his own organ) of October 29th,
1928, to have declared that the General Strike in England was ‘the manifesta¬
tion of human solidarity, was one of the most glorious things that this twentieth
century had produced’.
“Macdonald is and always has been an avowed and ardent Pacifist. Can
265
266
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
any one deny that his attitude toward Germany to-day is the same as it was
during the War? Was not and is not his chief desire, where Germans are con¬
cerned, to embrace them all and call them Comrades (of the Soviet variety),
regardless of past, present, or future conduct? None the less, he is Prime Min¬
ister of England, in a government supposed to be representative. That he
would advise and urge the King ‘to forget old quarrels’, and to prove it by what
he would consider a ‘noble gesture’ in the direction of the Kaiser and Crown
Prince, instead of seeming improbable, seemed highly likely—as the foreign
editor of The New York Times must have thought, when he published that
despatch; while no one has ever suggested that the King, in spite of his admir¬
able qualities, his self-sacrificing sense of duty, and his unlimited respect for
the Constitution, has inherited the major characteristics of his grandmother,
Queen Victoria. England, in my humble opinion, would be better off to-day
if he had. But enough on that subject. I am suspecting that our friend in the
arm-chair has something on his mind, as I had.”
‘‘I have”, said one of the editors of the Quarterly, who had joined our
informal gathering while the Philosopher had been speaking. ‘‘The Quarterly
wants to express pleasure and gratitude for letters showing warm appreciation
of its contents and helpfulness. Further than that, I should like our readers to
believe that we are human, and that letters from some of them, in which total
inability to pay for the Quarterly is frankly confessed, have moved us deeply.
We are anxious to convey to the writers our truest sympathy, and, with that,
a word of cheer. The times are hard—no one can have escaped that experience,
though some have suffered more than others; but there is and always is, a silver
lining to the cloud. We may think of our own needs, or we may think of the
whole world’s gain,—for the world is gaining spiritually as a result of this de¬
pression. If I were speaking face to face, I should add: ‘If the world gains,
will not you be content to suffer a little longer,—believing, as you can and
should, that Masters are grateful for your patience, for your courage, and will¬
ingness to share some fraction of their burden with them. You are not alone
in your suffering: they understand, they sympathize—even with the grief of a
child over its broken toy, and no less with the heart of the aged and infirm and
weary. It may seem as if there were no hope for you; as if there were only
endurance left. Well, then is the time to say: I will go out with the banner of
faith flying, hailing the dawn’.”
“I am glad you spoke of not being alone”, said the Historian. ‘‘A friend of
mine who was desperately ill and who suffered terribly for days on end, told
me afterwards that he had found himself saying constantly, when the torment
was at its worst, ‘Thou knowest, thou knowest’, which was all he could say and
all he could think. Later, he wondered why he had said it, though he knew it
had been a comfort, and had recognized instantly the truth of another friend’s
explanation, to whom, on his recovery, he had related his experience, and who
had suggested that he had instinctively asserted his faith in a divine compan¬
ionship, in a sympathy and understanding deeper than was possible in those
who stood visibly by his bedside, and who did not, could not understand. I do
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
267
not think we can overestimate the extent to which a feeling of loneliness—or,
rather, of ‘there is no one who understands’, ‘no one who can really sympathize’
—enters into, and forms the last straw, as it were, of most human suffering.
Suffering is not always or often rational; sympathy frequently is. It is a divine
and most rare gift to be able wholly to sympathize with a grief which seems,
not only illogical but fantastic. Take, for instance, the grief of a woman over
the loss of a husband who beat her and bullied her up to the day of his death:
to sense that she may be suffering agonies of remorse for one reason or another,
would be impossible unless the perceptions of the heart had temporarily pushed
aside the thick perceptions of the head. We must learn to see beneath the
surface, if ever we are to acquire sympathy, and we must cure ourselves of the
tendency which is strong in many of us—stronger, perhaps, in men than in
women—to allow our over-anxiety to nullify the little sympathy of which we
are capable.”
‘‘Just what do you mean by that?” asked the Student.
‘‘Suppose someone we love is greatly worried, to the point of being ill from it:
naturally we suffer because of their suffering, and naturally we want to comfort
them, and, incidentally, ourselves. We try, and fail. Then we feel impotent,
and, becoming irritated with ourselves, and exasperated by our failure, we
unconsciously convey an impression of irritation instead of sympathy, making
things worse instead of better as a result of our intervention. It is, in fact,
appallingly difficult to make our sympathy effective, and I know of few greater
incentives for spiritual effort than recognition of our defects under that head.”
‘‘Is there no cure for all this sorrow and pain, anxiety and heartbreak?” asked
our visitor, almost in a tone of despair.
‘‘That question was discussed in the ‘Screen’ last July”, the Historian an¬
swered. ‘‘I can do little more than paraphrase what was said then.
“So far as I am aware, only four methods of cure have ever been suggested.
First, there is the ‘cure’ of the materialistic social reformer—whether a Socialist,
Communist, or Humanitarian makes little difference—who has so low an
opinion of human nature as to imagine that plenty to eat and drink, with a
minimum of work to do, will solve the problem if anything will. A few years
ago, actual want was almost unknown on this continent, yet the total of suf¬
fering then was certainly as great as it is to-day, when there are bread-lines in
every city. We know nothing, if we have not discovered that anguish of soul
may be harder to bear than anguish of body, and that men suffer as acutely
from ills of the imagination—some dread or disappointment, not to speak ofj
jealousy, envy and their fruits—as from ills entirely physical.
“Another method of cure that has been suggested can appeal to the very
few only, and to hardly any in the western world,—the method, widely advo¬
cated in the Orient, of realizing vividly the transitory and illusory nature both
of the objective universe and of the perceiving personality, accompanied by
self-identification with the changeless and eternal.
“A third method was taught by Gautama Buddha: that of compassion; the
escape from suffering by sympathy for the sufferings of others; the transfer of
268
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
attention, in other words, by means of love, from self to other selves. Thus,
when a mother came to him in utmost grief over the loss of her only child, it is
related that he told her to stop at each house in a certain street of the city, and
to bring back word to him of what she heard. When she returned, she fell on
her knees and told him: sorrow of some kind in every home she had visited,
grief sometimes greater than her own, terror or pain or woe. Then he said in
effect: Such is life; suffering is inseparable from living; to expect otherwise
adds bitterness to the pain: and the cause of suffering is thirst ( Tanha ), thirst
for pleasure, thirst for existence, thirst for prosperity, thirst that leads to re¬
birth on earth, accompanied by pleasure and lust. ‘And this is the Noble Truth
of the Path which leads to the cessation of suffering: that noble eightfold Path,
that is to say, Right views (convictions), Right aspirations, Right speech,
Right conduct, Right means of livelihood, Right effort, Right recollection
(“mindfulness”, according to another translation), Right meditation (the P&li
word being Samadhi, “Right contemplation” may be suggested as an alterna¬
tive).’ So the woman was converted, and found peace.
“The fourth method of cure was taught by the Master Christ: the Crucifix.
‘Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold and see if there be any sorrow
like unto my sorrow!’ That, it seems to me, gives the essence of the Christian
solution: compassion for the One—whoever that One may be—who embodies
for us the world of divinity and of the Lodge. This compassion, born of love and
gratitude, worship and sympathy, necessarily includes compassion for all upon
which, and upon whom, our own Master pours out his infinite compassion;
and, under this head, we need to discriminate, not assuming that all suffering
is the same in his eyes, regardless of origin and of the nature and reaction of
that which suffers.
“Orthodox Christianity has gone far to deprive this appeal of any meaning
or power, since Protestantism (not knowing the difference between Soul and
Spirit) has exiled the Christian Master to ‘the right hand of God’ and to a state
of unbroken bliss and glory, while Rome has caged him in the ‘tabernacle of the
altar’, in spite of the efforts of that Master—as through the so-called ‘Revela¬
tion of the Sacred Heart’ to Margaret-Mary—to bring his continued humanity,
and sacrifice, within the comprehension of the simplest of his followers. ‘The
ingratitude and forgetfulness of men’, he is recorded as having said to her, ‘are
more painful to me than all the sufferings of my Passion. . . . My love has
caused me to sacrifice all for men, without their making me any return. . . .
Will none have compassion on me, none sympathize and share my sorrow in
the piteous condition to which sinners have brought me ?’
“It would be difficult, by the way, to imagine a greater sacrifice than for a
man, a warrior and king, to allow his sufferings to be known, and thus, in a
sense, to become an object of pity,—not for his own sake, but for the sake of
those to whom he appeals,—too immersed in their own affairs to notice or care,
except, perhaps, here and there. It is a dreadful, a heart-breaking picture—
appalling evidence of our need—and I doubt if anyone takes it seriously, for,
if we did, what room would be left for our trifling worries and exasperations!
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
269
In the parable of the Good Samaritan, the priest and the Levite passed by on
the other side. We don’t do that; we don’t even see the man who ‘fell among
thieves’ (the fate of every Lodge messenger): we are so absorbed in our little
duties, little fears or appetites or sins or anxieties or disappointments, that we
see nothing unless it bears directly upon our obsession. If the victim of the
parable had had a steam fog-horn within reach, and had let off a blast in our
direction, we should simply have clapped hands to ears so as not to lose the
thread of our emotional or mental weaving.
“Love and compassion, therefore, are the essence both of the Buddhist and
Christian ‘cures’, though neither, when properly understood, pretends to ac¬
complish more than the removal of the bitter poison of self from the suffering
which, in other respects, cannot fail to become greater the further we progress
toward a more perfect manhood. The more we love, the more we suffer; but the
gulf between the suffering of hell and the suffering which springs from love, is
all the difference between blindness and vision, despair and ecstasy.
“Stated in other terms, while anything which diverts the attention from
self and its pain or distress, lifts the burden temporarily and serves as a pallia¬
tive, to effect a cure in the sense I have suggested, we need to re-adjust our
outlook upon life, to revise our scale of values, and to see transitory things as
wholly unimportant in comparison with the needs and purposes of our Master,
—wholly unimportant, that is, except in so far as our attitude towards them is
concerned, which affects him vitally, seeing that it vitally affects his life, which
is his Father's life , in us.”
“‘Man, know thyself’,” the Engineer now said, “seems to be the foundation
of any real cure—though, as you have intimated, it is not a question of how to
escape from sorrow, or how to eliminate it from the lives of others—manifest
impossiblities until humanity surrenders its will to the divine will. Rather is
it a question of changing the polarity of the suffering that is inevitable; and
clearly this cannot be done unless we desire ardently to do it, while we shall
never be able to arouse that desire unless we learn to revolt from and hate our
lower nature, and to love and aspire to become our higher. Nor shall we be
able to do that until we see the truth, or in any case something of the truth,
about each,—learning to know ourselves that we may know God. Theosophy,
being the source and essence of every great religion, including Hinduism, sees
the transmutation of man into more than man as the objective of all these^
methods (except the first!), and holds there can be no permanent cure for human
suffering until this transmutation has taken place. But it sees suffering as an
aid, not as an obstacle to that attainment, for suffering serves to detach us
from the glamour of transitory things, and to turn our attention to the change¬
less and eternal as our true home and being; and it sees right self-identification,
which may be either the fruit of compassion, or its cause, as the only means by
which spiritual consciousness can be made permanent,—the instrument of
‘fixation’, I think the Alchemists would have called it.”
“Excuse me,” said the Orientalist, “but don’t you think that so-called right
self-identification, as usually practised in the East, tends to induce self-satisfac-
270 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
tion rather than enlightenment, and stagnation rather than union with the
divine?”
‘‘I do”, the Engineer replied; “but that is because it is wrong, not right, self-
identification, as I know you will agree. Properly understood and properly
practised, right self-identification necessarily results in change and growth,—
in transubstantiation, as occultism explains that term.”
“Theosophists are mystics, are they not?”
There was a hint of defiance in the way this question was suddenly shot at
us by our visitor, who had been introduced by the Engineer, in the hope, I
suspect, that some of us might carry conviction where he had failed; for the
Engineer is a bom missionary, though he repudiates the “accusation” heatedly,
—proof in itself, we remind him, that we are right.
Instinctively we left it to the Ancient, always loath to speak, to reply to our
visitor’s question, our united silence finally compelling him to do so.
“Unfortunately”, he said, “very few students of Theosophy are mystics”.
“Fortunately, I should have thought,—if that be so”, our visitor replied.
“Why, may I ask?”
“Because a mystic, to my mind, suggests either one whose ideas are foggy
and incommunicable, or one who hints mysteriously of unutterable things in
the background.”
The Ancient laughed. “If that is what the word suggests to you”, he said,
“I do not wonder that you replied as you did; but you must know as well as I
do that ‘mystic’ is derived, through the Latin, from the Greek word mustes ,
which meant one who had been initiated into the Mysteries. To-day, of course,
it does not mean as much as that, for there are poets, truly mystical, who knew
nothing of the Greek or any other Mysteries as such, just as there have been
devotees of exoteric religion, both in the East and in the West, who stand out
as mystics,—by which I mean, men and women who saw or who sensed the
spirit as well as the letter, and who regarded the letter chiefly as a symbol of
reality.”
“Such as?”
“In the West, to name only a few: Juliana of Norwich, St. John of the Cross,
St. Teresa of Avila, William Law, John Wesley, George Fox.”
There was a pause. Then the Ancient, becoming interested in his subject,
resumed it voluntarily. “I do not blame you for your misunderstanding”, he
said. “The word is sadly misused. Comparatively few, even among those who
write on the subject, seem to realize that the true mystic necessarily is a realist.
Looking upon the phenomenal world as relatively an illusion, seeking always
for the hidden truth and goodness and beauty which the visible symbol strives
to express, his one desire and aim is to see the real in the unreal, while the
materialist, whose notion of reality is limited to objective existence, lives in a
world of shadows which he mistakes perpetually for substance.
“Take, for instance, the attitude of the non-mystic toward human nature,
and toward all the problems which hinge on a right interpretation of the nature
of man: on the one hand you have those who see in man merely a superior
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
271
type of animal, the product of animal evolution, whose religion, social standards
and ‘ideals’ are the cumbering survival of primitive nature-worship, blood sac¬
rifices, tribal taboos, and so forth. This means that nothing is inherently sacred,
that conscience is the voice of racial superstition, and that any code of morals,
especially in matters of sex, is at best a convention, imposed by society, but
without intrinsic warrant. Oddly enough, and quite illogically, many who
proclaim that view are leading Pacifists.”
‘‘Excuse me for interrupting you”, said our visitor, ‘‘but why illogical?”
‘‘Because, granting the premises, cold logic would decree that men and na¬
tions should fight it out, so that the fittest, i.e., from that point of view, the
strongest and cleverest, should survive. Logically—still granting those prem¬
ises—if Smith prefers Brown’s wife to his own, Smith should kill Brown and
annex his wife, forcibly in case of need. As a matter of fact, the German slogan,
‘might makes right’, is the direct and logical outcome of the ‘superior animal’
theory.
‘‘On the other hand, as opposite pole, stand those whose philosophy, if any,
is usually of the vaguest, but whose sentimentality induces the belief that
human nature is just too sweet for anything when patted on the back and
coaxed and loved and told how sweet it is. This extreme produces about as
many Pacifists as the other, for extremes always meet. Many of the clergy are
sticky with such views. Some educators, also, proceed on the theory that
everyone is born good, that evil develops as the result of restraint, and that if
only we would allow child-nature to express itself freely, at its own will and
pleasure, the world would become a paradise. So far as that is concerned, while
I do not pretend to know anything about little girls, and am prepared to admit
that all of them may be little angels, I claim to know a good deal about boys,
and have found that most of them are little devils: cruel to one another, cruel
to animals, no better than savages. This, I think, must be universal experience,
allowing always for the exceptions which, by contrast, prove the rule,—though
it does not confirm the ‘superior animal’ hypothesis, because, as I shall explain
in a moment, time and a hard struggle are needed before that which ‘comes
down from above’ can gain even a hearing in the congeries we call our conscious¬
ness, while only at intervals does it really govern, until a stage in evolution has
been reached that is far ahead of the average,—so far ahead, that the average
would not believe such a condition possible.
‘‘Even among so-called Theosophists, there is much muddled thinking, or
lack of thinking, under this head. Some have said that man is essentially
divine; but so is a dog or a cat; so is everything that exists. We need to dis¬
criminate. Man, as we know him ordinarily, is an animal who has come up
from below, and whose mental and moral processes are more intricate than those
of other animals for the reason that, touching him from above, striving to reach
down and to convert him into a human being, is a reincarnating ego or soul.
It is the interaction between the spirit of this higher ego, and the spirit of the
beast which man for the most part still is, that constitutes personal conscious¬
ness, and, incidentally, the struggle between good and evil which many of our
272
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
modem ‘advanced thinkers’ repudiate as a superstition. Man, in other words,
and still speaking generally, is potentially divine, but is a very long way indeed
from being more at present than a semi-intellectual and thoroughly depraved
animal,—depraved, inasmuch as he has used the efflux from above, not for
divine purposes, but to add zest to his lusts, cunning to his intelligence, ambition
to his desires, extravagance to an animal’s legitimate love of comfort. He has
deflected everything, both from above and below, to gratify himself and his
perversities. Fortunately there always have been and always will be exceptions:
those who have fought their way through the mire of personal existence, and who
form that nucleus of the human kingdom which all men may enter whenever
they become willing to pay the price.”
‘‘What price?” asked our visitor.
‘‘The price of self-conquest, of fixity of will; the price of maintaining right
self-identification; and love of the divine, of one’s Master—of the good, the
true, and the truly beautiful—must be our sole motive.
‘‘Facing the facts about ourselves, we shall become able to face the facts
around us; but I repeat: it is only the mystic who can do this, because it is only
the mystic who can be a realist. Realism, as the world knows it, usually sees
nothing but the putrescent scum on some side-water of the river of life.”
‘‘Where does your soul or reincarnating ego come from?” asked our visitor.
‘‘Special creation?”
‘‘No”, replied the Ancient. ‘‘Why should you limit evolution to matter?
Is not that a rather narrow view? Theosophy, echoing the original Wisdom
Religion—the source of all others—says that three major lines of evolution
meet in man: the material, the intellectual, the spiritual, and that everything
in the manifested universe has made itself what it is, and is the product, in that
sense, of ages of growth, of struggle, of evolution.”
‘‘When are we going to arrive?”
‘‘Never,— if you regard Time as a reality, which we do not. How can growth
cease? Yet there are intermediate goals, and longer or shorter periods of rest.
‘As above, so below’. Here we have day and night, waking and sleeping, sum¬
mer and winter, a period of ‘life’ followed by a period of ‘death’. The same is
true of worlds and solar systems and universes.”
‘‘Not a very cheerful view, is it?”
‘‘You would prefer to become extinct?”
“I think on the whole I should.” •
‘‘Perhaps you will. In the long run, we get what we want.” And the Ancient
seemed amused.
‘‘I do not follow you”, said our visitor. ‘‘I thought you believed in immor¬
tality.”
‘‘We do; but, like everything else, immortality has to be won. It is not be¬
stowed on us out of nothing. Nature gives us opportunities; no more. We can
reject them if we choose. She always keeps her melting-pot in reserve.
‘‘People often confuse survival after death—animals survive death—with
immortality. Only that which is worthy of eternal life can be immortal. Very
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
273
few of us could wish all of ourselves even to survive, while the idea of all of
ourselves, bad and good together, lasting for ever, would be what some people
would call devastating. Or so / should think. Try to work it out on the
basis of what you would really, honestly pray for, and the result will be very
close to the truth; but remember that no two people would pray for exactly
the same thing, so that any attempt to compress the truth into a sentence, or
into a dogma, would inevitably result in a form of untruth.”
At this stage the Ancient turned to the Historian. ‘‘What have you been
reading?” he asked. He felt, I think, that our visitor needed time for reflec¬
tion.
‘‘Things which bear very directly upon your topic”, the Historian replied.
“You said, for instance, that we ought to be realists. Well, I have been reading
the daily papers, and have come to the conclusion, so far as the international
situation is concerned, that while there are exceptions—members of the T.S.
are exceptions, and there are many others—this country as a whole would not
care if England were blown to atoms over-night, would perhaps be rather re¬
lieved, as having one rival the less; would not care if Germany were to tear
France limb from limb and were to enslave the survivors in perpetuity, as the
people of the Occupied Territory were enslaved during the War; for this coun¬
try’s one idea, one desire, one prayer at present is to hear once more the jingle
of money in its pockets, once more to feel big and rich. Self-centredness never
sees beyond its nose, and a day of reckoning would not even be thought of as
possible,—which bears, I suggest, on the nature of man as he is.
“Then I have been reading an article in the October 1st Revue des deux Mondes ,
entitled Un Prelude a l 1 Invasion de la Belgique (1904), by Maurice Pal&flogue,
French Ambassador at Petrograd during the War. It is really an important
contribution to history, besides serving to illustrate much that you said, both
about the nature of man, and about realism being an aspect of true mysticism,
—one reason, presumably, why ‘There is no religion higher than Truth’ is the
motto of The Theosophical Society,—for certainly we need an aeon or so of
training in the difficult art of seeing facts as they are. I have often thought of
modern business as an instance of how the high gods use even man’s monstrosi¬
ties for his ultimate salvation, for business does make it advantageous to dis¬
tinguish between fact and fancy. Man’s ability to see what he wants to see,
and to see nothing unless he wants to see it, is almost unlimited. He is a creator
if ever there was one,—though his creations, as a rule, are ridiculously short¬
lived, which, by the way, is what gives him his chance to learn better. I re¬
member, in 1928, a banker of unusually long and wide experience assuring
me that the Federal Reserve system would thereafter make panics or long de¬
pressions impossible. In my ignorance, I half believed him! Possibly he has
learned better; I know that I have. He believed what he desired to believe: it
was a comfortable belief, and man adores his comfort. Further, it was a flatter¬
ing belief, because, as a banker, he shared in the glory of a banking invention,
which he thought unparalleled and perfect. Finally, his belief helped him to
sell me something which he was very anxious to sell; so, between the desire to
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
feel comfortable, the desire to shine, and the desire for profit, he saw the Federal
Reserve system as guaranteeing us prosperity for evermore.
“In much the same way—for the desire not to see the unpleasant when it is
there, is just as strong as the desire to see the pleasant when it isn’t there—it
seems as if England and America had tacitly agreed to ignore, and if necessary
to suppress the facts about Germany’s past and present war-psychosis. It is
as if they said: ‘All men are natural-bom democrats, brothers, and peace-lovers;
therefore Germans, being men, must likewise be natural-bom democrats,
brothers, and peace-lovers. Q.E.D., Finis.’ Point out this or that fact, and the
answer seems to be: ‘Do not pay any attention to such things, which are dis¬
couraging, depressing, and which tend to shake one’s faith in the soothing, soul-
satisfying proposition that “All men are”,’ etc., as before.
“Tell them the naked and obvious tmth: that Germany is exactly the same
Germany that she was in 1914 and for years before 1914, with the addition of
unlimited rancour and wounded vanity; tell them that failure to recognize
wrong-doing has resulted—as almost invariably happens—in a genuine and
insane sense of grievance, so that the majority of Germans have reached the
point of believing absolutely that, with Russia at first as fellow-conspirator, it
was France and England who precipitated the war, fought it unfairly, and who
have been unfair and treacherous ever since,—and our newspaper- and magazine-
editors, as well as our ‘statesmen’, will waive all that aside as needlessly dis¬
turbing, and as inconceivable anyhow because contrary to the more pleasant
proposition that ‘All men are natural-bom democrats, brothers, and peace-
lovers; therefore Germans, being men, must be ditto.’
“Even France, in spite of the many invasions she has suffered, is not free
from this self-imposed illusion, though, as M. Pateologue’s article illustrates,
an articulate minority does its best to keep the majority awake; and because
it is unlikely, for the reasons I have suggested, that there will be any men¬
tion, in the English or American press, of what M. Paldologue has to say,
I have brought his article with me in the hope that you will notice it in the
‘Screen’.”
“What does Paldologue say?” asked the Recorder.
“He gives extracts from his diary, from April, 1904, to September, 1906,
when he occupied a confidential position in the French Foreign Office, at first
under Delcassd. The outstanding feature is the revelation that, in 1904, a
German officer, believed to be a General attached to the Headquarters Staff in
Berlin, betrayed to the French authorities the details of the German plan of
invasion through Belgium as actually carried out in 1914, stating that he was
well aware of his ignominy, but that he had been treated with even greater
ignominy, and —je me venge! The French Chief-of-Staff, General Pendezec,
believed that the plan as revealed would be carried out as soon as German
diplomacy had prepared the necessary preliminaries. Unfortunately, General
Brug&re, who was the French Generalissimo, and his successors in that position,
did not believe that Germany could dispose of sufficient troops to attempt so
wide an encircling movement, and therefore refused to modify their own ‘Plan
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
275
XV’ of 1903, which proved to be, as everyone now knows, a hopeless miscal¬
culation.
“Pateologue then shows how narrowly France escaped being over-run and
over-powered at that time, when she was even less prepared, and had fewer
reserves, than in 1914. The visit of the Czar to France in 1896 had cemented
the Franco-Russian Convention of 1892, binding both countries to aid the
other if attacked by Germany; but in 1904 Russia was at war with Japan, and
was greatly weakened in consequence, the result being that the German Em¬
peror and his advisers, thought that their chance had come. William, in a
speech at Carlsruhe, appealed to his people to remember the battles of Woerth,
of Wissembourg and of Sedan, of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. Then, as
Edward VII had finally succeeded (1904) in consummating the entente cordiale
with France, William jumped at his chance when the Dogger Bank incident of
October, 1904, strained the relations of England and Russia almost to the
breaking point: he wrote to the Emperor Nicholas that, in the event of an
Anglo-Russian war, ‘I will put my fleet at your disposal, and I will force France to
march with us’. His game was, of course, to egg Russia on as against England,
and to get them to bleed one another white, in Afghanistan or on the frontiers
of India; then to attack France, with neither England nor Russia able to help
her. If it had not been for Delcassd’s prompt intervention, and for King Ed¬
ward’s clear understanding of his nephew’s treachery, Russia would have fallen
into the trap, and France, miserably unprepared, would have been destroyed.”
“I have forgotten the Dogger Bank incident: what was it?” asked our visitor.
“The Russian fleet was on its way to the Far East, to relieve Port Arthur.
Passing through the North Sea at night, not far from the English coast, it met
a group of English fishing-smacks on the Dogger Bank, and, mistaking them
for Japanese torpedo boats, turned all its guns on the innocent fishermen, killing
many of them, and sinking, as I remember it, most of their vessels. It was so
ridiculous to suppose that Japanese torpedo boats could be in the North Sea,
that the English newspapers jumped to the conclusion that the attack and
‘murder’, as they described it, must have been deliberate. There was a terrible
outcry. It developed later that the Russian naval officers had been suffering
from nerves,—and vodka. The comments of the English press made Russia'as
furious as England,—a wonderful opportunity for Germany. . . . But I cannot
give you an epitome of the article; it covers too much ground; you must read it
for yourselves. It proves once more that all through those years, Germany wasd
manoeuvring ceaselessly to get a strangle-hold on France,—preparing to attack
then, as she is preparing to attack now. . . . Which reminds me of a book.
‘‘I said that, to all appearances, both England and America prefer not to see
unpleasant facts, especially about Germany. Any other attitude is so unusual
that I should like to mention this recent publication in London by Wishart and
Co., written by Cecil F. Melville, called The Russian Face of Germany: An
account of the secret military relations between the German and Soviet-Russian
Governments. The book is inexpensive (six shillings to be precise); could be
imported through the Quarterly Book Department or any American bookseller,
276
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
and ought to be widely read, though I am well aware it never will be. The
author shows how Germany, to circumvent the terms of the Versailles Treaty
which she signed (another ‘scrap of paper’), established aeroplane, chemical,
and munition factories in Russia, and now has huge supplies of shells, heavy
guns, poison gas, bombing planes and other war material, some of it stored in
Soviet arsenals, some of it shipped into German territory under forged bills of
lading. The author also proves that the closest co-operation exists between the
German and Russian general staffs. Wickham Steed, in the London Sunday
Times , remarked that the book ‘should be read by all who wish to perceive the
meaning of the German claim for “Equality” in armaments;’ but he probably
knows as well as I do how very few wish to perceive anything of the sort. In
any case it seems to me to be the duty of the Quarterly to advertize it as widely
as we can. It should be noted, in passing, that Germany has paid and is paying
for this illicit armament, intended for use against France and Poland, with
money ‘written off’ by England and France from Germany’s War debts to
them, as well as with money borrowed in America, either from or through
American banks. It should be noted also that France would never have con¬
sented to these vast reductions in Germany’s War liabilities except for the
pressure—actual threats—of this country and of England, Dawes and Young
being used as instruments for that purpose. Nothing I regret more than that
France, years ago, did not tell her former Allies to go to the devil. Europe
would be at peace to-day if she had done so. The factors of perpetual barter
and uncertainty would have been removed.
“Still another book which bears on the same general subject, and which is
far more likely to be read, is War Memories , by the Princess Marie de Croy.
Written with great restraint, and with evident anxiety to acknowledge every
kindness shown by any German, its story of her experience in occupied Belgium
during the War, and then of her imprisonment in Germany—ten years’ penal
servitude was the sentence—for having co-operated with Nurse Cavell and
others in helping stray British and French soldiers to escape through Holland,
is not only intensely interesting, but shows all over again how extraordinarily
brutal the German war-machine was, and, of course, still is. Belgian women
add girls, some mere children, of all classes, for ‘crimes’ such as ‘not having
denounced a neighbour whom she knew to have hidden a bicycle’ (two years’
imprisonment), ‘for having given food to two Russian prisoners’ (five years),—
were sent as convicts to a prison in Germany where the worst and lowest type
of German women-criminals were incarcerated. The author was one of those
who were treated in this way. Her heroism, and that of great numbers of her
fellow-countrywomen, who refused to flee before the invading Germans, fills
one with admiration and respect,—indeed, with reverence. Proclamations were
posted everywhere that anyone harbouring an Allied soldier would be shot;
yet all over Belgium there were women who never hesitated to give food and
shelter to men, perhaps wounded, who had been left behind or who had lost
their way during the initial retreat toward the Marne,—women who risked
not only their own lives but the lives of those they loved, by so doing.”
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
277
“The worst of it is”, commented the Philosopher, “that even among those
who read such a book with sympathy, very few will realize that their own
mothers and sisters would be subjected to the same kind of torture, if ever
Germany had the chance. I know there are some Germans who would utterly
disapprove; but I know also that their protest would count for nothing as
against the black devils of hate and cruelty which possess the vast majority of
their countrymen, once the war-fever (which in them is a spirit of fear and greed
and rapine) runs away with them. In my opinion, one of the things that is
suffocating the world at the present time, is a hideous accumulation of unex¬
piated Karma from the Great War. I grant that the Turks, Kurds and Arabs,
and that many of the people of the Balkans, exceeded the Germans in cruelty;
but the Germans were supposed to be civilized, the others not; so the moral
guilt of the Germans was far greater.”
“Were the Turks so bad?” asked the Student.
“They varied. The Anatolian peasant seems to have been a square, clean,
brave fighter; but the fact remains that Turkey butchered in cold blood over
half a million Armenians, men, women and children, and although it is true that
the Armenians would have butchered the Turks, could they have done so, with
equal brutality, the further fact remains that out of thirteen thousand British
and British-Indian prisoners captured by the Turks at Kut al-Amarah, ‘scarce
five thousand survived their marches and prisons: they had been clubbed,
stripped, mutilated: their bones were strewn in the deserts between Baghdad
and Aleppo’. And for such abominations (there were others, far worse) no one
was punished,—which clearly left it to be inferred that crimes and barbarities
committed even against one’s own people, in the course of a war, do not count, and
that the criminals and barbarians can repeat their performance with impunity.
Yet sin is sin, and God is not mocked. There must come a time either of re¬
pentance, or of terrible punishment; and meanwhile, as I have said, it seems to
me that all of Nature will protest until that Karma has been worked out, and
the equilibrium restored.”
“It will take time”, said the Ancient; “and meanwhile such things do show,
as you suggested, how fierce the struggle is between that which comes down
from above, and that which wells up from below; they show also how great is
the need to look behind the surface of things, both within ourselves and in the
world around us, and to look fearlessly and with detachment, seeking the truths
and nothing but the truth. Then—one might almost say, above all else—they
show that until divine law, the law of Karma, of retribution, of equilibrium, is
recognized as universally omnipotent, and until men and nations learn that to
offend against that law and to outrage its spirit is to draw disaster upon them¬
selves,—earth will remain a hell. Meanwhile, Theosophists, if faithful to their
trust, must not only strive to do and to be what they would have others do and
be, but, with that as basis, must spend themselves to the utmost in an effort
to arouse our blind world to the truth which alone can set it free and which alone
can give it inner peace.” T.
The Beginnings of Man, by E. O. James; Doubleday, Doran and Company, Garden City,
New York; price, $2.50.
Dr. James has undertaken, in a measure with success, a difficult task: to reconcile the con¬
ventional view of the origin and evolution of man with what one is constrained to call an
almost equally conventional view of religion, as it is understood by a great many orthodox
Christians. The first part of his book tells again the tale of modern discoveries in
archaeology and the antiquity of man, as it has been told by so many writers, like Boule,
Keith, Sollas, Osborn and others; most vividly told, perhaps, in Osborn’s fine work, Man rises
to Parnassus, with its noble antiphonal accompaniment from iEschylus. This immensely
interesting story Dr. James retells with fidelity, accuracy and an evident enjoyment of its
manifold details, yet, it must be said, without any strongly original or creative criticism.
He accepts at more than its face value the descent of man from the diminutive, big-eyed
Tarsius, nocturnal kin of the lemurs, while to most students of Theosophy, this particular
view seems a fantastical fairy-tale. He is not critical regarding the Javan Man-ape, Pithe¬
canthropus; like many convinced followers of the doctrine of the day, he shows, in his genea¬
logical tree, this problematic Man-ape as originating far earlier than authentic man. This
is very convenient for current theories, but the fact seems to be that Pithecanthropus belongs
to the Pleistocene, and that Piltdown man, with his decidedly “modem” skull, as Keith calls
it, belongs to the much older Pliocene. That common inversion, as we have suggested, fits
the theory much better than it fits the facts. Nor does Dr. James weigh and consider the
likelihood that the so-called “man-like” apes may represent thoroughly retrograde forms, as
was long ago suggested by so great an authority as Quatrefages; and it is somewhat hazard¬
ous to build arguments on Miocene Dryopithecus, since up to the present no skull of Dryopi-
thecus has been discovered. Once more, to come nearer to the present, Dr. James appears to
accept without question the view that agriculture, and with it “civilization”, is only 10,000
years old. The quite recent excavation of unexpectedly ancient cities in the valley of the
Indus, with the probability that other cities still more ancient may be found, should teach
us caution; we may have to revise our dates. Therefore, we are inclined to think that Dr.
James has not brought any original critical power to the first half of his theme. He seems
to accept too easily the conventional views.
The same is in a measure true of his study of religion. Thus, he bases a strong plea for
Hebrew monotheism on the opening verses of Genesis, quoting the translation of the author¬
ized version: “In the beginning God . . .” But Hebrew scholars say that the first three
words of the text, faithfully translated, read: “Primordially the Worshipful Ones moulded
. . .” Again, he speaks of the Creator making man “in His image.” Here he departs from
the text of the authorized version, which reads, “Let us make man in our image,” the subject
being the plural form Elohim, “The Worshipful Ones.” Further, Dr. James makes no effort
to compare this ancient cosmogony with the parallel cosmogonies of India, as found, for
example, in the Upanishads. To leave out these great spiritual records in any general study
of religion is to leave the story half told.
Dr. James rests much of his case on what is called “emergent evolution”: thus, the spiritual
278
REVIEWS
279
faculties of man mysteriously “emerged,” suddenly transforming his anthropoid predecessor.
But, while there is much valuable truth in “emergent evolution,” we should face the fact
that it is only a description, not an explanation. A man “emerges” from a doorway, a lion
“emerges” from a cave, an owl “emerges” from a hollow tree; but in each case the man,
the lion, the owl was there, fully equipped, unchanged, except in place, by his “emergence.”
If we are consistent, we must equally hold that the spiritual faculties of man must have been
already existent before they could “emerge”; we must hold that the essential man, the spiritual
intelligence, was pre-existent, and, at the right time, entered a fitting vesture.
With what Dr. James has to say, in his closing pages, regarding the spiritual stature and power
of Christ, one can heartily agree, even though holding that it is once more only a half-told tale.
J.
The Earlier Religion of Greece in the Light of Cretatf Discoveries, the Frazer Lecture for 1931
in the University of Cambridge, by Sir Arthur Evans; Macmillan Company, New York,
price, $1.20.
Thirty-five years ago the origins of Greek history .were still wrapped in impenetrable dark¬
ness, and the great civilization of classical Hellas was generally regarded as a miraculous
development. Schliemann’s excavations at Troy and Mycenae had testified to a very solid
substratum of culture underlying the brilliant productions of the classical period, but, as Sir
Arthur Evans points out, Mycenaean Greece was supposed to represent “an exotic and un¬
explained phenomenon not yet recognized as, in the main, merely an offshoot of a much older
culture, stage beyond stage of which could be traced in the ‘Midsea’ land, where it is now seen
to link up the earliest civilization on European soil with that of the Nile Valley and of the
Ancient East” (p. 3).
Even the most ardent and most bigoted Hellenists are now forced to admit that the “his¬
torical” Greeks, with all their genius, did not create their civilization out of nothing. Their
genius, indeed, consisted in their ability to assimilate what was essential in a civilization which
had already completed many cycles before they entered the Mediterranean lands as a race of
conquerors. The changed view of Greek history has been made possible by the labour and
sacrifice of Sir Arthur and others who have revealed, by excavation and by long research, the
extraordinary duration and extent of the so-called Minoan culture.
The home of the Minoan culture was Crete, but it had a close connection with Egypt and
with the countries east of the Mediterranean. It effectively dominated the .<Egean islands and
parts of the Greek mainland for many centuries. In his lecture, Sir Arthur describes in detail
some of the ritual and votive objects which have been recovered from Minoan tombs or shrines.
He indicates the remarkable resemblances between Minoan and Egyptian symbolism, and
suggests that many practices of later Greek religion can only be explained as survivals or modi¬
fications of Minoan ceremonies.
He compares the cult of the Cretan Mother Goddess to the Mysteries of Adonis and Attis,
and remarks that in “the old Cretan worship we seem to discern not only a pervading spiritual
essence but something in its followers akin to the faith that for the last two millenniums, has
moved the adherents of successive Oriental religions, Iranian, Christian, and Islamic” (p. 37).^
Some of the characteristic symbols are very suggestive,—the chrysalis and the butterfly, the^V
sacred tree, the obelisk, the double-ax resembling the tau or the swastika. Sir Arthur repro™
duces a scene carved on a signet ring from Thisb§, which represents the adoration of the
Mother Goddess and her Child by two warriors who bring offerings to the Divinities.
“Nothing can be more remarkable than the parallelism that this whole scene presents with
the Adoration of the Magi” (p. 35).
Sir Arthur is deeply impressed by the pure and reverent quality of the Cretan religion.
“A certain moral ingredient—taken over, it may be, from ancient Egypt—is perceptible in
the idea of the weighing of the Soul in butterfly form evidenced by the gold scales from the
Mycenae tomb, and by the scene on the ‘Ring of Nestor’ where the deceased are led before the
Griffin Inquisitor, enthroned before the Goddess. I will venture, indeed, to repeat a con¬
clusion . . . based on the whole range of evidence afforded by the now very considerable mass
28 o
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of Minoan monuments. From the beginning to the end of Minoan Art, amongst all its mani¬
fold relics—from its earliest to its latest phase—not one single example has been brought to
light of any subject of an indecorous nature” (pp. 41-42). The same cannot be said of the
classical Greeks, even by their most fanatical admirers. V. S.
Ancient Beliefs in the Immortality of the Soul, by Professor Clifford Herschel Moore; pub¬
lished in the Series, Our Debt to Greece and Rome, by Longmans, Green & Co., 1931; price,
Si. 75 -
In the light of Theosophy, this little volume of 183 carefully worded pages is an uncon¬
scious admission of the bankruptcy of modern scholarship and modern understanding. Twenty
different theories of Immortality are succinctly presented, from Homer and Orphism to
Thomas Aquinas, Christian Mystics and "The Modern Period”. "Since it is impossible to
determine what influence, if any, the vifews of India and Eastern Asia have had on the West
in the past, I make no mention of them” (p. viii). Egyptian theories of Resurrection and of
Immortality are likewise ignored, but without comment; Plato, we are told in summary, "leaves
the question unanswered, and the Neoplatonists are no more explicit” (p. 166); the teaching
of Thrice Greatest Hermes is omitted as a mere post-Christian syncretism based chiefly on
Philo and the Neoplatonists; while we are asked to believe that, thanks to Pythagoras and
the Orphics, "as early as the sixth century [B. C.J at least, men had passed from the idea of
mere continuance after death to a belief in rewards and punishments hereafter for the deeds
done in the flesh” (p. 28). One wonders how a twentieth century Harvard Professor knows
so certainly that: "At the best the Orphic confidence in the immortality of the soul rested
only on an intuition; it was simply an emotional belief, parallel in a way to the hope cherished
by those initiated in the mysteries of Eleusis” (p. 12).
Nevertheless, the volume is useful. The numerous quotations are well-chosen, and could
not be assembled without wide reading and labour. A student of Theosophy can pick his
own way, and ignore the absurd comments, or use them as a foil to sharpen his own compre¬
hension of a topic of vital importance. There is unfortunately no index. A.
Angeltis Silesius, translated, with an Introduction by J. E. Crawford Flitch; George Allen
and Unwin, 1932; price, 8s. 6 d.
A very interesting Introduction of 97 pages describes a movement on the Continent in the
17th century which seems related to that of the Cambridge Platonists. Individuals and
groups in Silesia particularly, revolted by the narrow and rigid dogmatism of Luther, "tended
in quietness the flame of the spirit, while Catholics and Lutherans contended for thrones and
dominions” (page 17).
Johann Scheffler (1624-1677) was one of those who sought the inner life. He was the son
of a Polish Protestant nobleman driven by persecution to Silesia. Under the influence of
certain great mystics, St. Gertrude, St. Mechtild, Eckhart, Tauler, and not least, Jacob
Boehme (whose writings were published in 1642), he prepared an anthology of their writings
to which the Protestant censor refused publication. Chagrin over that disappointment and
natural sympathy with the mystics led Scheffler to repudiate the Lutherans as "inexperienced
and unversed in the whole body of ancient piety and destitute of the true and living theology”
(page 32); he became a Catholic, a priest, and took Angelus Silesius for his name in religion.
"Mystics had a traditional leave to warm themselves at the Catholic hearth, even though at
times the mistress of the house might have occasion to reprove them for their freedom of
speech. Their dialect, strange though it might sound to the orthodox ear, could still be in¬
terpreted according to the grammar of faith. A judicious editing, a prefatory gloss, would
be enough to warn the unwary reader against a too literal interpretation of the poet’s mystical
paradoxes” (p. 40). Later, most unfortunately, he developed into a bitterly polemical pamph¬
leteer. There are aspects of his life which suggest Milton, Donne, and Blake. As a young
man he put into verse many thoughts from the mystics under the title, Cherubinic Wanderer ,
selections from which, in translation, form the main body of this book. "He was one of that
numerous company of spirits who feel themselves to be in exile on the earth and whose chief
REVIEWS
281
concern is to find a way back to their native country. He explored both the Negative Way
of Mysticism and the Devotional Way of the Cross. He was responsive to the signals and
beckonings of the many travellers who had set out before him on the way to the far country.
An arresting paradox from Eckhart, a lightning flash from Boehme, an ecstatic cry from St.
Mechtild or St. Teresa, an epigram from Czepko, these were the sparks which, falling upon his
inflammable imagination, lit up the momentary visions he engraved in the incisive lines of
his verse. He was too much at the mercy of his impulses and enthusiasms to stay to reflect
upon the connection of his thoughts or to weave them into a continuous tissue. All the aspira¬
tion, all the triumphs and despairs, which are involved in the effort of mysticism to penetrate
into the heart of reality, are resumed in him and together constitute the thousand-faceted
jewel of the Cherubinic Wanderer ” (p. 96). C.
An Indian Monk: His Life and Adventures , by Shri Purohit Swami; Macmillan and Co.,
London, 1932; price, 7 s. 6 d.
The first half or so of this book, in which the inner as well as the outer life of a Hindu would-
be disciple is laid bare, makes wonderful reading. We are given a picture of Indian life at its
best,—not a complete picture by any means, because there is no mention of its many evils; but
a picture which shows that, in spite of a veneer of Western education, and in spite of her native
degeneracy, there still exists in India a substratum of genuine and rare spirituality. The
later chapters, in which the author describes his pilgrimages and sufferings, are, in comparison,
somewhat wearisome: he becomes a shade too good. We hope, however, that the book will
be widely read. It is a challenge to all who call themselves Christians: have they anything to
show which compares with this “heathen’s” sacrifice and asceticism? Do they desire to love
and obey their Master as he loved and obeyed his?
Reading it, should compel students of Theosophy to think ,—and we need to think. At
first, it may seem that the author is really a Theosophist. Without question his book reveals
an intense “other-worldliness”, which is beautiful in many ways, and a delight after the ma¬
terialism in the midst of which we live. It needs thought and some discrimination to realize
that his idea of the real world is not the same as ours, and that his is more of a Deva-loka, a
sort of superior Devachan, than the reality of which our present world is a perverted shadow.
Without question, too, his tolerance is unlimited, and again it may need reflection to see that,
just because it is unlimited, it is not theosophical; for Theosophy teaches us to discriminate,
not to swallow everything flat, as if there were no difference between black and white. “I am
Brahma, thou art Brahma, all things are Brahma”, is his conclusion, as if that settled it, the
truth being that that only begins it, no matter how we may wish it were otherwise. His
philosophy is based upon a dead-letter interpretation of the Upanishads; it fails utterly to
discriminate between "relative unrealities”; it regards the courtesan, and the self-sacrificing
mother of a family, as equal manifestations of Brahma, seeing that Brahma alone is; and this
means failure to recognize facts, and total inability to apply principles to mundane affairs.
Incidentally, the book confirms our opinion that a literal and external interpretation of the
Vow of Poverty puts a premium on self-satisfaction. It becomes too easy for a man to feeL
within himself: “How humble I am that I, who might be feeding others, beg”; and if a man
feels that, or anything like that, his virtues, no matter how many, can only carry him deeper
into the pit. Humility is not aware of being humble.
On the other hand, in some of the simplicities, the Swami is splendidly right. Take this
(p. 101): “I came to the conclusion that it was sheer ignorance and egoism when men talked
about helping Him [God] or helping mankind. When you begin to do good to this world,
you presuppose that you are sufficiently wise to understand it, and powerful enough to help
it out of its difficulties. Such men profess too much. The world is full of misery. What is
the reason? Perhaps those people who want to help are the cause, and, when bad results of
their actions appear, they resort to the same despotic benevolence as a remedy. Thus misery
is piled on misery, all the product of ignorance and egoism, as the sages said, and as I felt
forced to agree. ... I thought, yes, the world has been created by Him, and He alone is able
to help it. Then what business have I to meddle unless He bids me? My first duty is to
282
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
know Him, and attain direct communication with Him. In short, I thought I should have
His ddesha, or mandate, before I did anything for this world.”
He quotes a “Mahatma” (all men who are supposed to have found God, are called “Ma¬
hatmas” in India) as having said to him (p. 94) that real mysticism is not mystery, but mystery
unveiled, and once a mystery is unveiled it no longer remains a mystery but is plain and
simple knowledge.
As we have said, the author shows modem Hinduism at its best, and although it is not
the best, we are thankful that it exists. If there were enough of it, it might antidote the poison
of the Indian National Congress. We repeat: a fascinating, thought-provoking book, which
we recommend, and for which we are thankful. T.
War Memories, by Princess Marie de Croy; Macmillan and Co., London, 1932; price,
8 s. 6 d.
This book is highly recommended in the “Screen of Time” in this issue of the Quarterly.
It has not as yet been published in America, because American publishers do not think it
would be “popular”, and have said so. Probably they are right, as the Princess de Croy tells
the truth about a subject in regard to which most Americans prefer to hear untruths, or,
better, nothing at all. It can be obtained through the Quarterly Book Department for $2.00.
If our recommendation could create a sufficient demand for it, New York publishers would
soon be competing for the “privilege” of seeing their name on the title-page. Its wide circu¬
lation would do a great deal of good. T.
The Wisdom of Egypt and the Old Testament , In the Light of the. Newly Discovered 4 Teaching
of Amen-Em-Ope', by W. O. E. Oesterlcy, D.D.; London, S.P.C.K.; New York, The Mac¬
millan Co.; 6 s.
This is an interesting and very suggestive comparison of the relation between an important,
newly discovered Egyptian “Wisdom” book, and Proverbs, Deuteronomy, and Psalms.
There are numerous passages either verbatim or so closely parallel as to prove that the Hebrew
writers knew the Egyptian, or vice versa. Professor Oesterley, assuming the latest date for
the Egyptian writer, inclines to emphasize the existence of a general body of early “Wisdom”
literature (of the Proverbs type), probably written in Hebrew, from which the known Hebrew
writers copied, and from which Amen-Em-Ope borrowed his volume of Teaching. Egyptolo¬
gists, however, unite in attributing priority of authorship to Egypt; and with this general
principle The Secret Doctrine agrees. The dating adopted throughout is typical of the whole
modem tendency to foreshorten ancient history. The ethical teaching is on a level with the
best in the Old Testament—a fact not cherished by theologians and devout Biblical scholars.
Professor Oesterley has summed up the various views with scrupulous fairness, and his little
volume is highly instructive and serves as an excellent introductory exposition. G.
L'Art Religieux aprls le Concile de Trente , by Emile Mdle; Librairie Armand Colin, Paris;
$10.00.
Emile Mdle, distinguished member of the Academy and Director of the French School at
Rome, has written on religious art in France in the twelfth century, the thirteenth century
and at the end of the Middle Ages. This latest book, the fourth of the series, deals with religious
art in Europe in the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
The religious art of this period is by no means so splendid as that of the preceding centuries,
as one realizes sadly when looking at the many illustrations of this book. No one would place
“Le Beau Dieu” of Amiens or the “Queen of Sheba” of Chartres on the same plane as Bernini’s
St. Theresa, or compare Rubens’ or Van Dyke’s Pietd with the profound and beautiful Pietd
of Enguerrand Charenton. However, Mdle does not discuss his subject from the aesthetic
point of view, but from that of the ideas, theological and general, which guided the artists of
the time. These artists are completely representative of the thought of the age, of the tre¬
mendous resistance of the church in the Catholic Reaction, and of its renewed life in the great
saints who opposed the Protestant Reformation.
REVIEWS
283
The church and the artists of the Counter Reform meditated upon the ecstasies of the
saints in their communion with Christ and the Virgin, upon the miracles of the Sacraments,
upon the warning of death and dissolution, upon the courage of the martyrs. Their subjects
are in astonishing contrast with their sensationalism, saccharine sentimentality and lack of
taste. The term "Jesuit Art” describes the most exuberant baroque. The "Triumph of St.
Ignatius" at the Gesu in Rome is wormy with cupids. Alone, some of the Spanish masters,
Zurbaran, el Greco, Montanes, rise to the height of a spiritual vision of their subjects.
Nevertheless, the ideas which the poorest of the painters and sculptors pretended to express
are worthwhile in themselves, and Mile’s exposition of them sheds floods of light not only upon
art, but upon the history of religious thought in Europe. St. C. LaD.
Spinoza , Liberator of God and Man , by Benjamin DeCasseres; E. Wickham Sweetland,
publisher, New York, 1932; price $2.00.
Blessed Spinoza , a Biography, by Lewis Browne; The Macmillan Company, New York,
1932; price, $4.00.
Last year the three hundredth anniversary of Spinoza's birth was celebrated. One hopes
that the revival of interest in his philosophy will bring a truer understanding of it, for Spinoza
does not need outspoken homage or admiration as much as re-valuation. For centuries he has
been misrepresented by enemies and friends alike. No one could have said more clearly what
he had to say, but most of his commentators seem to have been incapable of believing that he
meant what he said. More than one of his so-called followers has tried to gain favour or
publicity for his own ideas by the simple expedient of attributing them to Spinoza. He has
been praised and blamed for being an atheist, a naturalistic pantheist, a materialist, a ration¬
alist, a utilitarian, a hedonist; and because his works are difficult to read, it has been generally
assumed that he was one or all of these things. But when one does take the trouble to read
them, it requires little acumen to discern what he really was. If his words be offered in evidence
against the words of his commentators, it becomes apparent that Spinoza was a mystical
philosopher, and that the metaphysician who most closely resembles him was Plotinus.
The two works here considered are decidedly better than the average, but in the reviewer’s
opinion their merits are outweighed by their defects. They may be read with profit by one who
has already read Spinoza; but unless the student has this safe-guard of first-hand knowledge,
he is certain to get from them some very false notions about the philosopher.
Without doubt, Benjamin DeCasseres has written a stimulating book which has the value of
being provocative on every page. With some of his assertions we unqualifiedly agree. Spinoza,
like every other "Titan" in the history of thought, was a champion of the divine spirit of Man
against the powers which impede its expression, against mediocrity and brutality, ignorance
and stupidity and fear. In his own degree and on his own plane, he belonged to the clan of
Lucifer and Prometheus. "He liberated God from the dungeons of personal fear and from the
images of the grotesque imagination. ... He found him a Moloch-Father. He left him an
omnipresent infinite universality" (p. 31). There is exaggeration here both concerning God,
and concerning Spinoza, who was by no means the first of mortals to realize that God was not
"an anthropomorphic prolongation of the body, parts and passions of mankind’’. But the idea
that Spinoza was "a son of the Morning Star" would seem to be nearer to the truth, in spite
of its hyperbolism, than the commonly accepted notion that he was a Seventeenth Century
type of parlour radical. It is true that he was forced into open conflict with the obscurantist
forces of his day, specifically represented by the ecclesiastics and theologians. One wonders
whether he would not find those same forces to-day represented by other "vested interests",
for example, by learned scientific bodies and by those who are endeavouring completely to
secularize and to stereotype humanity. "A son of the Morning Star" is no respecter of persons.
He struggles with darkness wherever he finds it.
But when DeCasseres comments further upon Spinoza’s ideal of the liberation of Man, he
falls into a serious error. He assumes that when the philosopher spoke of virtue as synonymous
with strength and true happiness, he was anticipating Nietzsche’s vision of the Superman. In
point of fact, Spinoza and Nietzsche are as far apart as it is possible to be. The "self", for
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
which Nietzsche sought joy and power, is the lower personality, the actual human ego. The
“self” in Spinoza’s system is a mode or ray of the Eternal. “The human mind, in so far as it
knows itself . . . under the form of Eternity ( sub specie aternitatis), . . . knows that it exists in
God and is conceived through God.” . . . One wishes that DeCasseres had not written the
chapter on what he calls, with much approbation, Spinoza’s “Egotheism”, for it inverts the
whole sense of the great philosopher’s central doctrine, that blessedness consists in complete
self-forgetfulness in the knowledge and love of God. It was Spinoza who said that he who
truly loves God does not hope that God will love him in return.
Lewis Browne is in no danger of making the same mistakes as DeCasseres, for he is a sober
and careful realist. He has accomplished a remarkable feat in writing three hundred and nine¬
teen pages about Spinoza’s life, for this life was almost devoid of incident, with the exception
of the outstanding episode of his excommunication from Israel. But he has marshalled his
facts with skill and has made the maximum use of his material. The most interesting part
of the book is concerned with the Jewish environment of Spinoza’s early years. Incidentally,
Dr. Browne suggests that the young Spinoza was probably much influenced by his studies in the
rabbinical academy of Amsterdam, for it was there that he must have become acquainted with
the metaphysical genius of Maimonides and Ibn-Ezra, the great Jewish philosophers of medi¬
aeval Spain. Also he must have perused the Zohar and other Kabalistic scriptures, for which
Dr. Browne cannot conceal his scorn, whenever he mentions them; but it is possible that
Spinoza may have been more deeply indebted to the Kabala than he chose to admit. It is a
curious fact that his Theologico-Political Treatise, published anonymously in 1670, gave the
publisher’s name as Henricus Kunraht. This was evidently a pseudonym; can it be that
Spinoza was thinking of Henry Khunrath, the Sixteenth Century Kabalist?
The virtue of Dr. Browne’s work is that it brings into relief the contrast between the bril¬
liant and active inner life of the philosopher and his obscure and monotonous outer existence.
Spinoza seems to have deliberately chosen poverty and solitude as fixed conditions of his life
because he believed them to be less distracting than wealth and comfort. During his last
years at the Hague, he dwelt in the back-room of an attic, earning what little he had to spend
by grinding lenses.
There is, however, a grave error of omission in this biography which materially affects its
value, and causes the unwary reader to carry away with him a very lop-sided view of Spinoza.
What would one say of a biography of Napoleon in which no reference was made to his military
or political qualities? Dr. Browne has written a life of Spinoza in which no space is given to
any consideration of his mystical genius. If Dr. Browne were one’s only source of information
about Spinoza, one would assume that there was not the slightest evidence of any mystical
substratum in his thought. But it is this mystical substratum which really gives his thought
such power, and which distinguishes him from the vast majority of modern philosophers whose
axioms are merely guesses and not based upon intuition and experience. A biography which
does not even mention Spinoza the mystic, is not really a biography of Spinoza, but of a phantom
of the author’s imagination which bears the philosopher’s name. S. V. L.
The Golden Sequence, a Fourfold Study of the Spiritual Life, by Evelyn Underhill; Methuen
and Co. Ltd., London, 1932; price, 5s.
This is another remarkable book from perhaps the most influential and most helpful writer
on Mysticism in the West. Miss Underhill has attempted an exceedingly difficult approach in
this latest exposition of the workings of the inner life, because, to deal directly in Western
terms with “the Spirit” and things “spiritual”, is to enter a field of highly ambiguous terms
and very various meanings. Only a person literally steeped in the literature on the Spirit and
its workings in so-called Mystical Consciousness, could even have attempted such a book.
Christian theology has never succeeded in clarifying its exposition of the Holy Spirit, or even of
spiritual experience; and Christian mystics have given accounts apparently so at variance,
though based on their own individual “experience”,—that the lay reader is usually bewildered
and seldom sure that he understands what is meant. Years ago a series of articles in the
Quarterly attempted to point out some of the keys to a simpler conception of what was.
REVIEWS
285
involved in Christian teaching, by applying theosophic principles and the helpful analogies
afforded by comparative religious terminology. Miss Underhill seems to have read some books
on Theosophy (has she, perchance, read Through The Gates Of Gold}), but, living in England,
her approach has obviously been unfortunate, and she has never had the advantage of knowing
Theosophy as such, stripped not only of its counterfeits, but of its vulgar travesties. Never¬
theless, in this volume her whole method and intellectual approach are precisely those of a
student of Theosophy, and for this reason, beyond perhaps her earlier contributions, these
new “considerations”, as she calls them, will be of interest and value to readers of the Quar¬
terly. Her wide reading, her wonderful memory for apt quotation, her great command of
language, her brilliance of analogy and in illustration, have all served the one purpose of dis¬
covering a synthesis, of bringing out the fundamental principles which underlie all the “spiri¬
tual” experience of the mystics and the writings of mystical theologians. It is unfortunate
that the publisher’s jacket should use the phrase “a theology of the Spirit” to describe the book.
It suggests a purely mental or intellectual approach. But Miss Underhill has written from
her heart—as in her last two booklets—and her intellectual gifts are used to subserve the in¬
tense sympathy, almost the yearning she herself feels, and reveals, for the mystical life and its
experience. Moreover, in several passages she indicates a growing realization that the detached
and bare intellectual vision described by a Plotinus or exalted by a Ruysbroeck, is not neces¬
sarily better or “higher” than the more intimate interchange of a Theresa or a Catherine with
their Master;—and it is at just this point that lies the difference between experience merely
mystic, and chGlaship,—between “the good man and the man who has attained knowledge”.
“Reality” must include, not exclude, true individuality. “Spirit indwells and penetrates the
soul’s very fabric as a quiet Love; and it is here, in our ground, that we are to experience the
most intimate and transforming realities of Prayer. Here we may come to know by the pene¬
tration of the heart, that which we can never understand by the exercise of the mind. . . .
The vision of God and the love of God complete each other” (pp. 168-9).
The “Golden Sequence” may be said to begin with a recognition, however dumb and blind,
that there is a Spirit, beyond, above, and greater than we are. Miss Underhill illustrates this
beginning with a striking story “by Osbert Sitwell, which tells how a traveller in the equatorial
forests, hearing strange sounds at night, looked out from his window; and saw in the courtyard,
where it was imprisoned, a great anthropoid ape—one of those tragic creatures just verging
on the human (Theosophical tradition reverses this: “descended and cast off from the human”]
—bowing in solemn adoration before the splendour of the rising moon” (p. 161). The Sequence
next brings us to a recognition of "Man Natural and Supernatural”—to the realization that
man partakes of two worlds, and has two natures. There is a finite life, and there is Life
Infinite. The “Gifts” of the Spirit flow from the Supernatural and Infinite, and gradually
transform, or transmute, the finite and “natural” into Itself. Man, therefore, is in a transition
stage, and must live a “Twofold Life” until his nature be transmuted. The process of passing,
or growing, from finite to Infinite, from natural to Supernatural, is known technically as the
Way of Purgation. Man deliberately sets himself to claim his full spiritual inheritance; he
cleanses his senses, his intellect, his memory and imagination, his will and love. Throughout
this process he learns in ever fuller measure the true meaning of prayer, step by step advancing
from Adoration to Communion, and thence to a newly motived and vitalized action —in the
world, but no longer of it. Miss Underhill sums up this section in a fine concluding paragraph
“Thus communion and intercession, adherence and collaboration, can never be separated in
experience. They are completing aspects of that total life of prayer, of which the key-word is
to be fiat voluntas tua. Even while it moves, within the action of God, towards that complete
surrender which puts it, in action and in contemplation, wholly at the disposal of the Creative
Will, this life moves also to a discovery and fulfilment of its own unique task within the mystical
body of praying souls” (p. 177).
When we read, and reread, what Miss Underhill writes with such a sure hand and with so
unusual an illumination about Adoration and Communion, one cannot help but wish that
something more of the old, old Wisdom Religion and Teaching might be understood by her.
If she could transcend the mental outlook and dogmatic horizon of the Western Christian
286
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
mystics, how extraordinary would be her contribution. If she could—by meditation upon such
phrases as “My Father worketh hitherto, and I work”, or “the first-born of many brethren”,
or “the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven”—arrive at a vision of the superb sweep of human
evolution through reincarnation, and especially of the Lodge of “just men made perfect” who,
one and all, ceaselessly come in one way or another to seek and to save the lost, and could see
how her own insight into the workings of the eternal spiritual “Reality of God” would be
enriched by it—could see the differing kinds of mystical experience and communion explained
by the differing stages of development, of need, of self- consciousness along this tremendous
pathway—her whole intellectual grasp of mystical phenomena would be integrated. In any
case, students of Theosophy can find in her writings the theosophic method applied with
inspiring rectitude within the limits of a broad and enlightened Christian mysticism—and
this is saying much. Miss Underhill’s zeal is catching, her intellect is stimulating, her guidance
may be trusted. M. H.
La Mythologie Asiatiqne Illustree; Librairie de France, Paris; $10. Translated into English
as A static Mythology; Harrap, London; 635.
This magnificent work has recently been translated from the French and published in
London. It was prepared and brought out by M. Hakin, the Conservateur of the Mus6e Guimet,
a Paris Museum dedicated to Oriental Thought, Art and Anthropology. It deals with Persia,
India, Tibet, Indo-China, Cambodia, Java, China and Japan, and the mythology of each
country is discussed by an authority in that field. It is the only work, so far as we know,
which presents such a mass of material in so compact a form. The book is profusely illustrated
with photographs, drawings and colour plates.
The authors do not attempt to explain the spiritual significance of faiths, myths or legends.
They have tried only to give a history of religions and a catalogue of divinities. Thus, their
work is of slight inspiration to those seeking spiritual nourishment, but, on the other hand,
it is invaluable as a book of reference to all who are interested in Oriental Mythology and Art.
St. C. LaD.
St. Augustine's Conversion , by W. J. Sparrow Simpson, D. D.; London, S. P. C. K.; New
York, The Macmillan Co.; price, $3.50.
“The Confessions are commonly read by themselves. But to be fully appreciated they
ought to be read in connection with the earlier writings and the fragments of autobiography
scattered in other places. It is only in this way that the process of Augustine’s development
is completely understood. It is wonderful what light the earlier writings throw upon the later,
and how the later help to explain the earlier. The Confessions are the crown of all the rest.
This is the masterpiece, an amazing self-analysis” (p. 236).
This opening paragraph of Chapter XX summarizes exactly the contribution made by this
admirably conceived and interesting book. The author writes as a Christian apologist, and
consequently he belittles, for example, Neoplatonism, intending thereby to exalt Christianity
—an unfortunate characteristic of Christian polemic. But with this single draw-back, which
is not obtrusive, the volume provides a valuable setting for one of the greatest Christian
classics, enriching one’s whole conception of “the good St. Augustine” ( The Secret Doctrine ,
II, p. 476). Q.
Question No. 375 .—On the assumption that both men were striving for discipleship in some
form or other, did Epictetus as a slave, or Marcus Aurelius as an Emperor, have the easier environ¬
ment in which to work?
Answer. —We may safely assume that once a man has dedicated his life to discipleship—
has deliberately set his foot upon the Path—all his environment, life after life, will shape itself
in such a way as to test him to the uttermost limit of his capacity to learn and to endure. We
have the assurance that no man will be tried beyond his strength; but we have been told that
“He who does the best he knows how and that he can do, does enough for us”—no mean accom¬
plishment in the light of what saints and disciples have achieved. Epictetus, assuming that he
was striving for discipleship, needed exactly the discipline of slavery to develop in him needed
qualities. He doubtless at times found his life bitterly hard, but refused to be crushed by it,
and so rose to heights of philosophic heroism,—thereby not only making his lot less hard, but
establishing himself on a new high level. In the same way Marcus Aurelius must have needed
the tests of power, etc., and rose to great attainment by mastering himself in the midst of a
peculiarly dangerous environment. Either man might have failed in the other’s place; either
man, having won self-mastery exactly where he was, would probably have been capable of
exchanging places with the other safely—even easily. But a deliberate change of environment
to escape the particular difficulties of the one we are in, is only to follow illusion, to complicate
Karmic action and the plans of our Master, and to court a reaction which might throw one off
one’s base. There is no such thing, therefore, as an “easier environment’’ in discipleship. The
road “winds uphill all the way’’ for each individual; and the hill is known as Calvary, for on its
summit is a Cross—the Cross of a final initiation. A.
Answer. —Circumstances are a result, not a cause. Success in discipleship depends entirely
upon right thinking, feeling, willing, and upon right use of the imagination. Wrong thinking,
feeling, willing, and wrong use of the imagination, must be eliminated. When a man attributes
his failure of yesterday to anyone or anything outside of himself, he adds a worse defeat to the
first. If he says, or thinks, “I have tried again and again, and simply can’t do it”, he removes
himself from the Path as no sort of outer failure can remove him. In fact, perhaps the first
step in occultism is to become incapable of thinking or feeling, “I cannot”, or “It cannot be
done”. J. A.
Question No. 376 .—Why is it, if the Christ is recognized as one of the Masters, that the Buddha
is given so much more prominence in Theosophical literature?
Answer. —Is this really so? A born and professed Buddhist might complain with as much
justice that prominence given to Christian teachings and ethics, as for instance, in some
articles in the Quarterly, was not in accord with theosophical principles. In following out
the second object of The Theosophical Society, namely, “the study of Aryan and other Eastern
literatures, religions, and sciences”, as a means toward the knowledge of the Wisdom-phi¬
losophy, or Religion, room must be found for all, notwithstanding individual prejudices and
287
288
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
predilections. The questioner should read The Key to Theosophy , pp. 12-15, where Mme.
Blavatsky deals with a very similar question. We are living in a country of the “west” where
Christianity is professed by the majority of the inhabitants; but if we were to try and get
behind the external theology of either Christianity or Buddhism, we should find the common
meeting ground of “Bodhism” (Wisdom), as Mme. Blavatsky puts it. A. K.
Answer. There is much interest among T. S. members in the different great religions of the
world. If Christians, they are likely to be somewhat conversant with the biblical accounts of
the life and teachings of the Christ. Moreover, there is available an enormous literature on
almost every phase of this subject. The life and teachings of the Buddha are, on the contrary,
comparatively unknown to the West, and satisfactory English translations of Buddhist scrip¬
tures scarce. The accurate and sympathetically understanding translations and commentaries
which the Quarterly is able to supply, are therefore doubly welcome to a large proportion of
its regular readers. Presumably the querent, by the phrase “in Theosophical literature”, means
“in the Theosophical Quarterly”. c. M. S.
Answer. There are the same great truths at the heart of every real religion. Christians
should read what is said of the Buddha and Buddhism for the light which it throws on Christi¬
anity. Many students of Theosophy believe that it is not possible to understand one’s own
religion by studying that alone, just as no one can really understand his own language if that
be the only one he knows. The study of the sayings of the Buddha, or of the Bhagavad Gita, or
of any of the great scriptures of the world throws much light on the inner meaning of the
Gospels. Our very familiarity with the words of the New Testament tends to obscure its
meaning, and the same truths may often be seen more clearly when presented in a fresh way and
with a different colouring. j p 3 jyj
NOTICE
The regular meetings of the New York Branch of The Theosophical Society are held on
alternate Saturday evenings, at 64 Washington Mews, which runs from the east side of Fifth
Avenue, midway between 8th Street and Washington Square, North. No. 64 is the first
Studio east of Fifth Avenue, on the north side of the Mews. The meetings begin at half-past
eight, and close at ten o’clock.
During the present Quarter, there will be meetings on,—
January 14th and 28th
February nth and 25th
March nth and 25th
Out-of-town members of the Society are invited to attend these meetings whenever they
are in New York. Visitors who may be interested in Theosophy are always welcome.
* STANDARD BOOKS
Blavatsky, H. P. Isis Unveiled, Vols. I and II.doth, *10.00
__ _ Complete in one book.cloth. 7 . 5 o
Key to Theosophy . cloth ’ 2<2 "
Secret Doctrine, The, Vols. I and II and Index .doth,’ 10.00
Complete in one book, without subject-index volume! 7 . 5 U
Theosophical Glossary .doth, 2.25
Transactions of the Blavatsky Lodge .cloth 2 50
Voice of the Silence. . dot ^ ,; oo
Cave. Fragments, Volume I. , B0
V°, lume II;.boarcM, i!b«
_ Volume III.boards. 1 RO
Gerard, John. Letters to Friends .boards, 1*75
Hillard, Katherine. Abridgment of the Secret Doctrine, .doth a’oo
Johnston, Charles. Bhagavad Gita .Translated, annotated; doth* 1,2a
Crest Jewel of Wisdom, The .lim P leather, 1.75
Great Upanishads, The, Volume I.doth i bo
Parables of the Kingdom, The.. ’
PATANJALI S Yoga Sutras .Translated, annotated; cloth, 1.25
Song of Life, The. ' 7B
Judge, William Q. Bhagavad Gita .Edited; cloth, 1.25; leather’ i!bo
Lchobs from the Orient. — * 2S
Letters That Have Helped Me, Volume I and II, each "doth’ l’oo
Ocean of Theosophy. ‘
Patanjali’s Yoga Aphorisms ......doth’ 100
Keightley, Archibald. Theosophy as an Influence in Life naoer’ ’20
LaDow, Stanley V. Plotinus.. .™’ ’50
Mitchell, Henry Bedinger. Meditation, Special edition, .201 oaner’ bo
Talks on Religion. V..’
Theosophical Society and Theosophy, The. . . . . .'. .".' \ n
Sinnett, A. P, Esoteric Buddhism . cIoth ’
Occult World, The .. . . . . . . . . dbtt 2'™
Walker, E. D. Reincarnation . doth’ i’tk
Idyll of the White Lotus..
Light on the Path. "".fabric J'oo
Through the Gates of Gold.
THE QUARTERLY BOOK DEPARTMENT,
% O# Box 64, Station O, New York.
Devotional: Bhagavad Gita: Crest Jewel of Wisdom; Fragments; The Great Uoani-
8 hads; Letters That Have Helped Me; Letters to Friends; Light on the Path- The Par¬
ables of the Kingdom; The Song of Life; Through the Gates of Gold; Voice of the Silence.
Philosophical: Abridgment of the Secret Doctrine; Isis Unveiled; Key to Theosophy
Plotinus; Reincarnation; The Secret Doctrine; Talks on Rdigion; Theosophical Glossary
Transactions; Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. wwuy.
Introductory: Culture of Concentration; Echoes from the Orient; Esoteric Buddhism-
Idyll of the White Lotus; Meditation; The Occult World; The Ocean of Theosophv*
The Theosophical Society and Theosophy. P y ’
Founded by b. P. Blaoatsky at Pew Vork in 1875
T HE Society does not pretend to be able to establish
at once a universal brotherhood among men, hot
only strives to create the nucleus of such a body.
5 55 55^ Many of it* members believe that an acquaintance
with the world's religions and philosophies will
reveal, as the common and fundamental principle
underlying these, that “spiritual identity of all Souls with the
rw
Oversoul ” which is the basis of true brotherhood; and many
of them also believe that an appreciation of the finer forces
of nature and man will still further emphasize the same idea*
The organization is wholly unsectarian, with no creed,
dogma, nor personal authority to enforce or impose; neither
is it to be held responsible for the opinions of its members,
who are excreted to accord to the beliefs of others that
tolerance which they desire for their own.
The following proclamation was adopted at the Conven¬
tion of the Society, held at Boston, April, 1895:
“The Theosophical Society in America by its delegatesand
members in Convention assembled, does hereby proclaim
fraternal good will and kindly feeling toward all students of
Theosophy and members of Theosophical Societies wherever
and however situated. It further proclaims and avers its
hearty sympathy and association with such persons and
organizations in all theosophical matters except those of
government and administration, and invites their cor¬
respondence and co-operation.
“To all men and women of whatever caste, creed, race, or
religious belief, who aim at the fostering of peace, gentleness,
and unselfish regard one for another, and the acquisition of
such knowledge of men and nature as shall tend to the eleva¬
tion and advancement of the human race, it sends most friendly
greeting and freely proffers its services.
“It joins hands with aU religionsand religious bodies whose
efforts are directed to the purification of men's thoughts and
the bettering of their ways, and it avows its harmony there¬
with. To all scientific societies and individual searchers after
wisdom upon whatever plane, and by whatever righteous
means pursued, it is and will be grateful for such discovery
and unfoldment of Truth as shall serve to announce and con¬
firm a scientific Basis for ethics ♦
“And lastly, it invites to its membership those who, seek-
Ing a higher life hereafter, would learn to know the path to
tread In this."
PUBLISHED BY
THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
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Secretary T. S., P. O. Box 64, Station O, New York.
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CONTENTS OF VOL. XXX, NO. 4
April, 1933
NOTES AND COMMENTS.
FRAGMENTS.
WAR MEMORIES, XIX.
THE PATH OF BEAUTY.
DISCERNMENT.
MAHAYANA BUDDHISM, I.
FASCISM.
A RESPONSE TO THE THEOSOPHICAL APPEAL.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME.
REVIEWS.
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
T. S. ACTIVITIES: Convention Notice; Notice of Meetings,
INDEX.
PAGE
. 291
. 300
. 301
• 317
• 323
• 333
• 344
• 352
• 355
• 367
■ 380
382
383
Act of StaSTa a f 8 J 5 cond ‘ cla “ matter September s. 1033. at the Port Office at New York. N. Y.. under the
Copyright, 1933, by The Theosophical Society
APRIL, 1933
-=\
the cosmic plane. ConcIeLn follows^the ?“ ^ repeats itscIf «
to the highest must be the lowest* th ° , m ? S 1 ° abst raction; corresponding
Dextrine, ed. ,8,3. I, TJ “ “ th ' me Secre,
«nS™“VXw e taX^Vof e e2M«T “,2 "**?' “ * •*» th.
tive faith in the unifonnity of natural law OH humanm,nd has an mstinc-
general conclusions from particular experiences “rj! 11 W ° uld never dr ™
uses the principle of analoev to oiuTie w P The scien tist continually
Thus i, has iL.SC£TT?‘ “ d ‘° “*'" d «■* »*•
corresponds to a sola, ^ **”'■ that "» .ton,
- r ,w ,s —■»
would perceive the true ^to'sUrl™ tkT** d,S * Ppear ' for they
earth has its prototype in the heavens Thp 7 u evex 7 thm S exist ent on
fundamental proposition of alchemy and astrni° U ° he ? ltate to acce P t the
clearly understood, when it is regarded as a r gy ’ that the cosm °s is most
thing of its life in every atom Thl q ! ?, belng which reflects some- 4
doctrine of Tablet is a " e P*™e of th?
which is above is as That whidtTbd^^ TTu^ m ° St true ’ Tha ‘
which is above, for preparing the miracles’of the One ^ ^ iS 38 That
*
i
291
V
mystically one with some plant which blooms in our garden. But it is always
possible to begin at the beginning. The whole of Nature is at hand, and any
aspect of it may be approached. There is no incident of daily life which cannot
be illumined by comparison with some other event or with some natural
phenomenon, great or small. One should beware of erecting such comparisons
into dogmas, for the untrained imagination suggests false analogies as easily
as true, but it is certain that unless we acquire the habit of searching in the
external world for correspondences to our states of consciousness, we shall never
know how everything in the Universe follows analogy”, or how “man is the
microcosm of the macrocosm”.
292
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
The Power of Imponderables
For example, there is St. Pauls saying: “Know ye not that a little leaven
leaveneth the whole lump?” Even a moral materialist, like Bismarck, recog¬
nized the role of “imponderables” in the determination of political issues. A
so-called venial sin in a man whose virtues are celebrated, can become the
cause of ruin to himself and to those who trust him. A spark of pure love can
transmute the life of a sinner, as it transformed the Magdalen.
Nevertheless, it is doubtful whether many men are convinced that the in¬
finitesimal is really a reservoir of incalculable power. Do we sincerely believe
that a supposedly harmless weakness, such as a fondness for rich food, can
bar our progress more effectively than an obvious vice against which we strug¬
gle? To gain a measure of conviction, we need the tangible evidence of our
senses. That is why St. Paul’s graphic image makes a more definite impression
than a long ethical treatise. A pertinent experiment is described in The Homoeo¬
pathic Recorder:
An illustration of the demonstrable power of the infinitesimal
is the result of plunging a stick of copper to the bottom of a glass
container filled with water in which algas are present When the
copper is inserted sufficiently to touch the bottom of the con¬
tainer and immediately withdrawn, it gives off enough energy to
Kill the alga; in a short time. A still more startling proof of the
power of the infinitesimal is that if the glass container is emptied
and refilled with water and fresh, healthy alga; placed therein
these algae also will immediately show signs of the destructive
process until they too have been killed, showing the continued
actmn of the copper. This process may be continued for a con¬
siderable time, emptying the water and refilling the container
with fresh water and algae; but so long as drops of water have
been left on the edges of the container, there is sufficient copper
in an imponderable state to kill the alga;. This process will con-
tmue almost indefinitely unless the container is wiped dry before
refilling, when the destructive action ceases (pp. 812—813)
Such a test indicates clearly enough that the energy behind or within a thim
is not always proportionate to the thing’s size or weight. It is often impossible
V U ? g U he P ? ten * m } lntensit y of a force by the material magnitude of th.
vehicle through which the force becomes manifest upon the physical plane
* s-
< A
NOTES AND COMMENTS
, 293
destroy 6 a^mpi^ ^tSTe ^ a trai " of events which will quickly
stampeding elephant. e ' * IS mcom P arabl y more dangerous than a
v u is ' therefore ’ concemed with
to begin with the SLigat^ o hal f * is said
progress in self-knowledge, until one has 1°™ 0neself ’ But one cannot
between reality and appearance The ’ m SOme degree ' to distinguish
his most important virtues and vires a% ' erage ™ an takes it for granted that
waking state. The aspirant to self-H™ iT WhlCh l00m largest in his normal
of his consciousness determining tl . n0W . e ge must * ook within the “forms”
but by .be reserves of energy wbieh “ey'tSn”^”" ”°‘ by ,heir b " lt
Imponderables in Biology
...ton” T ”” b •Pe¬
rceived the widest publicity! but pMcsTnM ,h,
centre of inter*, b.s been tr.nsfercd ,o Tbe’^f **f e “*
which now dominates biology.,, an instance The theoty of genes
IiM^frsc“«“mi a „d”ft as ,r, oth " tah the «■* «»
change and JLhT £ 52 ? “
based upon the perception that mnr . e lnsu fficiency of a method
properties, but taking no account ofThe'cnu- or S anic matter have analogous
tween the dominant force in organic matt 1 J. apparent correspondence be-
and the energies in inorganic matter rh m 1C ^ 1S the power of itself,
The theory of genes has been devised to expTaiT-f 3 ^ pretend to be inanimate.
light by the experimental study of Mendel’s laws oTherldTty Tbec^ *
possible to interpret the vann„c * • , heredity. It became lm-
conception that ^ ” ,e ™* °< "« «“«
unit of life. There had alwavc h ’ llslbIe through the microscope, is the
is merely an emSopf of mo T- * SUp # that the cell, as a whole,
examination of the nucleus showed'The ^ lngredient > the nucleus; and an
known ns chromosom* ™1i “u v P ^l“ ,°f bodies
division and reproduction But t W 1 ° ' U m phenornen a of ceU^fc
struct,,res; n„ d K are “ntpi#
gested the hypothesis that the reniu'ni,”!,'’^^'”d
o« the blending ,h.
294 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
there are certain abrupt changes, known as mutations, which must be explained
by other factors.
In 1927 Dr. Muller announced that he had produced artificial mutations in
Drosophila , the fruit-fly, by means of X-rays. The success of this experiment
has given birth to a theory that mutations in Nature may be effected through
the bombardment of the genes by radiant energy, in particular, by the powerful
cosmic rays. The problem is not simplified for the geneticists by the fact,
demonstrated by Dr. Borodin and others, that living things themselves emit
radiant energy. The ultra-violet-like emanations of organisms are called mito¬
genic rays or M-rays or, more clearly, life-rays, and they are said to be of dif¬
ferent wave-lengths for each individual and for each part of the body.
The New York Times (January 1, 1933) reported Dr. Borodin as saying, in
his address before the American Association for the Advancement of Science,
that: “The genes are influenced in the rate of their mutation by the action of
these life-rays which they produce. The genes of each particular part of the
living body have their own particular wave-length. These wave-lengths act
like an aeolian harp, vibrating in unison to their own rhythms, so that each set
of genes responds only to its own dance of life.”
The whole subject is clearly summarized, from the orthodox biologist’s point
of view, in the following passage from The Mechanism of Creative Evolution ,
by Dr. C. C. Hurst:
So far, physiologists and colloid physicists, working at the
problem of the origin of life, have taken for their basis the pro¬
toplasm of the cell. This has been chemically and physically
tested and efforts have been made to reproduce it in the labora¬
tories. Now, however, with the demonstration of the gene as the
unit and basis of life, it is the study of the structure of these or¬
ganic particles which will be the great work of the future. ... So
much has been discovered of the structure of the physical world
by the bombardment of atoms with various rays, that it is not too
much to expect that within the next few years, by the same means,
great discoveries will be made concerning the structure of the
gene, and the great problem of the ultimate foundation of life
may eventually be solved. ... On the inference that the gene
is a complex molecule or group of molecules with peculiar auto-
catalytic powers, we must admit a continuity of life with matter.
In the light of the New Physics matter is now regarded as elec¬
trical action and we have a sequence from the electrons and pro¬
tons through the simple and complex atoms to the simple and
complex molecules, some of these producing autocatalytic reac¬
tions culminating in the power of self-reproduction coupled with
the capacity for mutation, thus giving rise to protogenes and genes,
those ultimate units of life which form the foundations of the
great evolutionary edifice (pp. 293 295).
Units of Life and Units of Matter
It is interesting to note how often the discoveries and theories of modern
science resemble or suggest, at certain points, some of the great doctrines of
NOTES AND COMMENTS
295
the Pythagorean and Hermetic philosophers of antiquity. For example, a
series of ancient analogies is evoked when one reflects upon the influence of
X-rays and M-rays in producing mutations and modifying heredity. The
Pythagoreans compared Nature to a musical instrument. When any string of
this “aeolian harp” was touched, the other strings vibrated in concord, sounding
its overtones. In terms of the Pythagorean concept of universal harmony, it
would be logical to suppose that the development and growth of a being are
governed by the interaction of its own radiation with the radiation which
comes to it in Varying degree from all the centres of the cosmos.
However, we doubt whether any biologist will be grateful to us for pointing
out any conformity between his views and those of Pythagoras. As a matter
of fact, we are not going to press the comparison at all, for it is really super¬
ficial. The conceptions of Nature and the motives of research which animated
Pythagoras seem to have been at the opposite pole from those which preside
over the modern laboratory. One does not deny that the scientist loves truth,
in his own manner; that love is, indeed, the power which sustains him in his
hours of exacting toil, and which makes him willing to submit to the evidence
of those facts that he sees. But in his love of truth, too often there is mingled
a passion of another order, namely the love of his own mind. He is by no means
free from the desire that truth should assume a form in accord with his pre¬
conceptions. On the other hand, according to the tradition of the Hermetic
School, to which Pythagoras is said to have belonged, the love of truth is to
be kept inviolate and pure, and he who would enter the domain of real knowl¬
edge must rid his mind permanently of its ingrained tendency to recognize
only that fragment of truth which can be adapted to its expectation of what
truth ought to be.
The Hermetic scientist adopts a working hypothesis which he undertakes
to test; but a working hypothesis is intended to be a guide or a standard of
reference, not a dogma. The great Hermetic postulate is that “man is the mi¬
crocosm of the macrocosm”. It implies the effort to discover in all beings,
including the Divinity, qualities and attributes corresponding to those which
one has discovered in his own nature. Thus Paracelsus taught, speaking—as
we may believe—from his own experience: ‘‘Three spirits live in and actuate
man; three worlds pour their beams upon him; but all three only as the image
and echo of one and the same all-constructing and uniting principle of produc¬
tion. The first is the spirit of the elements (terrestrial body and vital force in
its brute condition); the second, the spirit of the stars (sidereal or astral body _
—the soul); the third is the Divine spirit ( Augoeides ).”
The great fallacy of the modem biologist, in our opinion, is the notion thaf
‘‘the spirit of the elements” can be studied as if it were a thing apart from the
‘‘spirit of the stars” and the ‘‘Divine spirit”. If we reflect, we shall be forced
to admit that the human body conceived as a thing in itself is not a real body
at all; it is a rind. Why should not the same be true throughout the animal
and plant kingdoms, to the utmost limits of the plane of organic life, and be¬
yond those limits, in the so-called inorganic world? It is impossible to explain
296
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
human heredity as a mere shuffling of ancestral characters, without regard to
the nature and purposes of the incarnating entity, the soul. How can we expect
to explain mutations, even in a fruit-fly, without any consideration of the
“monadic essence”, the vital principle whose presence in the fruit-fly gives it
such identity as it has.
Doubtless, there are units of matter through whose agency “characters” are
preserved and transmitted from one body to another; but the essence of each
“character” must be a living entity of some order. We find it utterly unintel¬
ligible to speak of the genes themselves as the ultimate “units of life”. By
definition, they are nothing but elaborate chemical compounds into which
several “inanimate” substances have entered. Why do these compounds begin
to manifest the qualities of life? Why do they merge their identities in the
larger identity of the cell? Why again do unicellular organisms merge their
identity in that of an organism having many cells? When and how does con¬
sciousness come upon the scene? Are consciousness and life one and the same?
. . . One could multiply such questions endlessly and be certain of getting
no real answer from the biologist. There is no answer, unless we accept as a
working hypothesis, the idea that life or consciousness and matter are related
to each other as the subjective and objective aspects of One Reality, and that
wherever there is matter there is life, and vice versa,—though both matter
and life may exist in phases altogether beyond our present conception. In other
words, it seems to us most rational to assume that matter does not “organize”
itself; that it is “organized” by life; that whenever a major mutation or trend
occurs in the course of organic evolution, it is attributable to the intervention
of a hitherto unmanifested form of life in the affairs of this plane. Every unit
of matter is the vehicle of a unit of life;—what else can it be?
Bacteria in Meteors
Scientists have been reluctant to admit the possibility of life under any physi¬
cal conditions except those with which we are familiar on earth. Some have
gone so far as to affirm that the earth is almost certainly the only habitable
spot in the Universe. Quite recently there has been a healthy reaction against
this extreme dogmatism. It has been recognized that even upon this planet
life can exist under what appear to be the most adverse circumstances. J. A.
Berry of the United States Bureau of Plant Industry, Seattle, reported a month
ago to the Society of American Bacteriologists, that the germs which turn milk
sour, have been observed to live in a temperature of 15 degrees above zero
Fahrenheit for two years. The New York Times , January 31, 1933, reports the
discovery of bacteria in meteors by Professor Charles B. Lipman, dean of the
graduate division of the University of California. Professor Lipman does not
dogmatize about his discovery, nor does he deny that the bacteria which are
apparently identical with terrestrial forms, may have an earthly origin. But
he does not hesitate to express his conviction that they actually came from
interplanetary space. The reporter remarks that “Professor Lipman’s report
may revive a scientific hypothesis hitherto receiving little credence, that life
NOTES AND COMMENTS
297
originally may have come to earth in minute organisms floating through space.
Dr. Lipman’s work if verified will suggest a search in meteors for the wholly
invisible viruses and bacteriophages. Scientists are not certain whether these
two forms are living things or inanimate chemical substances. An occasional
suggestion has been made that viruses or bacteriophages may be a connecting
link where inanimate matter is converted into living substance.”
Aphanobionts
Viruses and bacteriophages are having their share of popularity. The A ew
York Times (December 12, 1932) gives an account of a conference held by Pro¬
fessor D. F. Sinitsin with the Sigma Xi science fraternity of the University of
California at Los Angeles. Professor Sinitsin ‘‘presented a definition of the
basic invisible processes of life as a conclusion to his discussion of ultra-micro¬
scopic living organisms.”
First he pointed out that the limit of human sight is fixed by
light. . . . The measure of infinitesimally small things is the
millimicron. There are 25,400,000 millimicrons to the inch.
Physicists point out that the shortest wave length of visible light is
not less than 400 millimicrons. Nothing smaller than that can
actually be seen by men with any type of instrument. By means
of diffraction of light, however, it is possible to see the reflection
from things as small as about 200, or maybe 150 millimicrons.
Means of experimental investigation other than sight have de¬
termined the existence of living organisms as small as 8 millimi¬
crons. This is by means of porcelain filters, on which are placed
films whose pores are known to be of definite size.
These filters have proved the existence of invisible ultra-
microscopic organisms in the investigation of disease virus.
There are a hundred such different invisible disease viruses
known. . . .
‘‘The chemical theory of the origin of life is that after the earth
cooled, chemical substances came together and formed living
organisms”, Professor Sinitsin said. “We know that some disease
viruses resist heat and poisons that no known form of life can
withstand. Some live without oxygen. I conclude from these
investigations that there are invisible living organisms, perhaps of
eternal life, that are back of all life processes. If there are bad
or disease organisms, why not good or life-helping organisms.' I
would call them aphanobionts, meaning invisible life. They are
so small that they can escape all of our means of observation.
They undoubtedly exist not only on the earth but everywhere.
Aphanobionts not only can be transported from planet to planet
but can exist in all space and conditions of the universe. That
would explain the mystery of life and why it will always be a
mystery to man, because it is beyond his power of sight.”
One is grateful for any recognition of the universality of life, but in the
present instance one’s enthusiasm is tempered by the excessive claims which
Professor Sinitsin makes for his aphanobionts. How does he expect to prove
that they “can exist in all space and conditions of the universe”Let us return
298
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
to the axiom with which we started; “Everything in the Universe follows
analogy”. Analogy implies identity of essence; it does not imply identity of
form or outer structure. If we would keep our thinking as clear as possible,
we shall be wise not to identify aphanobionts with the principle of life itself
which is truly invisible, though not in the sense that Dr. Sinitsin suggests.
Like the genes, aphanobionts may be regarded as the “bodies” of unevolved
“Lives”, but in that case they would be just as material as our own bodies into
whose composition millions of such imponderable entities doubtless enter. It
would seem that bacteria and bacteriophages (bacteria-eaters) are connected
with some classes of the “Destroyers” and “Builders” which, according to
Madame Blavatsky, are the infinitesimal living agents that regulate the pro¬
cesses of growth and decay in animal bodies (cf. The Secret Doctrine , I, 283).
For all we know there may be bacteria and bacteriophages not only in meteors
and on the other planets of our solar system, but throughout all the “island
universes”. In accordance with the principle of analogy, however, all that we
can assume with conviction is that life is omnipresent, and that the forms in
which it is incarnate correspond to one another,—which does not mean that
they necessarily resemble one another. The human imagination is sufficiently
impressed by the variety of living forms on this planet alone.
What evidence can be adduced that aphanobionts are “of eternal life”? It is
certain that their eternity does not seem probable to anyone who believes that
the Universe begins and ends its great cycles of manifestation upon the highest
plane of spiritual consciousness. “Only the Gods are immortal”, that is to
say, only those beings who are plenary incarnations of “the Divine Spirit, the
Augoeides”. Tradition does not include disease viruses among the Gods.
The Essential Divinity of Matter
In the last chapter of The Mechanism of Creative Evolution , to which reference
has been made, Dr. Hurst steps outside the limits of ordinary biological theory
and offers some speculations of his own upon the nature of the world and the
destiny of man. They provide a good antidote to the notion of an eternity of
aphanobionts. Also they prove that it is unfair to judge a man of science solely
by his behaviour when he is speaking ex cathedra as a representative of scien¬
tific orthodoxy.
Dr. Hurst disclaims any attachment to the mechanistic materialism of Nine¬
teenth Century science, and expresses his sympathy with Jeans’ conception of
the world “as a universe of thought”, and of “its creation as an act of thought
with space-time as a setting”. He suggests that matter is the first creation of
“pure thought”, and that subsequently “matter has given rise to life and
mind”.
All three [matter, life and mind] are fundamentally and geneti¬
cally one with different expressions in time, forming a monistic
trinity with a common basis and origin in pure thought, which
after all may be only another name for spirit. The great prin¬
ciple of indeterminacy in nature may thus be tentatively inter-
NOTES AND COMMENTS
299
preted as the natural mode of action and manifestation of pure
thought or spirit in matter-life-mind, while determinism . . .
represents an inner and secondary principle based on the geo¬
metrical mode of action of the present human conceptual mind.
It may be that the discovery in our time of scientific inde¬
terminacy and relativity foreshadows the coming of the next
great step in the creative evolution of mind, far surpassing and
transcending the present conceptual and deterministic mind of
man.
Dr. Hurst has the courage to admit the possibility of a “submaterial human
existence supervening immediately after death”, and believes that “the remote
successors of man may be free and independent of matter with infinite possi¬
bilities of future progress notwithstanding the complete dissolution of the
universe.”
If biologists in general held such views, it is quite possible that their science
would be regenerated. However, we venture to question the validity of Dr.
Hurst’s imago mnndi in one important particular. He speaks of matter, life
and mind as if they succeeded one another. It is more plausible to suppose
that, like space and time, matter, life and mind are co-eternal. The gross mat¬
ter of our sense-perceptions is most adequately represented as the vesture or
“concretion” of a gross form of life associated with a correspondingly gross
mode of consciousness or “intelligence”. As Professor Whitehead has remarked,
“Biology is the study of the larger organisms, whereas physics is the study of
the smaller organisms”. According to our conception, gross matter does not
evolve life and mind out of itself; through the continuing “bombardment” of
matter by the rays of “pure thought”, the Logos of mystical philosophy, the
subtile is separated from the gross, the refinement of matter progressing pari
passu with the refinement of life and mind. An absolutely incorporeal state of
existence is as incomprehensible as a physical universe devoid of consciousness.
It is a curious paradox that Theosophy, the least materialistic of philosophies,
postulates the eternity and the essential divinity of “matter” (substance) more
emphatically than any other system.
True science and true religion are twin sisters , and separation of either fro)n the
other is sure to prove the death of both. Science prospers exactly in proportion as it is
religious; and religion flourishes in exact proportion to the scientific depth and firm¬
ness of its basis .— Huxley.
FRAGMENTS
D RAW from thy well, O Lanoo, and give the thirsty to drink.
Lo, Lord, I have drawn many times, and the vessel, full to the brim,
has stood there by the wayside and no one cared to touch it. I saw
them pass, weary and oppressed; I offered, but they thought they had no need
of what I had to give. It was brackish, maybe,—tears are salt; yet the water
must be pure, for thou didst fill my well, and I have lived upon it all these
years. The vessel is too poor, too uninviting; I must make another that may
better serve thy purpose, better meet the ever-growing want.
And no one drank ?
No man, Lord, only others of thy humbler creatures.
And which of those?
The ants have come, and gnats; sometimes a dragon fly spread iridescent
wings across the surface of the water and poised and paused; birds come often,
though it is not easy for them. One day a limping, mangy dog.took gladly,
and licked my hand for gratitude,—which belonged to thee.
I saw the grass was yellowing in the summer heat; I poured upon it, and
poured and poured: it seemed it could not have enough. Since then the place
about is always fresh and green, and flowers are springing here and there. The
air, too, draws the moisture up, and forms soft mist clouds that later fall in
rain. The little brothers love the water thou hast placed here, and thrive upon
it; but the human brothers, no. They thirst and die for water; but water is a
homely thing: they seek some nectar for their thirst, some distillation from the
finest flowers of earth.
Draw from thy well, 0 Lanoo, and give the thirsty to drink. Is it not said:
The last shall be the first, the first be last? Regard not great or small. Give,
pour forth, for those who recognize their need and who take gladly, whether
great or small. All are part of one vast Brotherhood. The life is there because
the humble take: and he who drinks the water that I give distils his nectar
from it, his heart the only flower from which it can be drawn.
As thou hast said, my Lord, so shall it be.
CaviI
300
WAR MEMORIES
XIX
>
Reconstruction
I N a little more than a week after I returned to Paris (having reported to
my Committee on my trip, and having wound up my simple affairs there),
I was on my way to the North again, this time to settle for the winter—
though perhaps “to settle” is hardly a correct term for those most unsettled
times. That departure from Paris is still vivid in my memory. My Committee
had given me the same camionnette, but another driver, and we had determined
to make a very early start, loading our car the night before in order to prevent
possible, last-minute delays; also because we had asked permission to take with
us a French lady, eager to get back to her home near Givenchy, but who was
far from strong—in fact, quite unable to travel under existing, abnormal con¬
ditions—and she would have to be picked up at her hotel and well tucked in,
all of which would take valuable time before we could consider ourselves really
started on our journey. I was up at four o’clock, only to find that there was a
cold, drenching downpour of rain which was threatening to turn into sleet at
any moment, and by. the time I had packed my bags and, with a certain amount
of cajolery, had persuaded a sleepy maid to bring me some hot coffee, it was
half past five, and the camionnette, punctual to the dot, was at the door. The
staff of the small hotel had been most interested and sympathetic in regard to
this new undertaking of mine (I had often stopped here before, and I knew them
all by name), but to my surprise I found a friendly little group gathered at the
entrance, even in that dismal weather and at that early hour, and as I climbed
in beside our invalid passenger and my new driver (a French girl, as before),
they all waved a kindly parting: “Adieu!" “Au revoir!" “Bonne chance !"—
and off we went, threading our way through a tangle of small streets, too nar¬
row for the first, uncertain light of this dreary winter morning to have pene¬
trated; slipping almost imperceptibly into the wider Boulevards running north
—Sebastopol, Strasbourg, Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, Rue de la Chapelle,
across the Boulevard Ney and so through the Porte St. Denis (where we had
to stop and show our passes), then out beyond the old fortifications. How grey
and dismal all this part of Paris looked as we splashed along! How more than
grey and dismal St. Denis looked! No splendour of the Kings of France still
lingering there! A dull murk, a thick curtain of fog and sleet hung between us
and those vanished glories of the past, shutting us into a mournful and cheer¬
less present. That last look I was ever to have of St. Denis (though I did not
then guess it to be my last), has left on me an indelible impress of intensest
melancholy.
Following our previous route by Beauvais and Amiens—where we again
301
302
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
spent the night—we went north from there to Doullens, instead of passing, as
formerly, along the Albert-Bapaume road, for we had to repatriate our invalid
beyond Arras. All the way we were literally besieged by returning refugees,
who implored us to give them seats in our already overcrowded camionnette
with its overloaded springs. In Doullens itself where, in the congested streets,
we often had to halt, men and women alike crowded on to the steps and along
the running-board, threatening us with a serious breakdown. It was a dreadful
thing to have to refuse them, and I doubt if our courage would have held out
had it not been for the determination of my young driver who, with full re¬
sponsibility for the safe return of the car to headquarters in Paris, at last de¬
clared that we must make our choice of getting a mile or so only on our journey,
and then being a complete wreck, or flatly telling these poor, eager, homeless
creatures that they must wait for the transport afforded by the British Army;
that we ourselves were not prepared for transport, and could not possibly take
even one of them. I remember an occurrence which was specially moving—an
aged woman who, with set face and poor, feeble but tightly-clinging, shrivelled
old hands, refused to get off the step where she had secured a precarious foot¬
hold, though, after asking her where she lived, we assured her that we were
not going anywhere near there. Sobbing piteously, but still holding fast, she
had actually to be pulled off, finger by finger, this being done by another refugee,
a man who, recognizing our predicament, generously came to our assistance,
though he had, himself, hoped for a lift.
“There, there! grarimbre ,” I heard his gentle, consoling voice, “Patience!
Courage! Your house has already waited a long time for your return; it can
wait a day or two longer. Patience!”
I have often wondered if that pathetically desperate old woman ever reached
her home at all, or if, when she at last got to her village, she found any home
left standing.
For the most part, however, these half-clad, heart-sore, yet unflinchingly
courageous refugees showed a magnificent spirit—an unconquerable spirit
which was wholly French; long, silent streams of them trudging resolutely on,
along the bleak, winter roads leading to the North—the North where their
homes had once been, hoping against hope that, when they came to their jour¬
ney’s end, they would find some semblance of a house, and so, painfully, be
able to gather together the fragments of their former life, starting afresh. Or
else you saw them waiting patiently in small, huddled groups for some British
lorry travelling in their direction—a lorry big enough to squeeze them all in.
The work which the British Army did among these returning refugees was
remarkably well organized, and was the means of saving untold misery, illness
and perhaps death. Shortly after the armistice, a regular transport sendee was
started; the huge motor lorries, so recently used for the movement of troops
and of ammunition, were now employed for the purposes of re-establishing
peace conditions. The highroads were filled with these great camions, grinding
along, packed to the utmost with their human freight—whole families at a time
being repatriated. It saved many a long and exhausting march for the weary
WAR MEMORIES
303
feet, and the Tommies were at their very best while helping the women and
children and old men to make themselves comfortable on their long, jolting
drive.
Reaching what had once been the beautiful city of Arras, the old capital of
Artois, we were shocked to see the devastation which had been wrought there;
to see the complete destruction of the great cathedral of St. Vaast, where only
the noisy rooks now lived; the long, almost empty streets of tottering houses—
a broken and tortured town. We passed through it rapidly (there was little to
detain us), and after being directed to the highroad running toward Bdthune,
we moved quickly forward, at length dropping our passenger at the appointed
spot near Givenchy, ourselves intending immediately to press on to our goal
beyond Douai. But we knew that we were within only a few miles of Vimy
Ridge, and the opportunity thus afforded us to visit that world-famous battle¬
ground was not to be missed. So we decided to go there (passing first through
Lens, which was rather a detour ), taking our chances of finding someone at
Vimy who would point out to us the historical spots. I had long had the great¬
est desire to visit Vimy Ridge, having had the care of many boys who had been
severely wounded there, and who had given me long accounts of the great Cana¬
dian “Day”.
Lens was a mournful sight indeed; if such a thing were possible, it seemed
to me even more completely destroyed than many of the towns on the Somme.
In pre-War days it had been one of the most important industrial cities of the
North, and at the very centre of the great coal-fields which stretch all over
this part of France. Now it lay a silent, dismal waste of piled-up stone and
twisted iron girders. From the huge factories all the machinery had first been
removed and transported to Germany, the factories themselves then being
systematically destroyed by the retreating enemy; the iron and steel founderies
had been gutted; the coal mines flooded, making the working of them quite out
of the question for a long time to come. Here and there, along what had evi¬
dently been the main thoroughfare running through the centre of the town, a
khaki figure or two could be seen at work, and I watched a little family of
returning refugees—all they had left in the world tied up in bundles and car¬
ried on their backs—almost groping their way, as though in a dream, trying to
discover, in that vast confusion of fallen masonry, the exact spot where their
home had stood. I wandered about in the grip of a terrible fascination, and,
seeing a small gateway which, for some strange reason, had escaped destruction,
I passed through it, following a little path which led to the back of what had
once been a good-sized house, and there I suddenly came upon one of the most
fantastic sights I have ever seen in my life. Evidently I had found my way
into what used to be a very pretty garden, for a few broken shrubs, the wreck
of a greenhouse and a small, shattered fountain could still be distinguished
from the rubbish lying all about, and in the midst of this sorrowful disorder, a
frail-looking woman in the deepest mourning, her trailing black dress and her
long, black veil blowing about her, stood digging in the ground with an over¬
heavy garden spade which she had evidently brought with her for the purpose.
3©4
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
I cannot describe how forlornly incongruous she looked, busily working at her
strange task in the midst of that desolation, clothed in her decent black, so out
of place in this chaos. Later I was to learn that many women were obliged to
wear, day in, day out, the only clothes they had—those in which they had
escaped. I was so astonished at seeing her there that (although, of course, I
knew I was an undesirable even if unintentional intruder), I could not for the
moment summon sufficient wits even to retreat, and so to leave her alone in
her sorrow—my feet refused to move. She heard me and looked up, and I saw
that her face was wet with tears.
“ Mais madame . . . je snis desolee . . . ”, I began in a faltering voice, hop¬
ing to excuse and explain my unwelcome presence, while beginning at last to
move away as hastily as I could.
But she quickly dropped that cumbersome spade, and stood up bravely,
impatiently brushing away the tears which were betraying her, and, seeing that
I was a stranger, asked me in a tone of the most dignified and courteous hospi¬
tality, if there was anything she could do for me! I could not find a single
word to say; I did not know whether I wanted most to cry or to smile at her
offer of hospitality in those bare and unpromising surroundings. But, looking
at her more intently, I saw in her face something which warned me that the
last thing in the world she would have forgiven was any show of pity. She
was of the upper middle class, of that refined and delicate appearance so often
found in French women where perhaps you least expect it—in the industrial
regions; with rather a proud, reserved face, I thought, as she stood there cou¬
rageously smiling at me in the midst of ruin and disaster. But I still could not
find one word to say, and again I tried to withdraw.
“ Mais non , mais non /” she called after me in protest, “would not madame
like to see what they have done to my home—the Germans?” and she pointed
to the charred and heaped-up wreckage of her house. “Would not madame
like to hear what they have done to us?”
So we stood there talking, and she told me of her husband and two of her
sons who had been killed in action; of a young boy of hers who had been shot
down at her side while trying to protect her; of her two young daughters who
had been deported, and that to this day, she did not know what had become of
them.
“And now I am digging for some of our household things which I hastily
buried in our garden when we had to leave, because my girls must find a home
looking as it was when they were tom away from me—I will make them forget
our sorrow!” And so mistress of herself was she, even in the midst of her
distress, that again she waved almost gaily toward the ruins of her house and
over the desolation of her garden where hardly a blade of grass was left. My
heart sank within me as I pictured the home-coming of those two girls of hers—
if ever they came home at all—after their revolting captivity, and I felt I had
never seen anything more tragic than this lonely but determined French woman
who was clinging so desperately and despite everything to her hope, refusing
as yet to admit of a doubtful, if not actually impossible future, her long,
WAR MEMORIES
305
black veil blowing about her as she stood there resolutely smiling. And as I
turned away, I reflected sadly on the depths of heart-break which a seemingly
gay and almost careless laughter may conceal.
The afternoon was wearing away, so we hastened on toward Vimy, and
my chief recollection of our rather hurried visit there is of the chill bleakness of
that shell-torn, wind-swept hillside, where the clayey, tenacious mud—that
mud which made the British advance in the spring of 1917 so difficult—still
lay thick and deep beyond belief. Another, far happier memory, however, is
of a friendly Canadian Sergeant whom we came upon, and who was good enough
to act as our temporary guide. He had himself been in the thick of the fight,
when the Canadians stormed up the slope of Vimy (there were many Colonials
still stationed in the neighbourhood), and he knew every inch of the ground,
pointing out to us the spot from which the Canadian troops made their first
rush; just how far the first barrage had carried them, and then how they were
halted because of the “infernal clay”. His description was very graphic, as
well it may have been, since he had himself been ther.e, and he made us live it
all over again with him. I soon began to realize at first hand, what that “in¬
fernal clay” was like, for as we toiled up one end of the steep and slippery in¬
cline—the slope which was first attacked—I could hardly pull my feet free of it;
it clung to them like a nightmare thing. We managed to reach the crest, how¬
ever, and walked along it, looking down to the other side of the Ridge where
the Germans had been plainly visible on the run. You can see a long distance
from the summit—a wide sweep of country: Douai, of course; Vitry-en-Artois,
and even the hill of Monchy—and our guide, among other things, pointed to
where the “nine elms” had stood, that famous little group of trees which had
been such a landmark for many a soldier who had lost his way in the darkness,
and about which I had already heard so many stirring accounts. He added, in
a tone of such deep regret that I realized what the disappointment must have
meant to those men: “If only we could have got them guns up out of that
damned mud, we’d have been in Douai the next day,” and then, in the intensity
of his recollection: “D’you know, I seen some of our boys—the youngsters it
was—just cryin’ because they couldn't move our guns!”
We hated to leave, of course, but evening was threatening us, and we still
had some distance to go, so, thanking our kind Canadian Sergeant, we again
climbed into our car which was almost as caked with mud as we were, and
started off once more along the rough road, badly marmiUe , at length striking
across the wide Douai plain. As we sped along, the mountainous, grey slag-^
heaps which, in the dusk, so strangely resembled pyramids, and which are
so common in this great mining area, vied with the huge ammunition dumps
(mostly old shell-cases or “dud” pine-apple hand-grenades); but at last we
reached our destination—the small mining town which had been chosen as my
headquarters, and which was on the highroad running between Douai and
Denain. The choice of this town had been made chiefly because I knew that a
little later, when a regular train service to the North had been re-established, it
would be a comparatively simple matter to get my cases of supplies up from
3°6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Paris; for the present, they would have to be specially sent by camion, which
was both expensive and slow.
There had been another reason, however: many British troops were stationed
in and about the town, and I was certain that this would mean unlimited help if
the need for it should arise. Later developments showed me to have guessed
right, for the British Army knew that petrol was well-nigh unobtainable if
one ran short of it; it knew that, in this disordered part of the world, it was
almost impossible (without the necessary lorries) to remove huge cases of clothes,
boots, blankets, from the railway to the empty schoolhouse which had been
assigned me as a depot—so it adopted me from the first moment of my arrival,
and the debt I owe to both officers and men stationed there in that isolated and
War-dislocated region, would be quite impossible ever to repay. Without the
British Army, I doubt if I could have got through that winter’s work, for, of
course, it had facilities at its command which the local French authorities no
longer possessed, deprived as they had been, during the four years of the German
occupation, of practically everything they had. So the British Army furnished
me with unlimited petrol; with tools of all kinds with which to repair a broken-
down camionnette; with transport conveniences for me when, later, my driver
fell desperately ill and had to be sent back to Paris, and all the thousand small
things, from mending my shoes to seeing that I had the proper food when I fell
ill myself—for all these kindnesses I owe the British Army. I do not in any
way mean to imply that the French of the devastated North were not generous
to a degree which I could not possibly forget, but the Germans had left them
without even the bare necessities of life; you could not even buy a cake of soap
when I first went to that town, and the people were soling their shoes with
paper and twisted straw—it was all they had; and as the food had to be strictly
rationed, as it was of a kind which at best, did not permit of a too close scrutiny
or of any analysis at all, what had they to offer except willing hands, and the most
touching desire to give anything and everything they could ?
My new work lay over a fairly wide area, for I had been given two cantons
which, in this case, meant twenty-three villages, most of which lay, roughly
speaking, within the square of Douai and Denain on the north line, Cambrai
and Solesmes at the south. Of course, I had my nice French girl as driver,
to take me and my supplies about, and, as soon as I had got my first shipment
of cases unpacked—the clothing, shoes, stockings, blankets and all the rest of the
supplies sorted—I began my rounds. I had very largely to guess at the best
way to organize this (to me) new kind of relief work, for while my Committee had
given me carte blanche as far as the actual work went, it had not offered even a
suggestion by way of advice as to how best to put that work through. I had,
however, long since seen enough of the life in small French villages to know
that there was always a cure and always a maire } and that these two officials
were not invariably and completely in accord, each having his favourite “cases”,
and his list of immediate “needs”, just as each had his own perhaps humorous
but unalterable point of view. It devolved upon me, therefore, to keep my
wits about me, and to discover where the truth lay—not an easy matter. Of
WAR MEMORIES
307
course, the War and the terrible suffering which had been so heroically borne,
particularly in this occupied territory, had banished almost all the more serious
disagreements, but now that the worst of the danger was over, some of the
small discords were springing to life again, and I found it best to keep con¬
stantly on the alert. So I set to work, in each village visiting in turn the cure
and the mayor, telling them what it was that brought me; asking them to
consult together in making a list of the neediest families of their village, and
that on a certain fixed day, decided upon then and there, I would come again
with my camionnette, but this time filled with warm things for distribution.
All this preliminary work took a great deal of time, for the French peasant is
hospitable and talkative and, of course, there was the endless subject of the
War to discuss. In most cases, therefore, before I succeeded in pinning down
either my curt or my maire to the matter in hand, I listened to complete and
detailed histories of the War experiences of all the village folk—those who had
remained and those who were returned refugees. Once I had made my pre¬
liminary tour, however, things went quicker, and each week had its programme.
The mornings and afternoons were devoted, by pre-arranged schedule, to dis¬
tribution in this village or in that; sometimes, if we were fortunate, we managed
to distribute our supplies in three or perhaps four villages in one day, my driver
leaving me at my distribution while she dashed back, over the rough and muddy
roads, to our “headquarters”, to collect fresh bundles of clothes and blankets,
prepared by me, in anticipation of our need, the night before. Then back she
would come, the camionnette full to the top again; pick me up, and off we would
hasten to our next village.
These distributions were in many different kinds of buildings, according to
whether the village had been badly damaged, or only partly so. Sometimes they
would be in the semi-destroyed village church, where the good cure himself
would stand, half in and half out of a snow drift, beaming his thanks on behalf
of his emaciated and miserably clad flock; sometimes in a room in the town
hall, where the mayor (who always, to my great embarrassment, opened the
proceedings with a long and laudatory address) would preside—how the French
do love a speech! Occasionally these distributions had to be in one tiny room
of the curt's tiny house—a room where a red-hot stove (crammed, in our honour,
with all the fuel which the entire neighbourhood could collect), roared and
crackled; every window hermetically sealed, and every inhabitant of the village
crowded into it. These were times when you felt you could be quite happy
sitting on the North Pole, but you could not, of course, say so or even look thaL
way, because the old cure appeared so benignly unconscious that you were all
roasting point, and he was offering you the very best of his hospitality. There
was always a struggle too, in finding just the right-fitting clothes for the woman
or child who was standing patiently before you, expecting that, just because you
were the humble representative of a big relief organization, you could work
miracles. In the hurry of the proceeding, I never had time to determine whether
the difficulties were caused by ill-assorted sizes in the clothes supplied me, or
whether it lay in the remarkably varied, irrational, not to say illegal shapes of
3°S
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
our village folk. When it was a simple matter of a coat—well, any woman knows
how to pin a seam so as to make the coat smaller, or turn up a hem so as to make
the coat shorter, and mere details of that sort did not, of course, bother me,
especially as I always took sewing cotton and needles with me, to give to the
person who was to receive the over-large coat, knowing that these poor people
seldom had such luxuries as thread of any sort. But the shoes were my despair—
they could never be made to fit! It seemed always a question of trying to squeeze
a number ten foot into a number three shoe, and I used sometimes to think,
rather wistfully, of the prompt and clever way the “ugly sisters” in “Cinderella”
had met and surmounted a similar problem when they found themselves sud¬
denly confronted with it—they just chopped off their toes! While I was never
reduced to so low a state that I seriously hoped this extreme measure would be
adopted, I was none the less constantly on the watch for some magical recipe
by which a transformation from over-small to over-large might be effected.
I never found it, however, and the misfits continued to balk me to the very end.
That winter was terribly severe, and the suffering was intense. For the most
part, a kind of community life was carried on in the villages—a pooling of
interests. If, for instance, on returning to their village, three families found
their houses completely demolished, while a fourth family rejoiced in a house
comparatively intact, the four families would all huddle into the one habitable
house, and so at least have a roof over their heads. You often saw, to your great
surprise, what appeared to be evidence of much luxury, and this looked strangely
out of place in the squalid surroundings. I remember a young peasant woman
in a certain village, who daily appeared in a very handsome fur coat, and yet
I knew she lived in a wreck of a house, and could never, in any case, have owned
a fur coat of that kind. I discovered that when she had been turned out of her
village by the authorities who were evacuating all the inhabitants, she had been
ill in bed, and too weak to carry anything away; that some well-to-do woman,
in a large town through which she passed, had taken pity on her distress, and had
given her the fur coat, without which she would undoubtedly have died of
exposure. But that coat was practically all she had; no warm dress kept her
properly clad underneath. The expensive fur garment looked luxurious, but was,
in reality, merely a shield for the utmost want.
It was desperately hard to get my things out quickly enough to my many
villages, for, no matter how expeditiously my driver and I tried to work, there
were always fresh crowds waiting and clamouring for our clothing and blankets.
Of course, I went over and over again to each village, for the refugees came
streaming back in great numbers; one week I might find five newly returned
families; the following week, ten or fifteen might have returned, and be waiting
for such relief as we could furnish. At least in the beginning, people in general
were not permitted to return until the commune to which they belonged had
been able to put up shelters enough to accommodate those who had lost their
homes (though whether this ruling was made by the Government or by the local
authorities I do not remember), and the return of anyone unable, because of old
age or illness, to work in the fields was considered unjustified. This is not
WAR MEMORIES
309
surprising, with food so scarce; but as time went on, and shelters went up, the
law was greatly relaxed—or else no one paid any further attention to it—and
more and more families found their way back, for the French peasant loves the
soil to which he belongs; he loves his home and all that the word means, and he
would rather suffer misery there, than try to be happy anywhere else.
I think, however, it was not with the returned refugees that your sympathy
was greatest; it was perhaps more with those who had remained, despite the
danger and the distress, to live through the long years of the occupation; for
these had suffered a moral stress and strain which even exile does not inflict.
It would be difficult to imagine anything more cut off, more completely isolated
than the North of France had been during all those four agonizing years. No
reassuring letters from outside were allowed to pass into or out of occupied
territory, the inhabitants remaining for the most part in entire ignorance as to
the fate of family and dear friends in the rest of France. They never had any
reliable news as to the progress of the War; they saw only German newspapers,
printed in French, it is true, and purporting to give correctly the course of
current events, but these events were in reality so distorted (it was, of course,
German propaganda) that they were nothing less than lies—lies calculated to
spread dismay and despair, though they never did! But it was a kind of living
death which those people experienced, and it would have resulted in the deadliest
form of stagnation and of paralyzed will, except for the unquenchable fire
within. For no matter how cruel and unwarrantable the German oppression
was; no matter to what malevolent depths the Germans descended in their efforts
to intimidate, to dishearten, to crush, they never succeeded in breaking the
sturdy spirit of those people of the North. There was an enforced silence of
course, but with it a proud and fiery endurance which was the heroic note of
those terrible four years. They saw all their civic rights withdrawn, their
personal liberty, even of the simplest kind, restricted if not wholly abolished,
and they endured; they saw their houses systematically looted, all their cattle
and poultry taken away, their agricultural implements removed, and still they
endured; they watched helplessly while their women and young girls were
driven into the foulest kind of slavery, and still they refused to lose hope; they
looked on while their factories were wantonly destroyed, and their coal mines
wantonly flooded, but they did not waver—they knew the end was not yet. 1^^
believe it is a recognized fact that the Germans were even more merciless in theit^P
treatment of the North of France than they were, in the long run, in Belgium
itself, for after the first terrible year there, when the organized atrocities were
found to be politically and internationally a mistake, and were for that reason
abandoned, there was a general desire to conciliate Belgium because Germany
definitely hoped to annex her, and hoped in this way to win back the confidence
of the people! Whereas, in the North of France, the probability of annexation,
once the War was over, was far less, and Germany never halted in her policy
of intimidation.
The North of France was one vast, cheerless ruin—you could not get away
from that fact; and the flooding of the mines, the destruction of the factories
3°S
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
our village folk. When it was a simple matter of a coat—well, any woman knows
how to pin a seam so as to make the coat smaller, or turn up a hem so as to make
the coat shorter, and mere details of that sort did not, of course, bother me,
especially as I always took sewing cotton and needles with me, to give to the
person who was to receive the over-large coat, knowing that these poor people
seldom had such luxuries as thread of any sort. But the shoes were my despair
they could never be made to fit! It seemed always a question of trying to squeeze
a number ten foot into a number three shoe, and I used sometimes to think,
rather wistfully, of the prompt and clever way the “ugly sisters” in “Cinderella”
had met and surmounted a similar problem when they found themselves sud¬
denly confronted with it—they just chopped off their toes! While I was never
reduced to so low a state that I seriously hoped this extreme measure would be
adopted, I was none the less constantly on the watch for some magical recipe
by which a transformation from over-small to over-large might be effected.
I never found it, however, and the misfits continued to balk me to the very end.
That winter was terribly severe, and the suffering was intense. For the most
part, a kind of community life was carried on in the villages—a pooling of
interests. If, for instance, on returning to their village, three families found
their houses completely demolished, while a fourth family rejoiced in a house
comparatively intact, the four families would all huddle into the one habitable
house, and so at least have a roof over their heads. You often saw, to your great
surprise, what appeared to be evidence of much luxury, and this looked strangely
out of place in the squalid surroundings. I remember a young peasant woman
in a certain village, who daily appeared in a very handsome fur coat, and yet
I knew she lived in a wreck of a house, and could never, in any case, have owned
a fur coat of that kind. I discovered that when she had been turned out of her
village by the authorities who were evacuating all the inhabitants, she had been
ill in bed, and too weak to carry anything away; that some well-to-do woman,
in a large town through which she passed, had taken pity on her distress, and had
given her the fur coat, without which she would undoubtedly have died of
exposure. But that coat was practically all she had; no warm dress kept her
properly clad underneath. The expensive fur garment looked luxurious, but was,
in reality, merely a shield for the utmost want.
It was desperately hard to get my things out quickly enough to my many
villages, for, no matter how expeditiously my driver and I tried to work, there
were always fresh crowds waiting and clamouring for our clothing and blankets.
Of course, I went over and over again to each village, for the refugees came
streaming back in great numbers; one week I might find five newly returned
families; the following week, ten or fifteen might have returned, and be waiting
for such relief as we could furnish. At least in the beginning, people in general
were not permitted to return until the commune to which they belonged had
been able to put up shelters enough to accommodate those who had lost their
homes (though whether this ruling was made by the Government or by the local
authorities I do not remember), and the return of anyone unable, because of old
age or illness, to work in the fields was considered unjustified. This is not
WAR MEMORIES
309
surprising, with food so scarce; but as time went on, and shelters went up, the
law was greatly relaxed—or else no one paid any further attention to it—and
more and more families found their way back, for the French peasant loves the
soil to which he belongs; he loves his home and all that the word means, and he
would rather suffer misery there, than try to be happy anywhere else.
I think, however, it was not with the returned refugees that your sympathy
was greatest; it was perhaps more with those who had remained, despite the
danger and the distress, to live through the long years of the occupation; for
these had suffered a moral stress and strain which even exile does not inflict.
It would be difficult to imagine anything more cut off, more completely isolated
than the North of France had been during all those four agonizing years. No
reassuring letters from outside were allowed to pass into or out of occupied
territory, the inhabitants remaining for the most part in entire ignorance as to
the fate of family and dear friends in the rest of France. They never had any
reliable news as to the progress of the War; they saw only German newspapers,
printed in French, it is true, and purporting to give correctly the course of
current events, but these events were in reality so distorted (it was, of course,
German propaganda) that they were nothing less than lies—lies calculated to
spread dismay and despair, though they never did! But it was a kind of living
death which those people experienced, and it would have resulted in the deadliest
form of stagnation and of paralyzed will, except for the unquenchable fire
within. For no matter how cruel and unwarrantable the German oppression
was; no matter to what malevolent depths the Germans descended in their efforts
to intimidate, to dishearten, to crush, they never succeeded in breaking the
sturdy spirit of those people of the North. There was an enforced silence of
course, but with it a proud and fiery endurance which was the heroic note of
those terrible four years. They saw all their civic rights withdrawn, their
personal liberty, even of the simplest kind, restricted if not wholly abolished,
and they endured; they saw their houses systematically looted, all their cattle
and poultry taken away, their agricultural implements removed, and still they
endured; they watched helplessly while their women and young girls were
driven into the foulest kind of slavery, and still they refused to lose hope; they
looked on while their factories were wantonly destroyed, and their coal mines
wantonly flooded, but they did not waver—they knew the end was not yet. I
believe it is a recognized fact that the Germans were even more merciless in them
treatment of the North of France than they were, in the long run, in Belgium
itself, for after the first terrible year there, when the organized atrocities were
found to be politically and internationally a mistake, and were for that reason
abandoned, there was a general desire to conciliate Belgium because Germany
definitely hoped to annex her, and hoped in this way to win back the confidence
of the people! Whereas, in the North of France, the probability of annexation,
once the War was over, was far less, and Germany never halted in her policy
of intimidation.
The North of France was one vast, cheerless ruin—you could not get away
from that fact; and the flooding of the mines, the destruction of the factories
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
310
had thrown an added burden oi> the authorities, for the hope by the people at
large of quickly resuming a normal life was indefinitely postponed, armies of
men and women facing a long and uncertain period of unemployment; and im¬
mediate return to work was out of the question. So, with the War over, and
the hated Germans gone, it took perhaps even more courage to face interminable
months of inactivity, than it had taken to live through the occupation. As
time went on, there was, of course, the wide-spread legend that, according to the
Treaty, Germany would be obliged to repair the immense and far-reaching
damage for which she was wholly responsible; that, as compensation for the
destruction of the coal mines in northern France, for instance, Germany was
to cede much of the Sarre basin, but we who were working in the Nord Devaste,
daily seeing the utter ruin all about us, wondered how any real compensation
would ever be possible. It has often been said (and justly) by those who took
an active part in the Great War, that one of the best ways to learn what the
Germans are like, is to have seen what they did in the occupied territories.
The work of reconstruction moved slowly, but as the winter wore on it was
wonderful to see the signs of quickening life in this stricken area. When I had
first come you could not buy even a candle; matches were, of course, quite
out of the question. In fact, provisions of the simplest kind were unobtainable,
except at the B. E. F. canteens—those were not, however, available to French
civilians. But now, small shops began to open, here and there, with limited
supplies it is true—such things as pins, sewing cotton, soap—and I learned at
this time, that these homely objects can easily excite an interest out of all
proportion to their ordinary value, when you have been without them for a
sufficiently long period, for you would often see little groups of the village
people earnestly inspecting the newly arrived luxuries. Little by little too,
another most cheering sight augured a slow return to old conditions—work
in the fields began again, and you saw the long, deep furrows of a plough
share—no doubt it had been hidden from the Germans in some dark cellar,
or off in the woods, covered by underbrush; you would catch the fragment
of a song as a woman gathered faggots in the dusk of the evening, or you would
hear the happy barking of a dog as he entered into a game with a group of children
—children no longer playing furtively but with wholehearted gaiety, as children
do. It was the revival of life in a country which, outwardly, had long been dead.
The time was slipping by, however; the days had passed unnoticed into weeks,
and the weeks, as unheeded, into months, and one day we awoke to the fact
that the terrible winter was over, the spring with its promise of better things
had come. My hour for leaving drew near; my work had come to an end for,
quite suddenly, and to my surprise, I realized that I had been working among my
villages for nearly six months. Regular Government supplies were now steadily
streaming in, in enormous quantities, and, of course, other oeuvres such as the
C. R. B. and the Red Cross, had long been on the spot,—there was no further
need of any work such as ours, which was on a much smaller scale. So I made
a final round of my twenty-three villages—a moving event for me, for I had
made many warm friends; one last distribution in the town where I had my
WAR MEMORIES
3“
supply-depot (with a kind of farewell ceremony), and then, one glowing spring
morning, when hope was in the air, and the joy of renewed life was in the very
breezes, I left the Devastated North of France.
My Committee had very generously given me permission to run up to Brussels
before returning to Paris with the car, and knowing how many places there were,
all along the western Front, which, filled with personal associations, were very
dear to me, it had suggested that, on my way south again, I should stop wherever
I wanted, or make any reasonable detours , in order to visit these spots. Naturally
I was most anxious to have a last survey of a few of the localities made vividly
known to me by those who had suffered there; by friends who had lost husbands
and sons there, or where I myself had been and had witnessed, with my own eyes,
at intervals during the long, dark years of the War, the immortal grandeur of
that struggle. I fervently desired to see each and all of these sacred spots again,
that I might hold them in perpetual memory.
To see them all was, however, out of the question, but how eagerly my young
French driver and I started out, that lovely spring morning! Passing along the
way where, not so long ago, the English and the Canadians had sent the Germans
reeling backwards, we ran rapidly through Valenciennes, at length crossing the
frontier into Belgium, with an emotion, at least on my part, which I cannot
describe. It was the first time I had been on Belgian soil since the autumn of
1915 when, sorrowfully, I had been obliged to leave that heroic little country.
It did not take us long to reach Mons, so full of memories of the “Old Con-
temp tibles”, nor to pass a short distance along the now-famous Mons-Condd
Canal, behind which, on that quiet Sunday, August 23rd, 1914, men of the
little British Expeditionary Force had drawn up, to face the overwhelming odds
which confronted them. And here they were attacked before they had had
time to entrench; it was from here that, at last, when all hope of holding their
position was gone; when complete envelopment was threatening, the great Re¬
treat began. Once (how long ago it seemed now!) I had known some of those
men, and as I stood there, I thought proudly of each one of them; I tried to
imagine what that Canal must have looked like to them in the early morning
light, as they ranged themselves there, with all the odds of the world against
them. I wished that I knew where their graves were, so that I might stand beside
them for a while. How quiet the country looked, after nearly five years
rifle shot rang out; there was not even a distant cannonading; the people
town came and went, intent upon their business—already the scars had
to heal.
Then Brussels—only a day to spend there, and how many friends, how many
familiar places I wanted to visit! But before I looked for anything else, I
looked for the Belgian flag (always it reminded me of a great tulip bed), and I
saw it everywhere, streaming its gorgeous red, yellow and black. There on the
summit of the Palais de Justice it was—the Palais de Justice where, for so many
years, the hated German flag had been flying; where German guns had been
placed so that they pointed straight down the Rue Royale, trained also on the
lower town lying in the hazy depths far below. But now, looking down into
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
those depths, over the soft gleaming of the ancient, gold-encrusted Hotel de
Ville, I could see the flag of liberated Belgium waving; and on the Royal Palace,
where the Queen’s Hospital had been installed, again floated the Royal Standard
—King Albert had come back to his own. There were no Germans anywhere
to be seen—the streets were clear of them, thank God! The lovely, small Parc
du Cercle, which the Germans had closed, was once more open to the public, and
the children were playing there. You could walk unmolested along the Rue de
la Loi, past the Belgian Government buildings—that street into which, during
the occupation, you could never enter without a pass, difficult to obtain; into
which you were hardly allowed even to look, no, not even to watch the change
of guard as it goose-stepped itself haughtily in and out every day, punctually,
at high noon—I daresay the German authorities were afraid that some of us
might laugh! That street had been the very centre of Deutschland iiber alles }
and the unwary intruder who lacked his passierschein , was more than likely to
get a bullet through his head, or a bayonet thrust through his heart; at the
very best, it would be an unceremonious “Heraus and he would probably
end his days in St. Giles. But now, incredible as it seemed to me, returning
after this long period, you could walk along the Rue de la Loi without the
least fear either of bayonets or of bullets. In the beautiful Cathedral of Sainte
Gudule, where Cardinal Mercier had so fearlessly hurled his resounding chal¬
lenges into the very teeth of the enemy, you could remain in peace, enjoying the
vast, twilight spaces which you had always loved. All Brussels was breathing
freely again; the friends of 1914 and 1915 whom I saw, and from whom I had so
sadly parted, had a new light in their faces, even if old shadows still lingered,
and I came away with peace of mind and renewed hope for the future.
Feeling that I could not possibly leave this part of the world without having one
last look at the great and magnificently tragic Ypres salient, even if it were to be
but a glimpse, we struck across country; through Alost which had paid so dearly
for its attempted stand against the first German advance of 1914; through
Ghent, so full of early memories for me—memories of thousands of terrified
refugees, of retreating Belgian troops with the Antwerp garrison as a climax,
of British Ambulance Units keeping open to the last, and then of that night
at the old chateau in the outskirts of the town, where I had experienced my
first sight of the enemy. It seemed to me that it had all been a million years ago.
From Ghent we turned south, through Courtrai to Menin, and so passed along
the Menin road which is now one of the most famous in history. There was no
great Memorial Gateway at the end of it then, as there is to-day, but the very
air you breathed seemed rarefied because of the magnitude of the sacrifice
which had been offered there. Who will ever forget the carnage of the Third
Battle of Ypres? Who can ever think of the dismal, fetid marshes of the Yser,
with the mouldering duck-boards, and the sodden, rotting earth, without a
tightening of the heart-strings? That country, so shell-tom, so lacerated,
every inch of which had been so fiercely contested by our weary and outnumbered
yet still unflagging troops, all through that rain-soaked autumn, has become
sacred ground to many of us, and will for ever remain so. Of Ypres itself—
WAR MEMORIES
3i3
“Ypres la Morte" —little, of course, was left; the beautiful Cloth Hall was a
mass of rubble and calcined stone; the Cathedral of St. Martin was a forlorn
wreck; the signs directing you to “Hell Fire Corner” still told their tale of bitter
conflict—it was a wilderness of desolation. We ran hastily through Poperinghe,
even more battered than when I had seen it last, and we went round by way of
the lovely, white chateau, where the hospital in which I had worked among the
blind had stood, but there was hardly a trace of it left. The German advance of
1918 had almost completely destroyed it. I remembered those long, sunlit
summer days, and those blind men groping their way about, wrapped in that
sightless night of theirs, yet never for one moment losing heart. I remembered
“Jim” who had followed “the long, long trail” in his last effort to help a more
helpless comrade than himself; I thought of my Devonshire boy with his quiet,
reserved manner, and his inner sight—he too had “gone west”. The whole
country-side seemed strange to me without the familiar faces, and with the
chdteau itself a cheerless heap of ruins.
Speeding south toward Lille, we passed through Armenti&res, near which,
in the great spring offensive of 1918, the enemy, striking at a spot where an attack
was least expected, had succeeded for a time in breaking through the British
lines, and when, in that supreme moment, Sir Douglas Haig had sent to his
troops, his now world-famous, high-hearted message: “. . . Many among us are
now tired. To those I would say that victory will belong to the side which
holds out the longest. . . . Every position must be held to the last man; there
must be no retirement. With our backs to the wall, and believing in the justice
of our cause, each one of us must fight on to the end,”—and on that note it
continued. How well I remembered the great convoys of wounded which had
flooded the large Military Hospital in London (where I then was), just after
that grim stand of the British forces in that part of the sector! What an untold
debt of gratitude we owe those men!
We reached Lille after dark, and left the next morning before daylight, as we
were anxious to make up lost time, so I saw little of it. Still heading south toward
Cambrai, much of which was now familiar ground to me, we passed through
that dismembered town, deliberately set on fire by the retreating Germans,
even so late as a few days after their first demand for an armistice! The great
Place d’Armes had then looked like a stretch of desert, but now, rebuilding had
begun. Continuing our way, we set our course for Le Catelet, St. Quentin ancL
La F&re, thus, with somewhat of a margin, skirting the old battle-fields of th^
Somme, and then running straight through those of Picardy—that whole section
between Cambrai and the Oise into which the Germans had first driven a huge
salient in their advance of 1918, and over which they had then swept in their
last effort to reach Paris. We were running close to the famous Hindenburg
Line, and with the greatest interest we touched it as we passed along the St.
Quentin Canal—that part of it, at least, which stretches between Bellincourt
and Bellenglise—for this was one of the spots where, in the autumn of that year,
during the final retreat of the Germans, the supposedly impregnable barrier
had been pierced. The Canal is very wide and deep just here, with fearfully
3 T 4
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
precipitous cliffs on either bank (cliffs in which great nests of guns had been
hidden) and you wondered how those men ever took the Canal at all, but, in the
face of the deadliest machine-gun fire, they scrambled across, in any way and in
every way, storming the entrenchments on the opposite shore, thus helping to
destroy, for good and all, the most important line of the enemy defences.
How much we longed to stop both at St. Quentin and at La F&re! In danger
of forgetting the good fortune which had enabled me to be there at all, it seemed,
for the moment, a cruel fate which obliged us to move almost uninterruptedly
forward. I could not in reality, however, long ignore the fact that I was using
valuable time so generously granted me by my Committee, so we did not yield
to the temptation to linger, but sped on, plunging recklessly into the twilight
intricacies of the Foret de St. Gobain. We hoped to find the emplacement of one
of the long-range guns which had bombed Paris from here, but we were quite
unsuccessful, and we almost lost our way in the confusion of the small roads
which run through it at every imaginable angle. So, at last, we definitely turned
our faces toward Laon, and reached there just as night was falling—Laon with
its cathedral set superbly on the crest of its hill, and with that marvellous view
overlooking the great plain stretched out below.
The next day we entered the region lying between Laon and Reims, one I
had long wished to go over as a kind of pilgrimage. The Heights of the Aisne
had already been the centre of severe fighting both in 1914 and in 1917, when
again, in 1918, Ludendorff had chosen it as the point at which he would attack
the French who held this section of the front. It was this furious onslaught
of his—at first overpowering the French and sweeping them from their position
—which yet led up to the Second Battle of the Marne, and which proved to be
the beginning of the end for the Germans. This was the country of the Chemin
des Dames, so familiar, at least by name, to everyone in the world to-day; it
was the country of the Craonne Plateau which has been the scene of campaigning
for many centuries, but I do not suppose that at any time throughout the ages,
it even approached in appearance what it looked like to me the day I passed
over it. Of Craonne itself, about ten miles south of Laon, there seemed only a
few scattered stones; of the Chemin des Dames, nothing at all remained. Every
step of the way the bare, churned-up earth was a ghastly, chalky-white, the
glare of which almost blinded you; there was no living tree in sight; craters and
shell-holes yawned everywhere; a little rank grass, much rusty barbed wire;
yet, in that solitary, unlovely wilderness, as though in memory of those who had
died there, you could see, in sheltered spots, the loveliness of spring flowers
growing—tiny, delicate clusters of them—like a miraculous raising of the dead;
and now and again, the small enclosures of white crosses. I went into one of
these, and passed among the graves, and, fastened to one of the crosses, below
the tricolore and the fallen man’s name, I saw a scrap of paper fluttering, and
read the scribbled words: “Adieu, adieu , les Francois noublient pas." Of
course, I have never known who attached them there, or when it was done, or
why, but it was not a thing you were likely to forget. What the holding of that
ground must have cost the French in blood and agony, was only too evident from
WAR MEMORIES
3i5
what you saw, no matter in which direction you looked, and with all my soul I
wished that every man and every woman who had ever been guilty of even a
touch of neutrality, could be seeing the things that I saw that day, and have
them burnt into their memories for ever. Where should any of us be now, had
it not been for men like that?
At length we reached Reims. There are no words to describe it—to describe
the Cathedral, or what you felt when you looked at that which the Germans
had done. The world knows all about it—and may the world remember what it
knows!
It did not seem that we were long in passing through the country of the
Marne—for, after Reims, you somehow felt that you had seen the end—and as,
once more, I entered Paris after my long absence, and realized her apparent
return to the old, brilliant life, I felt that, nevertheless, there would be many to
whom the whole of France must for ever remain one vast, enduring monument
to her dead.
Many years have gone by since the glory of those days—those days when,
living on the brink of defeat, of despair, of extermination, we yet never sur¬
rendered—and still I seem to hear the haunting rhythm of millions of armed
feet, marching, marching forward. It is night, and I stand in a waste and
ravaged country, beside a torn, shell-shattered road bordered by shell-blasted,
blackened trees, watching regiment after regiment going up the line. The faces
of the men show signs of the long conflict; their uniforms are worn—stained with
the smoke and toil of battle; their trench helmets are old and battered; their
packs huge and heavy; yet those men move steadily on into the night toward
the bleak and frost-bound trenches which await them; they move fonvard to take
their places in the ever-sleepless lines—there, where the giant gun-flashes race
across the sky; where the star shells rise and fall over the bitter desolation of No
Man’s Land; where the deep crimson flare of a signal—some lonely outpost in
distress—stains the horizon like a splash of blood. But those men move un¬
falteringly on toward the thunder of the guns, toward the sure death which
awaits them—they pass, and are lost in the night; the sound of those marching
feet dies away in the distance. Another regiment comes up; the huge pack^^
swing with the steady movement of strong feet; there is silence as they marcH^
the silence of those who have set their faces to the enemy, and soon that regiment
too has gone, has disappeared in the darkness. Then another regiment follows,
and another, and another, and yet another—long swinging columns of grey-
blue or of khaki, of khaki or grey-blue—they pass, and pass, and pass; and to me
it seems as though they always will be passing—going up the line.
Sometimes as the dawn is breaking in the east, I close my eyes on that deep¬
ening splendour and recall to memory the splendour I have seen shining in the
eyes of the countless men and boys I have known and loved in the Great War—
men and boys who have fought to the death for their ideals, on land, on sea and
in the air—and then I marvel that we of to-day can so soon have forgotten them;
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
316
that after the sublime heights to which the humblest of them fearlessly rose,
we who are left can be content to sink back into the commonplace; to sink
to the low and sordid levels of self-seeking and materiality. Did we take their
gift only to toss it heedlessly to one side again—they who were so great of
heart; they who gave so royally and without one backward look, their youth,
their happiness, their all? And when the next war comes, as come it surely will,
I ask myself what we, whose turn it will then be to act—what we are going to do?
Having grasped so eagerly at what those others gave us—those men of unbroken
spirit, they who, when they feared, pressed forward none the less—what shall
we wish to give? Then, as I watch the growing splendour in the east, through
the sweet and lovely freshness of the morning, from the great reaches of the sky
where he was so truly at home, come ringing the deathless words of Georges
Guynemer: “ Tant qu'on ria pas tout donne, on na rien donnt.”
Volunteer.
(The End)
The more we love , the more we desire to love; and the more we pay of that which
love demands , the greater becomes our debt .— Ruysbroeck.
Help your brother , Mahomed said one day , whether he be the oppressor or the
oppressed.
0 Messenger of God , said someone to him , I would gladly assist my brother were
he oppressed , but how can I aid the oppressor?
By preventing him from doing evil , was the reply. —E. D.
I have found that a man may do a great deal of good in the world , if only he does
not care who gets the credit of it .— Cervantes.
THE PATH OF BEAUTY
Wherever thou dost turn , He speaketli to thee by traces which He has impressed
upon His works , and by the very form of outward things recalls thee , when sinking
down to things outward .— St. Augustine.
S OME one has said that the recognition of Truth brings with it a “Cate¬
gorical Imperative”, a force which compels one to be like unto it. 1 his
is true of the Arts, of that Beauty which is the form and manifestation of
Truth.
Once in a while; we see such a manifestation, painting, drama or object,
something so completely beautiful that we feel we can never depart from it,
nor would we be other than it. This is the Categorical Imperative of Beauty.
In The Secret Doctrine we are told that at the beginning of the Manvantara,
the High Gods descend on earth to impress upon the infant mind of humanity
certain eternal truths, and that so potent is this impression that its vibration
is never lost, but runs to the end of the cycle. This note sounded by the Manus
flows like a fountain of sound, life-giving waters of immortality, whose waves
pass through and over us, conscious or unconscious as we may be, an ocean in
which we live as do the fish in the watery deeps. How did they make this im¬
pression, how sound this note? I often think of them, and I am sure it was by
being, simply by being immortally Beautiful.
Sir James Jeans has declared that God is a mathematician. Others declare
Him to be an engineer. Of course, we know that God is an artist. The Gods
are artists and themselves the supreme works of art. That is why the life of
a Master is a drama of the Mysteries and transcends the tragedies of ^Eschylus.
By that absolute loveliness we are transformed. We vibrate into conformity
with it. That is why, to certain souls, beauty is the path to the Eternal. This
loveliness, outside, and greater than ourselves, draws us on without thought of
ourselves. We perish in it as we become it. It arouses in us a pure, impersonal
love. This love is the fire which consumes our ugliness and re-creates us in its
image. As we contemplate it, our consciousness is joy. Is not this what is
said in the Upanishad: “How could anything live, how could anything breathe,
if the heart of being were not joy?”
In all these forms it is Being itself which is beauty. Of the forms, indee(L^|
it may be said, “Thine, verily, are chariots, thine are dance and song”. Thei^
transitory aspect is Death’s; but Death is the great Initiator. By gazing upon
the drama of the Mysteries one seizes its spirit, and by enacting it becomes im¬
mortal. “Not, verily, for love of all that is, is all this dear, but for the love of
the divine Self is all that is, dear.”
Ought we not constantly to look for and to search out that beauty? Would
we not, rather, for is it not all joy? Plotinus has said, “He who has not
3i7
318 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
yet seen Truth desires it as the Good; he who has seen it desires it as the
Beautiful”.
In what unexpected spots do we find it!
I once read an article on the Royal Dancers of Cambodia. If one can judge
by pictures and casts, the ancient Khmer art of Cambodia is second to none.
Angkor Wat is one great mass of marvellous sculpture where are represented
the evolutions of Gods, Men, Serpents and Celestial Beings. Among these
Celestial Beings, the Divine Apsarases, the Heavenly Nymphs, are everywhere,
dancing upon wall and balustrade. I have a cast of one before me as I write.
Her hands and feet flower out into flames. She is crowned with a high crown
and girdled with jewels, and she smiles the same mysterious smile which we
see on the sculptured faces at Rheims. These Apsarases have lived and still
live on earth in the Royal Dancers of Cambodia.
The article of which I speak was written by Georges Groslier, Director of
Cambodian Arts, and it describes the way in which he was able to galvanize the
dying Ballet into new life, to restore and preserve it for the world. The Ballet
was declining rapidly. No rehearsals, no money, no organization. After a
shockingly poor performance, the French, for Cambodia is a French protec¬
torate, stepped in. Monsieur Groslier proposed to photograph every traditional
pose in order, at least, to preserve that much of the art. He formed a commission
composed of old men who understood the art, and of two old waitresses de
ballet. These were to regulate and to criticize the performance of the dancers
who posed for the pictures.
Groslier found in these dancers themselves such a love of their art, such a
pride in it, such devotion, that he was able to organize regular rehearsals of the
whole Corps de Ballet , to inspire it with fire and to see it revive like a Phoenix
from its ashes.
Is there not something touching and significant in the spectacle of the French
rescuing the art of the Cambodians from decay? They, too, have protected
Angkor Wat, and have loved it as the descendants of the sculptors of the twelfth
and thirteenth centuries should love it.
Now, the descriptions of the resuscitation of the Ballet are “passionnant ", ,
thrilling. The dancers, all women, are a part of the Royal Court. In the old
days, all of them were princesses of the Blood, and virgins, for they represent
the Heavenly Nymphs, and perform a sacred ritual. The ancient legends which
they mime have four r 61 es, princes, princesses, monkeys and giants. Isn’t
that enchantingly suggestive? One is transported at once into a fairy world,
that world where we moved in childhood.
Sometimes, one thinks that great art can be produced only within the con¬
fines of a rigid frame. Christian iconography did very well when the position
of every figure was fixed by theology, and the inspirations of later painters
have varied but not improved it. Cimabue is more interesting than Correggio.
The personages of the Commedia dell ’Arte were limited, yet sufficient for all
the r 61 es of Terence and Moli£re. Princes, princesses, monkeys and giants;
what more do you want?
THE PATH OF BEAUTY
3i9
The Ballet rehearses. The musicians squat in the foreground. The dancing
mistresses are all alert. Then, the princes come forward, four by four, four
rows deep. Imagine four rows of princes, all clad in gold, with jewelled spiked
helmets, gold girdles, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, shields. They come for¬
ward, and to the music and to the chanted words, they dance. The faces of
the dancers, under their crowns of gold and garlands of flowers, are expression¬
less. Their thoughts are turned inward in a prodigious concentration of effort
and memory. At the sound and word they must make the required movement
infallibly, immediately, and this movement must not deviate from the Canon
by a fraction of an inch. Groslier exclaims, “Ah, the hard labour, the severe
preparation, the subtile sculpture!”
All these r 61 es must fit together. In a ballet where there appear two principal
personages, four followers for the princess and four officers for the prince, each
must choose exactly the right gesture for the sound and circumstance. Groslier
says, “The same rigour of composition binds together these ten persons, and,
if you are forewarned, you can see that at the moment the Prince makes a certain
gesture, and that gesture only, the four officers raise their left hands. All the
personages on the stage, whatever their number, know the particular rhythm
(horologerie) which animates them, and also that which moves the others, since
all these separate ‘mechanisms’, all interdependent, combine thus in one given
circumstance and never in another.”
“We see”, says Groslier again, “the slow and fabulous filtering such an art
has undergone before reaching a perfection so final and so living that the years,
vicissitudes and generations piled up in its memory have not diminished its
authority”.
Now, the princesses come, three by three, slowly at first, with poses, then
gliding along. Their gestures “seem to part fringes, branches, clouds”. Then
they seem to leave the earth and to fly in the air.
Perhaps this does net suggest to others, as it does to me, a whole world of
divine beauty. When I evoke that ballet in my imagination, I see galaxies of
stars like Shelley’s “swarm of golden bees”. I see the orderly revolutions
of the planets, the turning of the spheres, the disciplined and rigorously set
dance of the heavenly bodies, each one like a gold and jewel-decked Celestial
Nymph performing her evolutions with love and precision, all interdependent,
all replying to one another without hesitation, all with the marvellous beauty (
of a conscious work of art. This dance opens out illimitable vistas on the^
universe, by correspondence, and the Milky Way and Orion and his sons take on
a significance unperceived before, something near, personal, living.
The dancers in the first row, who have no one to show them the movement,
would fall down in a faint rather than make a mistake which those behind them
might imitate. If we were to regard our duties as parts of a dance which we
must execute promptly, exactly, gracefully, figures in the harmonious unrolling
of a cosmic ritual, would it not enable us to perform them gaily, not as tasks
but as works of art?
The most beautiful thing I have ever seen on the stage was Mei Lan Fang,
320 THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
the great Chinese actor, in old Chinese plays. Mei Lan Fang plays only feminine
rdles. He incarnates all the aspects of the “Eternal Feminine”, all that is most
charming, capricious, delicate and invincible. Seeing him, one wonders what
has happened to the woman of to-day. But let us hastily leave this dangerous
subject.
A princess speaks to her ladies in waiting. The princess is marvellously
beautiful. Her black hair hangs below her knees. She wears embroidered
robes, with a capelet of Imperial yellow fringed with tassels, and a great head¬
dress hung with long ropes of pearls. Now and then, her hands, with their
gold nail guards, appear as the trailing sleeves of her robe fall back. 1 he grace¬
ful handling of the sleeve is an art. The ladies, lovely creatures as alike as two
peas in a pod under their high crowns of trembling crimson balls, move without
a sound, without a violent gesture, delicate, subdued, perfectly controlled,
alert but effaced. The princess speaks to them and they answer, repeating her
words, but in a lower voice and key, like a faint echo. Somehow, just that re¬
peated sound conveyed to me something of the relations of the hierarchies, the
Guruparampara Chain.
The princess, make no mistake, was not arrogant or imperious. She simply
was someone superior. That little scene was the acme of elegance. The won¬
der of a society in which things are ordered with such refinement!
I have tried to remember something in Western drama that could be com¬
pared with it, and I have seen the Russian Ballet in all its splendour, and Mounet-
Sully as CEdipus, but never have I seen anything which sounded so potently,
for me, that note of compelling beauty.
It is futile to compare and measure beauties. Botticelli’s Primavera need
fear no rival. A Famille Vertc vase is different but not inferior to Pacstum.
However, these plays and the art of the Chinese theatre, set, also, in rigorous
forms, conventions and symbols, lay before one a stage of civilization so far
beyond our own that we realize our unlikeness, and languish in our exile. Is
not the plane of consciousness of the Lodge of Masters such a state of civilization,
such a place of poetry and loveliness? Do we not finally come to long for it
passionately, from the darkness of the pit of our ugliness?
These dances and dramas which I have been describing are all man-made
arts. Is not the beauty of Nature the production of the Absolute Artist and the
paradigm of all other arts and forms? A Master says, “We but follow and ser¬
vilely copy Nature in her works”.
If the Categorical Imperative of Beauty is struck all too rarely by man, how
constantly, how potently is it struck by earth, sky, water, trees and flowers.
One can scarcely choose from out the wealth of memory a more lovely moment,
a particular object. At this time, however, I remember seeing the Cactus flower.
It was one of those perfect, warm Southern nights. The air was scented with
the spice of innumerable desert plants, mints, absinth, tansy, sage. It was
pure and silent with that vast silence of hundreds of miles of uninhabited moun¬
tains and deserts. The giant spires of cactus rose up among the enormous
stars which seemed impaled upon their thorns. On these bare spikes opened
THE PATH OF BEAUTY
321
the cactus blossoms, white or rose, great petalled cups. Their perfume was
poured out, as maidens, returned from the wells, pour water from their urns.
It was so beautiful that everything else ceased to be. One had no personality,
no concerns, no psychic motions, no thoughts. Consciousness and this beauty
became united. One was lifted into a state of simple being, of joy. One might
have spent aeons in such bliss, or did spend aeons in a moment. “As a painting
of divine bliss; a sculptured form of sovereign happiness; a grove of trees
erectly standing.”
Surely, the self-consciousness of those above us in the scale of evolution, the
Masters, the Dhyani Buddhas, is fixed permanently in the contemplation of the
Eternal Beauty, and vibrating with it, radiates its life. Once one has glimpsed
that Beauty one must be delivered to its conquest. Nothing less can satisfy.
What is this mysterious quality of Beauty? How know it? How perceive
it? Is it form? Is it known by the eye alone? Surely it is the shadow of the
Divine Being which falls upon our consciousness from above, and is perceived
first by the spirit and last by the eye.
Doubtless, the pursuance of the Path of Beauty is not without its dangers.
One is always being told that its followers are liable to become attached to the
mere concrete and outward form. Well, the Path of Goodness is not without
its dangers, either, as all who have suffered the frightful ministrations of the
well-intentioned can testify. Danger is our normal condition of life. We are
in jeopardy every hour.
The effort of any one who follows an art or a religion must be the acquire¬
ment of Shankara’s first qualification for ch£laship, discrimination between
the mortal and the immortal. In a Buddhist text it is said, “Let me discern a
passionate mind to be passionate, let me discern a mind free from passion to
be free from passion, let me discern a mind full of hatred to be full of hatred,
let me discern a mind free from hatred to be free from hatred, let me discern
an infatuated mind to be infatuated, let me discern a mind free from infatu¬
ation to be free from infatuation, let me discern an intent mind to be intent.”
One may well say, Let me discern an ugly picture to be ugly and a beautiful
picture to be beautiful. Too many people think that if they are moved by a
work it must be good. It probably is bad. As Goethe remarked: “Wonder¬
working images are nearly all poor works of art.” That is because the part
of our nature which is most easily moved is the surface. A poor work of art,
being on that plane, moves it. The really profound influence of a beautiful
work is generally upon planes where we are dense, little alive and self-conscious*
More people are stirred by a cheap chromo than by a fresco by Giotto. They
may say, “Oh, it isn’t the form which moves me. It is the idea.” Of course,
in a hideous religious picture the idea may well move one. Nevertheless, the
picture is still poor and can never carry one as far as would a beautiful picture
which brings into manifestation the meditations upon the Spiritual world of a
superior soul. “And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us, and we
beheld his glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.”
Is it the form which is our guide in judging an object? Form and Conscious-
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ness are inseparable. That is why the constant discernment of forms can guide
one to the consciousness behind them, must guide one there to have any life-
giving inspiration, for consciousness is the life of all forms.
Or, does one start by discerning states of consciousness? The method of
induction or of deduction, proceeding from particulars to universals or from
universals to particulars? It would seem that Theosophy constantly employs
both methods, correcting and confirming the one by the other. One must
“gently, with much sagacity” observe form, conduct and manner, comparing
them with principles and laws of nature, and as diligently meditate upon prin¬
ciples and laws, observing them in their manifestations. Of a truth, even in
this terrene world, form and consciousness are one.
It is because we allow our senses to become so dull, our perceptions so gross,
that we remain content with trivial things and cease to see divine Reality
behind forms. One recalls St. Augustine’s cry, “I was borne up to Thee by thy
beauty and soon borne down from Thee by mine own weight, sinking with sorrow
into these inferior things.”
How often have we been told that when the perturbations of the personal
life are stilled, we, becoming as an untarnished mirror, reflect the untroubled
consciousness of the Spiritual World. Face to face with Being, we see Beauty;
nay, we shall become Beauty, for the desire of evolution and of our hearts is not
to see from afar, but to incarnate the God.
“This world is the expression of the thought of the Eternal, therefore all
Being, everywhere, is the Eternal; thus behold it in all modes of being with
serene understanding illumined by the Higher Self. That Being which is
everywhere beheld apart from form by those possessing vision, what else can be
the Soul’s garden of delight, for the righteous knower of the Eternal?”
Sauvage.
To love is Beauty .— Anon.
Since , 0 my soul , thou art capable of God , woe to thee if thou content thyself with
anything less than God .— St. Francis de Sales.
DISCERNMENT
Spiritual Discernment is what is most wanted. —H. P. Blavatsky.
M R. JOHNSTON, in the opening sentence of the Introduction to his
translation of Shankara Acharya’s Crest Jewel of Wisdom , states:
“Literally rendered, the title is The Crest Jewel of Discernment”.
He adds: “Viveka is the winnowing of wheat from chaff, the discerning of
spiritual reality, veiled by the mirage of the world’s appearances”.
By translating the Sanskrit, Viveka, as Discernment, Mr. Johnston has
virtually created for us in the West a term so rich in content, that a familiar
English word, by association with Eastern philosophy and occultism, is raised
into a higher sphere of meaning, and becomes an open sesame into new regions of
thought and experience. The second verse of the Crest Jewel presents the theme
of the whole treatise in a single phrase: “Discernment between the Divine Self
and that which is not the Self”. This fully accomplished, there results, not
simply, we are told, an intellectual clarification, but, on the one hand, “liber¬
ation” from all that binds to the lower, the manifested, and the perishable,—
the not-Self; and, on the other, “fully realized union with the Eternal Self”.
This is a stupendous statement, and one perhaps hard for Western minds to
apprehend. Nevertheless, The Crest Jewel of Wisdom —that Wisdom which is
Theosophy itself—boldly presents the Path to us in a term familiar to our every¬
day experience, and yet extending upward to illimitable heights. Therefore we
are told that we may, by the right exercise of a present, though perhaps largely
latent, faculty, dispel “the mirage of this world’s appearances”, rid ourselves
of the net-work of illusions or delusions which we have woven by imagination,
thought, and will about the spiritual man within, and so claim our inheritance as
sons of God.
When highly trained lawyers, together with militant sceptics and materialists,
came to the great Western Master, and asked of him incontrovertible proofs—
a sign from heaven—that his authority was not a pose, but that his teaching was
truly “authoritative”, he met their demand with withering irony: “When it is
evening you say, Fair weather, for the sky is red. Or in the morning, Foul
weather to-day, for the sky is red and lowring. You know how to discern thej
face of the sky, but you are not able to discern the signs of the times. An evil
and adulterous generation looks for a sign; and there shall no sign be given to
it except the sign of Jonah. And he left them” (cf. Matt. 16:1-4).
Nineteen hundred years of deeper penetration into Kali Yuga does not seem to
have improved the Discernment between the Real and the unreal of lawyers,
scientists, and the official priesthoods—as, perhaps, modem interpretations of
the sign of Jonah—lay and clerical alike—sufficiently demonstrate, to use one
illustration only. Nor is Discernment a term, or an idea, generally familiar in
Western or Christian religious thought, though, of course, the exercise of this
323
324
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
faculty is implicit in all genuine spiritual teaching. For this very reason, a
study of the Crest Jewel , and an assimilation of the meaning of the term Discern¬
ment, is of special value, and will throw a richer light not only on Western Scrip¬
tures, but on our own immediate experience and needs. For the Crest Jewel
tells us that, of the four qualifications enumerated “by those possessing wisdom”
which are necessary to secure “a firm foothold in the Real”,—“ First is counted
Discernment between the Eternal and the non-eternal” (v. 19).
Since the word Discernment is often misused in English, and confused with
discrimination, it will be well to examine its ordinary connotations, as these are
suggestive. When Mohini Chatterji, using of course a foreign language, made
an English translation of the Crest Jewel for The Theosophist in 1885, he rendered
the word Viveka, discrimination; and where Mr. Johnston wrote: “Discernment
between the Divine Self and that which is not the Self”, Mohini used the phrase:
“The spiritual knowledge which discriminates between spirit and non-spirit”.
This circumlocution not only confines Discernment to spiritual knowledge (ex¬
cluding its complement, spiritual will), but to one function only even of spiritual
knowledge itself, and so reveals the need for further precision of thought. The
difference between the two terms, Discernment and discrimination, is a funda¬
mental one. We discriminate by making differences, by separating things
confused together or commingled. The process ends there. We discern by
seeing apart from all other objects, or through them. Discrimination directs
its attention and interest towards the objects or ideas considered, and without
these it could not function. Discernment draws down, or incarnates, an innate
faculty of the understanding, and exercises it by means of, or through, the
objects or ideas under consideration; but it is of itself eternal in its nature. So:
“When the question is to estimate the real qualities of either persons or things,
we exercise discernment: . . . when the question is to determine the proportions
and degrees of qualities in persons or things, we must use discrimination ”
(Crabbe); and again: “Of discernment we say that it is clear; it serves to remove
all obscurity and confusion: ... of discrimination , we say that it is nice; it
renders our ideas accurate”.
It is obvious, therefore, that in the ordinary dictionary use of the terms, dis¬
crimination is a secondary or derived function; that it is essentially dual, or
manasic; and that one can discriminate differences between things without any
real exercise of Discernment at all. To discern, while it implies the employment
of a due measure of discrimination, is in its very nature a higher faculty, and is
concerned with discrimination only in so far as the latter serves the higher
purpose—viz., that of estimating “the real qualities of either persons or things”.
This last, discrimination cannot do, though the term is constantly misused in
just this sense, instead of Discernment. Because Discernment sees , there is an
inner constructive or synthetic quality about its exercise, lacking in discrimina¬
tion. So Mr. Johnston’s illustrations are true analogies: wheat is not merely
winnowed to be separated from chaff, but to be harvested for the use of man; and
a veil is pierced to see what lies on the farther side, not simply to rend the veil.
Mr. Judge once wrote: “True discernment is an office of the human under-
DISCERNMENT
325
standing. In and of itself it is a passive, though by no means a negative, quality.
. . . Discernment belongs to the judgment of man as to qualities and things”
{The Path , V, p. 314). To bring the faculty of Discernment, therefore, from its
passive condition into full activity, is to fulfil the first of the four qualifications
for chelaship. In one sense it is to render Buddhi active. Therefore, Discern¬
ment cannot be limited to an intellectual perception, to a manasic faculty, alone.
Discrimination, which is manasic, can be exercised without Discernment; Dis¬
cernment uses discrimination. The eye of an artist may not only distinguish
but discriminate between correctness of line or shades of colour, but he may fail
in the higher appreciation of quality and meaning: ‘‘It is in the discernment of
place, of time, and of person that the inferior artists fail”, suggested Macaulay
{Machiavelli ),—or in inner realities rather than in ‘‘proportions and degrees”.
The nearest synonyms, therefore, to Discernment, would seem to be insight
and judgment; and all three are given as synonyms of Wisdom. But Discern¬
ment is the most penetrating of the three, and comes closest to its source because
the most comprehensive of them all. Judgment involves the power of forming
decisions; insight indicates the direction in which judgment should act; Discern¬
ment completes both qualities, directing insight as a mental faculty, and im¬
pelling to wise action on the moral side where judgment functions. A man of
Discernment will both judge and discriminate rightly; but a man can both judge
and discriminate without Discernment. In the Gospel of Nicodemus , held
canonical and widely read and studied throughout the first thousand years among
Christians, Christ’s answer is recorded to Pilate’s question ‘‘What is Truth?”—
‘‘Pilate saith unto him, What is truth? Jesus said, Truth is from heaven.
Pilate said, Therefore truth is not on earth. Jesus said to Pilate, Believe that
truth is on earth among those who, when they have the power of judgment,
are governed by truth, and form a right judgment” (iii, 11-14). A little reflection
will show that to be governed by truth requires Discernment—which Pilate
lacked, though he proved that he could discriminate between innocence and
false accusations.
We see, therefore, that as Discernment passes from its passive, or latent,
aspect, into activity, it uses both intellect and will, both mind and heart, both
discrimination and judgment. But its true function must not be confused with
the activities of its instruments, when it is active,—something the Western mind
is prone to do. Nor should the range of its exercise be limited. A correspondence,
is complete from the highest to the physical planes; therefore a precise definition
is difficult to formulate. But the range of its exercise need not be limited. On
the lower side there are commonplace examples, such as ‘‘men who have lost
the faculty of discerning colours, and who never”, wrote Newman, ‘‘by any
exercise of reason, can make out the difference between white and black”. This
simple truth is quaintly set forth in a verse of Sir J. Davies in his Nosce Teipsum:
For though our eyes can nought but colours see,
Yet colours give them not their power of sight;
So, though these fruits of sense her objects bee,
Yet she discerns them by her proper light.
326
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
A man must consciously possess his own “proper light”, must have evolved this
“office of the human understanding”, in order to see, in order to discern, on
lower, and then on higher, planes. “But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body
shall be full of darkness.” Of the higher, St. Paul wrote: “Now the psychic man
receiveth not the things of the spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him;
and he cannot know them, because they are spiritually discerned” (I Cor. ii. 14).
And we are told that it is “A wise man’s heart (that) discerneth both time and
judgment” (Eccle. viii. 5).
Therefore, since we all have the ability to exercise Discernment to a greater
or less extent on lower planes already, it is only a question of recognizing this
fact, and its significance, to undertake raising ordinary Discernment—or perhaps
one should say Discernment in ordinary things—to spiritual Discernment, or
Discernment in spiritual things. The faculty is the same; which is another way
of saying that any faculty is an aspect of one of the human principles; and
Discernment, when active, seems to be a phase of Buddhi active. If the
law of Correspondences be true, and the Universe fundamentally one,
what else can even ordinary eyesight be than an activity, however veiled, of
Buddhi ?
Returning now to the Crest Jewel , it is obvious that we are here receiving in¬
struction in how to appreciate the value, and extend the exercise, of Discernment
throughout the whole range of life, so that in all things we may come to discern
between the Real and the unreal, between “the Divine Self and that which is
not the Self”. When we awake to some realization of our true place in the
great Cosmic order, we find ourselves already a part of the complex mayavic
picture which nature has thrown up on the screen of time, and to which we
ourselves are contributing. Moreover, at least intellectually we have been led
to accept the proposition that this so solid seeming world is but a “shadow-
world”—a reflection of a greater Reality within. Discernment is the faculty
which will enable us to know this for ourselves. That which we call ourselves,
our bodies, our thoughts, our feelings, our likes and dislikes, form a part of this
purposed but nevertheless illusionary process. To disentangle the Real from the
unreal, to learn to recognize the Divine Self from all that is not-Self, are the
first requisites. At a certain point in our evolution we are told, or we read with
sympathy, or a deep-seated instinct tells us, that behind “the mirage of the
world’s appearances”—and inside our own field of consciousness as well as
outside—there is an Absolute Reality, “without variableness neither shadow of
turning”, of which we are a part in our deepest nature, or more truly, with which
we are one, and which lies at the heart of all our life, all our experience, all our
love. The riddles of life, the illusions of life, the changes and chances of life
melt away into relative non-existence when once that oneness is claimed and is
made to surcharge our whole field of consciousness, instead of lying buried in
hidden depths, wrapped in veil upon veil of appearances. The first qualification
on the Path of chelaship is to make this proposition our own to the point that we
recognize the futility of ordinary life lived for ordinary human ends and aims,
and not only determine, but prefer and desire to find the Heart of the Universe,
DISCERNMENT
327
to realize in full that which we have hitherto only divined in part, to enter into
our royal inheritance as sons of God.
Now though it is quite obvious that this is a grand and beautiful thesis, it is
absurd to suppose that a mere assertion of its mental acceptance will at once
achieve the desired result. The very next event on life’s great calendar of
successive events will test our ability to discern the Divine Self from that which
is not the Self, both in the quality and meaning of the outer happening itself,
and in our own reactions to it;—and probably initial failures to see and under¬
stand will meet us at every turn. But we shall already be in a position to meet
these recurring experiences in a new spirit, because we shall at first deliberately,
and then automatically, seek to look below the surface, to divine their meaning,
to search after their quality , and not merely their degrees and proportions. Our
concern will no longer be solely with how bad is our toothache, but what is a
toothache; why toothaches at all; what can and should one learn from one’s
own and other peoples’ toothaches; what does Life (or Karma = the Lords of
Karma) teach by means of toothaches,—and so on, with everything submitted
to a new and searching test, from brushing one’s teeth to the conscientious
consideration of the relative merits, if any, of laughing gas and hypodermic
injections. Soon we gain a new light on that statement, “The unnecessary is
the immoral”.
It is at this point that the Crest Jewel meets the student. The very con¬
sideration of such problems inevitably results in a changed attitude towards
them, so that a number of preliminary misconceptions (based usually on crude
selfishness) are almost certainly removed, which “bind” one to definite and in¬
ferior feelings and actions—and by just so much is “liberation” achieved. This
is within everyone’s experience. By extension, the same exercise of Discernment
applied to the whole, instead of to just a fragment of manifested life, will bring
about “liberation” from the whole of manifestation,—and union with the Divine
Self ensues. The average Westerner has an ingrained notion that if he lives a
moral, upright life, his’immortal future (if any?) is secure, and that he need not
bother about theological niceties or profound philosophical considerations.
They are insoluble anyhow; even the specialists disagree. The practical, prag¬
matic test is enough for him; so long as society keeps its head and travels along
on an even keel, that, he feels, is the most that can in fairness be expected. Life
and nature are too complex to require more of mortal man. He is not at all
worried about “that self of his which is sunk in the ocean of recurring life and
death” (v. 9); he is interested in his (that self’s) bread and butter (with as much
jam as possible), and in getting plenty of each. But the Crest Jewel makes cleaj^
at the outset that this whole viewpoint and attitude are wrong and stultifyin™
“Works [even good works] make for the cleansing of the heart, but not for the
attaining of the Real; the gaining of the Real comes through discernment—
not even by myriads of works is it gained” (v. 11; cf. w. 447-450). In other
words, just endless living, myriads of successive experiences in innumerable
recurring lives, however good, will never automatically insinuate us by easy
stages, or even catapult us, in some final spring, into the Real, or weld us into
328
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
conscious union with the Divine Self. Something more than just living as
best we can, however successful, is necessary to free us from the Wheel of
Life. There is something additional we ourselves must initiate, must of ourselves
do about it; something we can begin at any point in time, or can postpone
doing almost indefinitely. That something is to “practise discernment”.
The manifested Universe came from the Real; if we, clearly in manifestation,
succeed in eliminating from our consciousness (which is the true medium
of manifestation) the whole of manifestation, by recognizing its illusionary
nature, what is left but the Real? If it is we who do this, we are the Real,
and pure Consciousness has become pure Self-Consciousness: the self has
become the Self.
The hitherto occult teachings given out by Madame Blavatsky at the direction
of the Masters, all tend to make clearer just this fundamental thesis of the
Crest Jewel. For example, The Secret Doctrine tells us that man as now consti¬
tuted appeared on earth toward the end of the third Root Race some 18,000,000
years ago. That means, perhaps, that we have all had already approximately
eleven thousand, two hundred and fifty incarnations, with quite an exhausting
number—if viewed in their dreary details—of births, deaths, wives, husbands,
children, wars, broken bones, toothaches, snake-bites, prayers, tears, sins,
repentances, and even the last word in fashionable hats. Therefore, by means
of this teaching, it already becomes easier to see that: “Through discernment
of the Real it is perceived that the imagined serpent is only a rope; and thus the
painful fear of the great serpent, conjured up by illusion, is finally destroyed”
(v. 12). What is said of the serpent and the rope applies with equal force to
wives and husbands, toothaches, snake-bites, and the rest. But though the
theory may be clear, its thorough application is by no means easy. We see a
rope and mistake it for a snake, and we run away in a panic. We see a damsel
and imagine she is a “soul-mate”, and perhaps we do not run away. The differ¬
ence lies in the fact that we dislike fear and pain, and hence are prepared at once
to co-operate with Karma in dispelling that particular*illusion, but are by no
means always on the side of Karma (in its highest aspect, of course) in ourselves
desiring to dispel the illusions anent fairy princesses. Worldly love is notoriously
blind, and many a man will not permit himself to examine the credentials of
Princess Bright Eyes, because he does not wish to have his illusions shattered,
and to discover that said Princess is perhaps—a rope. If it seems easier to dispel
the fear aroused by mistaking a rope for a snake than the feelings about a fairy
princess and so forth, Theosophy—or right teaching—comes to our rescue and
suggests that we think back over eleven thousand, two hundred and fifty
incarnations (since the separation of the sexes), stand all those “soul-mates”
(black, brown, yellow, red, white) in a row, as it were, up in the sky; recall, to
help make the picture vivid, the considerable extension of a whole battalion of
soldiers spread out in line for review, and “practise discernment”. “The certain
knowledge of the goal comes only through discernment awakened by right
teaching. . . . circumstances, such as place and time, merely co-operate in the
result. Therefore, let him who would know the Real practise discernment,
DISCERNMENT
329
finding a Master who is a river of compassion, an excellent knower of the Eternal”
(vv. 13-15).
Nevertheless, to some this whole method may at first seem too simple a ‘‘way
out”, almost like a trick. When a rope in the grass gives you a start, it is true
that all fear dissipates when you realize that it is a rope, not a snake. But home,
wife, children, financial difficulties, aching teeth, and so forth, do not dissipate
in the same easy way, when you not only agree with ‘‘right teaching”, but
positively assert that they are all illusion, maya, a ‘‘shadow-world”. The tooth
still aches, and dividends are still omitted. It is like Faith. Faith, we are told,
and we believe, can say to a mountain, ‘‘Remove hence to yonder place; and it
shall remove”, but we find ourselves somewhat like the woman who determined
to put this to the test, and yet when she got up in the morning and looked out of
the window to see if her fervent prayer of the night before had been answered,
involuntarily exclaimed, ‘‘I knew right along it would still be there!” Woman
and mountain were equally illusion; the trouble was that that potential centre
of stupendous, and self-conscious cosmic forces, the woman, was so wrapped up
in the illusion, among others, of her own limitations, created by herself through
ages, and of a mountain’s imperviousness to human wishes, that she was spirit¬
ually impotent and also totally lacking both in Discernment and in a sense of
humour. In other words, removing a mountain by faith is, practically, ‘‘foolish¬
ness” to the ‘‘psychic man”. He cannot even conceive how it is done, because
such things are ‘‘spiritually discerned”. Nevertheless, the very recognition of
this last fact, instead of its denial, is an evidence of a rudimentary Discernment.
One cannot begin to ‘‘seek the Eternal” at all, until so much is recognized.
And this once recognized, the dawn of spiritual Discernment has brightened the
man’s horizon. So the Crest Jewel adds that then: ‘‘He is fitted to seek the
Eternal, who has discernment, freedom from self-indulgence, quietude and the
other virtues, and who ardently desires liberation” (v. 18).
With this minimum degree of Discernment as a starting point, the Path can
be entered. The whole logic of life, and of the mutations of our thousands of
lives, has led us to one fundamental realization: ‘‘The Divine Eternal is real, the
world is illusion: a complete certainty of this is declared to be Discernment
between the Eternal and the non-eternal” (v. 20). To this at first intellectual
understanding, and because of this, we gradually learn to add the remaining
three qualifications: Freedom from self-indulgence; then the Six Virtues,—^
Quietude, Control, ‘‘the excellent Cessation”, Endurance, Faith, and Concen¬
tration; and finally, ‘‘The ardent Desire for Liberation”. The Crest Jewel adds
significantly: ‘‘Where this ardent Desire is present even in a weak or modified
degree, increasing through ceasing from self-indulgence, through quietude and
the other virtues, and through the grace of the Master, it will bear fruit” (v. 29).
So a minimum of Discernment starts us upon the Path, and treading the Path
brings “fruit”, and that fruit is “Knowing through the Scriptures, through right
reasoning, through meditative experience, that thy true Self is the Self of all”.
This known, we “make an end of resting in the false self, which is built up by
the play of deceptive appearances” (v. 283). In other words, Discernment
330 THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
leads one to undertake the Path, and treading in the Path leads to further Dis¬
cernment, and so on.
It requires a certain degree of concentration and practice on the part of the
Western mind not to feel, after a point is reached in the argument of the Crest
Jewel , that the results to be obtained from practising Discernment, or which are
promised to it, cannot really flow from the premises. It seems as if a jump
must have been made somewhere, which escaped detection as we read. How
can applying the process set forth in the simple and obvious analogy of the
rope versus the snake lead, for example, to this: “From the discernment that
‘I am the Eternal’, works heaped up through hundreds of millions of ages are
dissolved, as dream-works on waking” (v. 449)? Does this not seem like side¬
stepping Karma? Is it really possible that so great a result could follow from
such a simple start,—or at least, from a start which could be so simply stated?
In a way the Crest Jewel seems to recognize this difficulty, because eight suc¬
cessive times, at the crucial point in the chain of reasoning, we are brought back
to this unescapable analogy, the rope and the snake. “A false imagination
created by error is not conclusive proof. . . . The appearance as the separate
self, of the Self, the Seer, who is without qualities, without form, essential
wisdom and bliss, arises through the delusion of the understanding; it is not
real; when the delusion passes, it exists no longer, having no substantial reality.
Its existence, which is brought into being through false perception, because of
delusion, lasts only so long as the error lasts; as the serpent in the rope endures
only as long as the delusion; when the delusion ceases, there is no serpent” (vv.
197-200). It may be well, therefore, to return repeatedly to the beginning of the
treatise, and to make sure that the foundation of the argument is fully grasped.
It may also help in making our own the full significance of this teaching, and
in realizing the opportunities that lie within it of opening vista upon vista to
our conscious perception of the spiritual world, if we translate from Hindu to
Christian terms, and back again. Christian teaching is full of suggestions, with¬
out, however, the explicit development of Hindu thought. Only an indication
of this can be given here. Apart from St. Ignatius’ famous treatment of the
Discernment of Spirits , Christian mystics and mystical theologians have approxi¬
mated the Eastern idea in many instances, which are of great interest for com¬
parative study. Thomas Aquinas declared, for example, that the life of con¬
templation is “The discernment of God by the spiritual senses”. St. Thomas
states this as the end, or goal, of mystical contemplation, which in its turn is the
highest kind of life; but philosophically it does not reach so high as the “I am
the Eternal”, or “Thou art That” of a more rigorously logical and discerning
Eastern philosophy. Similarly, and still with a certain limitation, St. Bernard
wrote: “There are two kinds of transport in mystical contemplation: the one
in the intellect, the other in the heart; the one in light, the other in fervour;
the one in discernment, the other in devotion”. Scaramelli defined the infused
(as distinct from the acquired) gift of “supernatural intuition” as: “An instinct
or a light given by the Holy Spirit to discern correctly, in oneself or in others,
the principle from which the soul’s interior movements proceed; whether it is
DISCERNMENT
33 i
good or bad”. Perhaps, on the whole, Christianity is richest in practical direc¬
tion, rather than in philosophic rationale, and for the more fundamental steps
in practising Discernment, one can turn to a wealth of literature, such as Faber’s
Growth In Holiness , especially chapter XI: ‘‘From the discernment of mortal
sin we come to that of venial sin, from venial sin to imperfections, from imper¬
fections to less perfect ways of doing perfect things, and from that to a delicate
perception of the almost invisible infidelities which grieve the Holy Spirit
within us”. Or we can go back to that extraordinary Eastern Christian mystic,
Ephraim the Syrian (4th century), who wrote: ‘‘If thou canst wisely discern,
change thou not Time for time, that which abides for that which abides not,
that which ceases not for that which ceases, nor truth for lying, nor body for
shadow, nor that which is in season for that which is out of season, nor the Time
for the times. Collect thy mind, let it not wander among vanities which profit
not”. Each of these, and many others, teach one phase of the subject, or tell
of the successive steps through which the disciple must pass; but each also in a
measure fails to penetrate to the heart of the subject except by implication—an
implication which Eastern teaching sets forth explicitly.
It is the peculiar genius of the Oriental conception, therefore, to apply that
which is true of the part, to the whole; and to point out that since no one portion
of the manifested can be conceived as Ultimate Reality, therefore the aggregate
of all of manifestation cannot be Ultimate Reality. From this it follows that if
we can rid ourselves of the illusion of mistaking any portion of the unreal for the
Real, it is a logical necessity that we can rid ourselves from mistaking the whole
of the unreal for the Real,—resting, therefore, or centring, our consciousness in
the Real alone. The ability to free ourselves from one illusion involves the
ability to free ourselves from all illusion; the capacity to discern in one instance
involves the capacity to discern in all. Moreover, illusion itself is created by our
Self—viz., the self by the Self,—in the beginning to manifest the Self, so as later
to establish the Self in full self-consciousness, having come to see and know itself
in its reflections. To abide in the reflection, declaring it to be the Real, would be
to act like children who are carried away by their own games, and who actually
hang the diminutive pirate when he is captured.
The whole of the Crest Jewel is a study of Consciousness; and Discernment is
presented as a primary function of Consciousness. ‘‘Not by Yoga nor by
Sankhya, not by works nor by knowledge, but only through awakening to the
oneness of one’s true Self with the Eternal, does liberation come, and in no
other way” (v. 58). This awakening, an awakening of consciousness, is essential.
How is it to be brought about? How is that of which we are not yet conscious
to be brought to consciousness? First, by discerning so far as we can. Where
we do see the truth (the Real), we must be ‘‘governed by truth” (the Real)—
‘‘therefore the reality of the divine Self should be sought earnestly from one
who knows the real (v. 62).. . . Sickness does not depart by speaking of medicine
unless the medicine be drunk; liberation comes not through speaking of the
Eternal without immediate experience of the Eternal (v. 64). . . . So through
the teaching of one who knows the Eternal, through careful thought and medi-
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
tation, is to be gained the pure truth of the divine Self, concealed by the working
of glamour, and not through subtle reasoning (v. 66). . . . By constant obedience
to the Self, the mind of him who seeks union is conquered and the impress of
outer desires fades away” (v. 279). So we have the old and familiar direction—
Obedience. But the Crest Jewel tells us that while Discernment is the fruit of
Obedience, it is also the cause of a more complete Obedience, as we gain recog¬
nition of the truth—the categorical imperative—of that which we should obey.
And th'e Crest Jewel points out that we ourselves become that which we obey,
just as the lieutenant, by obeying his colonel, comes to understand a colonel’s
responsibility, and finally may become himself a colonel.
It is a fundamental point, therefore, that the whole method of teaching of the
Crest Jewel is that of analogy, through the Law of Correspondences. As above,
so below; as below, so above. If we wish to ‘‘practise Discernment”, we must
exercise ourselves in seeking correspondences,—and not only in intellectual
matters, such as between, let us say, the human principles and the principles of
physical nature (as in The Secret Doctrine , II, 593), but throughout the range of
our entire experience of life. Life is Karma; and Karma is not a dead, me¬
chanical thing, but living; it is an expression of the will and thought and desire
of the great Lords of Karma working on our own accumulated will and thought
and desire, and all directed to the one end of helping us to discern between the
Real and the unreal, between the Divine Self and that which is not the Self,
so that we may escape from the false, and enter consciously into the true.
Surely, if we succeed, we shall not be side-stepping Karma, but fulfilling Karma.
In the very beginning it was said ‘‘Let there be Light”—and there was light.
So also shall there be light throughout the ages. Our attitude should be to
prove all things, and hold fast that which is good. ‘‘Therefore, discerning this
supreme reality of the Self, in its own nature the sum of bliss, shake off the
delusion built up by thine own thoughts, free thyself, attain, awake!” (v. 474).
S.
Sorrow not , Ananda. Have I not said to you , “In all things dear and delightful
there is the element of change , of separation ”? How then can it be possible , Ananda ,
that what is born , what has come to be } what is put together , what is of nature to
crumble away , should fail to crumble away! It cannot be !— Digha Nikaya.
All supernatural desires , which we simply enjoy , without practically corresponding
to them , leave us in a worse state than they found us .— Faber.
MAHAYANA BUDDHISM
I. The Bodhisattva Doctrine
Joy unto ye, 0 Men of My alba.
A Pilgrim hath returned back ‘from the other shore".
A new Arhan is born .— The Voice of the Silence
M ANY Northern Buddhists believe that when the Buddha began to
preach, he intended to give forth at once the whole of spiritual truth.
In this mood he delivered the teaching transmitted by the mystical
Avatamsaka Sutra. Then, perceiving that he was not understood, he abruptly
changed his tactics. Thenceforth, he divulged only that portion of the truth
which his auditors could assimilate, reserving the complete revelation until his
disciples had fitted themselves to receive it.
This account of the Buddha’s method of instruction bears a certain likeness to
the tradition recorded by Madame Blavatsky, that the Buddha left two bodies
of doctrine, the exoteric and the esoteric. These do not differ in essence, for they
were formulated by the same genius, but they make their appeal to different
principles of the human being. As has been said, the one speaks to “the eye”,
and the other to “the heart”.
According to this division, the exoteric “eye doctrine” has been primarily
identified with the Hinayana School, the “Lesser Vehicle”, which has prevailed
in Ceylon, Burma, and Siam. It is founded upon the public sermons of the
Buddha and upon the general rules of conduct which he laid down to guide the
neophyte in his efforts to rid himself of sin and illusion. The motives of the
average Hinayana sectarian may be said to resemble those which inspire the
average member of a Christian Church. As the more or less pious Christian
anticipates as a reward of his piety a future of everlasting bliss in Heaven, so
the Hinayana Buddhist accepts the prescriptions of the Buddha as a means to
final liberation from physical existence, with its inevitable accompaniment of
sorrow. This is not incompatible with a high degree of religious exaltation.
tudes in the West have prostrated themselves in love and gratitude at the foot
of the Cross; and multitudes in the East have taken refuge in the Buddha, drawn
to him not merely by the desire for personal salvation but by veneration for the
splendour of his compassion.
It is said that esoteric Buddhism, like esoteric Christianity, assimilates to
itself what is real and true in the exoteric version, but that the dominant motive
of its votaries is altogether sui generis. Doubtless, the term “esoteric” must
be used with extreme caution, for one can judge the hidden teaching of the
Buddha only by published fragments of it, which, being now public property,
333
334 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
have ceased to be esoteric, in the strict sense of the word. The fragments, to
which in particular we refer, are to be found scattered through the writings of
Madame Blavatsky, notably in the foot-notes of The Voice of the Silence.
It is significant that Madame Blavatsky interpreted The Voice of the Silence
and many passages of The Secret Doctrine , in terms borrowed from the Mahayana
Sutras. This does not imply, of course, that the Mahayana, in its actual state,
is synonymous with esoteric Buddhism. For centuries a number of sects,
generally described as Mahayana, have been established in Tibet, Mongolia,
China, Korea, and Japan. Not all of them are of a high spiritual order; some
of them are so deeply involved in tantric magic, that it is hard to recognize in
them an affiliation with any form of Buddhism, esoteric or exoteric. But in
spite of the “confusion of tongues”, one can find evidence of a genuine line of
apostolic succession, beginning with the “authors” of the great Sutras and
descending through the Chinese Patriarchs and the Zen Masters. It is only
with this phase of the Mahayana that we are concerned in these articles. It
would seem to be related to another phase, represented by the Gelugpas or
“Yellow Caps” of Tibet (cf. The Voice of the Silence , pp. 54, 57).
The pure Mahayana, the “Great Vehicle”, echoes the ideal of selfless devotion
which is the nucleus of the “Heart-Doctrine”, as this is unfolded in The Voice of
the Silence. It is based upon aryajnana, the noble knowledge, the science of
awakening “the supreme wisdom whereby one is enabled to look into the deepest
recesses of consciousness in order to grasp the inmost truth hidden away from
the sight of ordinary understanding” (D. T. Suzuki: Studies in the Lankavatara
Sutra , p. 389). 1 It is the Bodhisattva Doctrine. The word “Bodhisattva” may be
translated as “he whose being is transformed into wisdom”. A Bodhisattva is
an aspirant of any degree who is in process of becoming a Buddha of Compassion;
and the Bodhisattva Doctrine purports to be a description of the laws of that
process. The motive of the true Mahayana devotee is, therefore, not personal
liberation from the dominion of suffering, nor is it the bliss of personal en¬
lightenment. He seeks to share the age-long ordeal of the Buddhas who work for
the ultimate salvation and enlightenment of all sentient creatures, and who
refuse to enter Nirvana alone. The goal of the Mahayana is nothing less than
Buddhahood itself.
The Bodhisattva Doctrine may be read “between the lines” of the Pali
scriptures of so-called Primitive Buddhism. It is clearly hinted in the cycle of
Birth Stories, which describe the previous incarnations of Sakyamuni, whose
culminating life as a “World-Saviour” is represented as the fulfilment of the vow
to save mankind that he made centuries earlier in the presence of another
Buddha.
However, the Doctrine only became explicit after the public organization of
the first Mahayana School in India, apparently during the First Century a.d.,
1 Unless otherwise specified, all quotations in this article are taken from this book. This admirable work is
not only a commentary upon one of the greatest Sutras: it is a very lucid exposition of the general principles of
the Mahayana. The author interprets his subject from the point of view of the Japanese Zen School, but reveals
no sectarian bias. The present writer wishes to take this opportunity to express to Dr. Suzuki his gratitude and
indebtedness.
MAHAYANA BUDDHISM
335
about six hundred years after the Buddha. The early work of the School is
especially associated with the name of Nagarjuna, one of the greatest of Indian
philosophers, whom Madame Blavatsky describes as an Arhat or Adept, and
whom many Northern Buddhists regard as “one of the four suns which illumine
the world”. The immediate purpose of Nagarjuna and his disciples seems to
have been to check the tendency of the official Buddhist philosophers to reduce
the Buddha’s teaching to a rigid, dogmatic system. The Buddha’s words had
been given a dead-letter sense, and the details of his doctrine had been submitted
to a process of dialectical hair-splitting and scholastic analysis. Like the “school¬
men” of all ages, the Hinayana doctors were obsessed by the notion that, to
know a thing, it is sufficient to give it a name and to insert that name in a
catalogue. They were so busy with the invention of a nomenclature that they
had little leisure to consider the realities upon which the Buddha had insisted.
The Mahay ana sages made no attempt to overturn the simple exoteric system
which the Buddha had devised for the mass of his followers, but they vigorously
denounced the efforts of the doctors to classify states of being of which they
knew nothing, and to set definite limits to the ideal of Buddhist attainment.
In a sense, the early Mahayana was primarily a movement of reform, a return to
“first principles”, and its exponents could appeal in self-defence to the authority
of the Buddha himself. Sakyamuni steadfastly refused, for example, to describe
in positive terms the state of consciousness denoted by the word, Nirvana.
He discouraged the discussion of questions “which tend not to enlightenment”,
and to which the human mind with its present store of experience can propose no
real answer, for it cannot even imagine adequately the subjects of the questions.
How can anyone explain the nature of Nirvana, unless both he and his auditors
have had some personal experience of it?
The Mahayana teachers insisted, above all, upon the experience of truth as
a preliminary to the knowledge of it. Though they accepted the authority of
the scriptures, they insisted that these should be used primarily as subjects for
meditation, as guides to inner experiment; for if a scripture be read only for
mental amusement, it is of no more value than a romance. Some went further,
denying that the scriptures were authoritative in any sense. We find the
Chinese teacher, Hsuanchien, saying that “the twelve divisions of the Tripitaka
are only lists of ghosts and sheets of papers”. Even as regards the Sutras which
were most cherished, it was affirmed that they were like a finger pointing to the
moon; when the moon is discerned, the seer no longer looks at the finger.
“Dhyana [i.e. meditation] cannot be understood by the definitions of the
wise”, said Bodhidharma. “Dhyana is a man’s successful seeing into his own
fundamental nature” (Dwight Goddard: A Buddhist Bible , p. 26). This ideal
of “inner self-realization” ( pratyatmagocara ) is most clearly stated in the Lan-
kavatara Sutra , but it is to be found as a connecting thread in all the great
Mahayana scriptures. The Buddha is distinguished from the unregenerate man,
because he knows truth by direct perception and does not depend upon words
or mind-images or logical inferences. To know the Universe by means of this
immediate intuition of one’s inner Self, is to realize the identity of the being
336
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of the Universe with the being of the inner Self. It is paranishpanna, the only
real knowledge, in which the knower is fully aware that the world conceived
as a thing external to the personal self is nothing but a phantom having no
existence apart from the mind. This does not mean that the knower of the
inner Self regards his personal self as any more real than the objective world,
for he perceives it to be only an illusion generated by “unwisdom” and by
chaotic energy or “desire”. Although the terminology is different, the Mahayana
doctrine of inner self-realization reaches the same conclusion as the Atmabodlia
of Shankara Acharya, with its affirmation of the indissoluble union of the
Atman , the Higher Self of man, with the Brahman , the Eternal.
The Mahayana is insistent in its testimony that nothing which appears to
be concrete and objective is seen as it really is, even though in one sense every
phenomenon may be said to symbolize or to encompass a reality. One can
begin to understand why the Buddha refused to answer so many of his disciples’
questions. For instance, he was once asked whether the world is eternal or
not eternal. But in the light of the Mahayana teaching, such a query is meaning¬
less, for the world as a thing in itself cannot be defined as either real or unreal.
It is neither more nor less real than a castle in the air, than a mirage, than an
illusion produced by a magician. It is a congeries of various phases and states
of consciousness, and viewed from their plane, is real; but the enlightened seer
realizes that it is void of substance, that where we imagine things to be, in reality
there is nothing but chaos or emptiness ( snnyata ). Again, the Buddha was
asked whether the saint exists or does not exist after death. In terms of the
Mahayana, this question is as meaningless as the other. What is a saint?
He is one whose first aim is to deliver himself from the illusion that he is a
separate self, a distinct personality, an ego. This is, indeed, the practical
import of the fundamental Buddhist doctrine of “egolessness” ( anatman ). On
the other hand, he who has gained liberation from self, is for the first time
conscious of identity with the One Self. The One Self is anupadaka , the parent¬
less. It is undying because in truth it is never bom, being indistinguishable
from the essence of being ( tathata ) which is pure, undivided consciousness
(cittamatra ). But when the saint thus transcends himself, is he still to be called
a saint, or by what name shall we call him? According to the Mahayana, we
shall be wise not to attempt to answer such a question. The immediate under¬
taking is to become a saint, not to argue as to how it feels to be one.
These basic conceptions of the Mahayana may seem obscure and difficult,
but the idea that real knowledge rests upon experience is obvious enough, so
obvious, in fact, that it is apt to be disregarded. As has been remarked, no one
can know the taste of an orange by another’s description; he must experience it
for himself.
“That which constitutes the Tathagatas in essence as well as in body is
wisdom ( jhana ). . . . False discrimination pertains to the self, to the ego, to the
personality. . . . That which appears in manifestation is like a figure painted on
a wall; it has no consciousness in itself, 0 Lord of Lanka, all that is in the world
is devoid of work and action because all things have no reality. ... It is like an
MAHAYANA BUDDHISM
337
image magically transformed. ... He who thus sees things sees them truly.
To see otherwise is to walk in false discrimination; to depend on false discrimi¬
nation is to cling to dualism. It is like seeing one’s image reflected in a mirror,
or one’s shadow in water or in the moonlight, ... or hearing an echo in the valley.
. . . Failing to carry out the abandonment of dualism, men continue their false
discrimination and never attain tranquillity. By tranquillity is meant oneness,
and oneness gives birth to the highest samadhi [contemplation], which is gained
by entering into the womb of Tathagatahood, the realm of supreme wisdom
realized in one’s inmost self” ( Lankavatara Sutra , I; paraphrased).
‘‘[The attainment of Tathagatahood] is like a man crossing a stream in a
dream. Suppose that while sleeping a man dreams that he is in the midst of a
great river which he earnestly endeavours with all his might to cross by himself;
but before he succeeds in crossing the stream, he is awakened from the dream,
and being awakened, he thinks: ‘Is this real or unreal?’ He thinks again: ‘No,
it is neither real nor unreal’. By reason of the habit-energy of false discrimi¬
nation which has been accumulated by experience ever since beginningless time,
. . . there is the perception and [false] discrimination of all things as existent and
non-existent. ... In the same way, Mahamati, the Bodhisattva-Mahasattvas
of the eighth stage of Bodhisattvahood . . . observe that [false] discrimination
no more rises in them since all things are seen as like maya. . . . The abodes and
stages of Buddhahood are established in pure undivided consciousness which is
imageless. . . . Self-realization and absolute purity—this stage is my own”
(.Lankavatara Sutra , IV).
‘‘An Arhat does not say to himself: ‘Arhatship has been obtained by me’.
And why? Because the Arhat is selfless. Therefore is he called an Arhat. If
an Arhat were to say to himself: ‘Arhatship has been obtained by me’, he would
be expressing belief in a self, in a being, in a personality. . . . Subhuti, the
foremost of those dwelling in virtue does not dwell anywhere, and therefore,
is he called a dweller, a dweller in virtue, indeed” ( Diamond Sutra , IX).
Closely identified with the affirmation that truth is known only through
inner self-realization, is the doctrine that this self-realization is a possibility for
all sentient beings. Every being in its inmost nature is Buddha. The mani¬
fested Universe, Mahamaya , may thus be said to provide the field in which
the germ of Buddhahood in the soul or monad may come to maturity, passing
from potentiality to actuality. As one of the Patriarchs said: ‘‘When sentient
beings realize their Essence of Mind, they are Buddhas. If a Buddha is under
delusion as to his Essence of Mind, he is then only an ordinary being. Seeing
everything as equal in Essence of Mind makes ordinary beings Buddhas” 2
(A Buddhist Bible , p. 267).
The conception that a Buddha is a product of evolution is present even in
Hinayana Buddhism; but in the Mahayana it is given transcendent significance.
In this respect, the Mahayana, like the Vedanta, was continuing the great
Indian tradition of the Upanishads. It is one of the tragedies of historical
* "Within thy body—the shrine of thy sensations—seek in the Impersonal for the ‘Eternal Man’; and having
sought him out. look inward: thou art Buddha" {The Voice of the Silence, p. 26).
33»
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Christianity that the doctrine of universal spiritual evolution has not had
a place in its theology. It is clearly outlined in many passages from St. Paul,
and the Master Christ refers to it more than once: “Is it not written in your
law, I said, Ye are Gods?” {John, x, 34). But the Western world had to wait
eighteen centuries before the implications of the Master’s words were forced
upon the attention of Christians. It was part of the message of Theosophy to
the West, that Christ was not a divine accident; that he was a human being who
by virtue of an acquired prowess and wisdom had become a Master. The ideal
presented by Theosophy to the true Christian, is, therefore, identical with the
ideal of the Mahayana Bodhisattva Doctrine; he is assured that he can attain
the realization that the foundation of his being is Christ, that he himself can
become a Master in the course of Nature, if he persevere in the way prepared
for him by his spiritual Father and Lord.
The philosophical subtilties of the Mahayana become intelligible, in so far
as one is able to relate them to the central problem of the disciple’s life, the
problem of evolving or unveiling his Buddha-nature. The methods advocated
are, doubtless, often ill adapted to most minds in the East and to almost all
minds in the West. There is comparatively little stress upon outer conduct,
partly, it would seem, because in the Eastern mystical schools contemplation
is emphasized rather than action,—as if right behaviour must follow of itself,
when an inward transformation of consciousness is accomplished. Also, as has
been suggested, at least in its beginnings, the pure Mahayana was an introduction
to esoteric Buddhism, and the discipline which it inculcates is only intended for
those who have permanently attained a certain degree of moral rectitude, and
who can be trusted to practise the social and conventional virtues without
external instigation.
The general process of this contemplative discipline may be illustrated by
reference to a term which recurs in the Mahayana scriptures. The aspirant
is bidden to meditate upon the Tathagatagarbha , that is, upon the seed or matrix
of Buddhahood. The word recalls the Hiranyagarbha , “the Golden Egg of
Brahma”, defined by Madame Blavatsky as “esoterically the luminous ‘fire
mist’ or ethereal stuff from which the Universe was formed” {Theosophical
Glossary , s. v.). In The Secret Doctrine (I, 114; II, 333), the Hierarchy of the
“Elect” of mankind are called “Sons of the Fire-Mist”. It is apparent that
the essential meaning of the two terms is the same. Tathagatagarbha is the name
applied to the Universe of Consciousness when this is regarded as the envelope
of prajiia •, “the eye of wisdom”, which is both transcendental knowledge and
divine love. To meditate upon the Tathagatagarbha is to seek the spark of
prajiia within every subjective and objective form. One cannot discover it
within the recesses of one’s own being, without finding it also in others, and not
only in mankind but in all the kingdoms of sentient creatures, visible and
invisible; for this prajha is one and undivided, though it seems to the “eye
of unwisdom” to multiply and to differentiate itself into an infinite host of
separate entities.
There is no real world, according to the Mahayana, save the li Vajradhatu, the
MAHAYANA BUDDHISM
339
universe viewed as the manifestation of Vairocana Buddha [the all-enlightening]
whose image is reflected in the heart of every being” (p. 436). But in common
daily experience, the Buddha-nature is so thickly encased in the illusion of
selfhood, that we have no awareness of it. The Mahayana philosophers explain
the process of .encasement in terms of the vijnanas or stages of consciousness.
The first of the vijnanas and the parent of the rest is Alaya. In one sense,
this word denotes the Universal Soul, and as Madame Blavatsky indicates, is
‘‘identical with Akasa in its mystic sense, and with Malaprakriti in its essence,
as it is the basis or root of all things” ( Theosophical Glossary , s. v.). In the
Mahayana texts, it is frequently used as a synonym of Tathagatagarbha , but
with a different shade of meaning. It is ‘‘a storage-house where all kinds of
goods are kept in storage, and it is the Alayavijnana's function to store up all
the memory of one’s thoughts, affections, desires and deeds. The seeds thus
stored remain in the Alaya perfectly quiescent and neutral” (p. 176). Among
these seeds is the seed of Buddhahood, but also there are all the seeds of illusion,
the skandhas , generated by ‘‘beginningless unwisdom”. Everything deposited
in the Alaya must manifest itself sooner or later, in some way or other, by the
force of vasana , habit-energy, ‘‘the perfuming impression of memory”. Again
the Alaya is compared to the sea. In its depths, it is calm; but its surface is
periodically disturbed by ‘‘winds of differentiation”. When its waves are
permanently stilled by a certain “revulsion” of the whole nature, the Alaya is
seen as the Tathagatagarbha , and the creative powers being detached from the
idea of self, are “set free for the working of Mahakaruna (great compassionate
heart), which in conjunction with Prajiia , supreme wisdom, makes up the life
of the Mahayana Buddhist” (p. 177).
When this revulsion takes place, the life of Bodhisattvaship really begins.
The danger is that it is preceded by many premonitory tremors, and that the
aspirant may be stranded in some state of intense personal bliss, where he may
remain isolated for ages. One recalls the references in theosophical literature
to the Pratyeka Buddha, “a degree ... of high intellectual development with
no true spirituality. . . . One of the three paths to Nirvana and the lowest,
in which a Yogi—‘without teacher and without saving others’—by the mere
force of will and technical observances, attains to a kind of nominal Buddhaship
individually; doing no good to anyone, but working selfishly for his own salvation
and himself alone” ( Theosophical Glossary , s. v.). The Pratyeka Buddha may
be described as only one, albeit the most exalted, of the illusory forms which
may ensnare even those who are far advanced on the path to wisdom. Doubtless,
the average Western student is in no imminent danger of becoming a Pratyeka
Buddha, and the emphasis laid upon this menace in the Mahayana may seem a
little excessive to him. However, as has been said, the Hindu becomes a disciple
or ch 61 a with greater facility than an Occidental, but finds it more difficult to
remain one. In any event, the problem, as the Mahayana states it, is universally
pertinent. The great allurement which leads the aspirant astray from the path
is the sentiment of individual bliss, and this is as true at the beginning as at the
end.
340
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
The essence of Bodhisattvaship is to be found in the traditional ten vows
which the aspirant takes at the beginning of the Great Way. By virtue of those
vows he forces the higher beings on his “ray”, including the Master at its head,
to take notice of him and thus to extend to him their conscious assistance,
without which, it is said, he would inevitably fail. If anyone doubt that the
Bodhisattva needs assistance, let him meditate upon the following vows:
“When the Bodhisattva enters upon the first stage called Joy, Pramudita,
in the career of his spiritual discipline, he makes the following solemn vows,
Pranidhana , ten in number, which, flowing out of his most earnest determined
will, are as all-inclusive as the whole universe, extending to the utmost extremity
of space itself, reaching the end of time, exhausting all the number of kalpas
(ages), and functioning uninterruptedly as long as there is the appearance of a
Buddha. The first is to honour and serve all the Buddhas, one and all, without
a single exception; the second is to work for the preservation and perpetuation of
the teaching of all the Buddhas; the third is to be present at the appearance of
each Buddha, wherever and whenever it may be; the fourth is to practise the
proper conduct of Bodhisattvahood which is wide and measureless, imperishable
and free from impurities, and to extend the Virtues of Perfection ( paramitas )
towards all beings; the fifth is to induce all beings, in the most comprehensive
sense of the term, to turn to the teaching of the Buddhas, so that they may find
their final abode of peace in the wisdom of the all-wise ones; the sixth is to have
an inner perception of the universe, wide and inexhaustible, in all its possible
multitudinousness; the seventh is to realize the most closely interpenetrating
relationship of each and all, of all and each, and to make every land of beings
immaculate as a Buddha-land; the eighth is to be united with all the Bodhisattvas
in oneness of intention, to become intimately acquainted with the dignity,
understanding, and psychic condition of the Tathagatas, so that the Bodhisattva
can enter any society of beings and accomplish the Mahayana which is beyond
thought; the ninth is to [rjevolve the never-receding wheel whereby to carry out
his work of universal salvation, by making himself like unto the great lord of
medicine or the wish-fulfilling gem; and lastly, the tenth is to realize the great
supreme enlightenment in all the worlds, by going through the stages of Buddha-
hood, and fulfilling the wishes of all beings with one voice, and while showing
himself to be in Nirvana, not to cease from practising the objects of Bodhisattva¬
hood” (pp. 222-223; an abstract from the Dasabhumika Sutra , one of the chapters
of the Avatamsaka Sutra).
It would be an error to suppose that this vast and sublime ideal represents
the goal of the average Buddhist either in the North or in the South. But it
should be noted that the conception of age-long self-sacrifice as the crown of
spiritual endeavour has actually been incorporated in the exoteric canon of
Northern Buddhism. There is nothing comparable to it in exoteric Christian
theology, although Sainte Th6r&se de Lisieux surely responded to such an ideal
when she renounced Paradise in order that she might remain in the earth-
sphere as a helper of suffering mankind.
One might assume that there is good reason for the absence of the Bodhi-
MAHAYANA BUDDHISM
34i
sattva Doctrine from the Western canon; that the average Western aspirant
needs a more concrete motive to inspire him, nor could he make such a reso¬
lution at his stage of the way and really mean it. This may be true, but the
student of Theosophy, who is also a Christian, ardently desires the coming of
the day when the Bodhisattva Doctrine will be an integral part of exoteric
Christianity. Only when this occurs will Christians truly value the labours
of their Master who must be regarded as one of those who long ago made a vow
like that of the Bodhisattva Samantabhadra. It is not amiss to recall the
evidence of his continuing work for humanity which he has given to more than
one of the saints, notably to Marguerite-Marie.
The specific duties and powers of the Bodhisattva are beyond our compre¬
hension. The Mahayana sages made an attempt to describe some of them by
analogy, doubtless believing that the images thus awakened in the neophyte’s
consciousness might quicken his zeal. There are many enumerations of the
“heavens” through which the candidate for Buddhahood passes on his way to
perfection, as well as of the expanding sphere of his contemplation. Ten degrees
of initiation are noted, but in the great scriptures there is always the qualification,
that these degrees can be truly known only by experiencing them.
The following passage from the Lankavatara Sutra is typical. It refers to the
culminating experience of the Bodhisattva when he enters the Congregation of
the Buddhas.
“In virtue of a stock of merit accumulated for hundreds of thousands of
kalpas , he will . . . reach the stage of Bodhisattvahood, called Dharmamegha
(Cloud of the Law). Seating himself on a throne in the Palace of the Great
Lotus, he is surrounded by Bodhisattvas like himself and wears a tiara adorned
and embellished with all kinds of jewels. The Buddhas will now come, . . .
shining like the brilliant full moon with golden rays, and with their lotus-like
hands will anoint the forehead of the Bodhisattva seated on the throne. ... He
is like the crown prince of a great sovereign, who, being thus anointed by the
Buddhas personally with their own hands, assumes full power. When he is
thus sustained [by the power of the Buddhas], he will see all the Buddhas face
to face. . . . Mahamati asked, Why do the Tathagatas sustain the Bodhisattva
by their power?. . . Said the Blessed One: ... 0 Mahamati, if he be not thus
sustained, he may fall into the way of thinking cherished by bad philosophers
... and the Evil One, and will not be enlightened in the Supreme Enlightenment”
(pp. 204-205; an abstract from II).
It would seem that the last of the ten vows expresses in a sentence the quality
which distinguishes him from other beings: “While showing himself to be in
Nirvana, he does not cease from practising the objects of Bodhisattvahood.”
He renounces the selfish bliss of the various “heavens”—the rupa and arupa
deva lokas —which are supposed by many of the ignorant to constitute the
Nirvana of the Buddha. This renunciation is, however, not painful to him,
for his heart’s desire is to forego all personal reward and to co-operate unre¬
servedly with the Buddhas in their unremitting effort to share the fruit of their
liberation and enlightenment with all sentient beings. But this complete
342
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
sacrifice of self is the true Nirvana. The Buddhas and their loyal disciples are
citizens of the highest heaven; that is why they have the power to help those still
on earth.
There is this dialogue in the Ashtasahasrika-prajna-paramita-Sutra: “Sari-
putra asked Subhuti, If as you say the Bodhisattva is unborn [i.e. enlightened],
how is it that he works hard and suffers much for the sake of all sentient beings?
To this answered Subhuti, I do not wish the Bodhisattva to think that he is
working hard and suffering much. If he does he is no Bodhisattva. Why? If
he does cherish such thoughts, he cannot expect to benefit sentient beings whose
number exceeds calculation. Rather let him rejoice over his doings and towards
all sentient beings, feel like mother or father, son or daughter, and let him,
feeling like this among men and women, walk in the path of Bodhisattvahood.
Further than that, let him feel towards all beings as if they were himself, and
think, ‘If I am to be completely free from all woes, let them also be so in the
same measure. I cannot leave them to their fate. I must save them from the
innumerable pains they suffer, and even if I were cut up into pieces many times
over’ ” (pp 215-216). 3
This is, indeed, the consummation of the Mahayana wisdom, that Nirvana is
not a pleasurable sensation, however sublimated, but perfect inner self-realiza¬
tion, complete freedom from the illusion of separateness. The real Nirvani
who perceives his being in closest interpenetration with all being, cannot shut
himself off from the least manifestation thereof, without abdicating his title
and dignity. It may have been partly to make this clear, that a distinction is
drawn between what is commonly called Nirvana, the abode of “extinction of all
worldly concerns”, inhabited by the Pratyeka Buddhas, and Paranirvana, the
supreme abode, the home of the Buddhas of Compassion, their enduring state of
consciousness,—although as a “place of bliss” no Buddha of Compassion will
remain in it, until his work for the salvation of all beings is finished.
This is in direct contradiction to the Hinayana teaching that the Buddha
passed for ever from the sight of men at the hour of his physical death. But
we read in the Saddharma-Pundarika ( The Lotus of the Good Law), Chapter XV:
“The Tathagata does what he has to do. He is unlimited in the duration of his
life, he is everlasting. Without becoming extinct in Nirvana, he makes a show
of becoming extinct, on behalf of those who have to be educated. I announce
final extinction even though I do not become extinct. ... In the opinion that my
body is completely extinct, men worship my relics, though they see me not. . . .
When upright and gentle creatures leave off their bodies, I assemble the group
of disciples and manifest myself here on the Mount of the Holy Vulture. And
then I say to them in this very place: I was not completely extinct when you
thought me to be so. It was but a device of mine; repeatedly am I born in the
land of the living. ... So am I the Father of the World, the Self-born, the
Healer, the Protector of all creatures. Knowing them to be perverted, in¬
fatuated and ignorant, I teach final rest, myself not being at rest. What reason
* "Bear love to men as though they were thy brother pupils, disciples of one Teacher, the sons of one sweet
mother” (The Voice of the Silence, p. 32).
MAHAYANA BUDDHISM
343
should I have to manifest myself continually? When men become unbe¬
lieving, unwise, ignorant, careless, fond of sensual pleasures, and from thought¬
lessness run into misfortune, then I, who know the cause of the world, con¬
sider: How can I incline them to enlightenment? How can tHey become
partakers of the fruits of the Buddha-laws?”
Thus is manifested the power of the Bodhisattva known as upaya or “skilful
means”. This endowment enables him to discern the need of each individual
and to adapt his “self-manifestation” to that need. Every incarnation of a
Master may be said to be such an adaptation. He may be king or beggar as
regards outer appearance; he may teach one or another doctrine. As is said,
the Master rules himself as well as other beings. He will consent to any sacri¬
fice, supping with publicans and sinners, undergoing what the world calls
ignominy. One of his titles is “The Good Companion”, for he is the Friend who
speaks always to the condition of his hearers. The sense of his superiority
dawns in their consciousness by the compelling force of his own inner purity.
It is the sign-manual of the true aristocrat, that he is ready to sacrifice wealth,
happiness and life at any moment to the demands of his code. It is significant
that Zen Buddhism, the purest of the Mahayana Schools in Japan, was the
religious basis of Bushido, the code of the warrior caste of the Samurai.
The deeds of the Bodhisattva are characterized as purposeless or effortless
(anabhoga). There is an affinity between this qualification and the Taoist ideal
of “the great submission to the course of Nature”. The Bodhisattva, entering
the Congregation of the Buddhas, lays aside every personal purpose for ever,—
or, it may be said, that it is impossible to distinguish between his personal
purposes and the purpose of the Divine Nature, Dharma-Buddha , whom he
serves. Thereby he proves that he has lost the last vestige of “self”.
Only one who knows that the realm of duality and separateness is an illusion,
like the creation of a magician, can labour effectively to deliver others from
this illusion. It is this labour which is called purposeless. Its motive power is
one with the motive power of the Good Law; his manifestations ebb and flow
like the great tides of Nature. Thus he is said to shine like the Sun, without
partiality. The “transformation-body” which he assumes, the Nirmanakaya ,
passes through space with the ease and celerity of thought. He is in the world
and yet not of the world, as the moon reflected in a lake shines in the water and
yet is not of the water. The Nirmanakaya represents the perfect balance
between microcosm and macrocosm, between individual and universal forces.
As Madame Blavatsky makes clear, the Master who renounces Nirvana and
co-operates with Nature for the spiritual evolution of humanity, bears the name^
of Nirmanakaya , as a title of honour (cf. The Voice of the Silence , pp. 67, 7 S~ 77 )^
He transforms himself continuously by skilful means , attuning his appearance to
the keynote of each cycle; but he has this power only because in reality he him¬
self never changes, for he is united in consciousness with “Buddhaness” (Bud-
dhata), that is, with the Eternal Wisdom.
Stanley V. La Dow.
(To be continued)
FASCISM
4 S the Quarterly has frequently contained comment on the monarchical
/-% and the democratic forms of government and their relative evils, it may
prove of interest to give a brief outline of Fascism as it exists in Italy,—
not in a partisan spirit and not with any discussion of its history, its merits,
or its possible future, but merely with the idea that there is unfolding before us
an experiment in government, markedly different from the established forms of
past centuries. It has held its own now for approximately a decade (and
venerable age comes rapidly, it would seem, in the case of governments—our
own, which boasts little more than a century and a half, is the oldest of its type
in existence). Fascism in Italy has accomplished far-reaching and phenomenal
results, has achieved from most points of view a marked success, and quite
regardless of its continued existence there or elsewhere, has probably, as a
workable form, won permanent recognition. What then are its significant
features? In what does it differ from other types? 1
The outstanding feature, from one standpoint, is its emphasis on the group
and the hierarchy—the nation itself being the major group, comprised of an
indefinite number of lesser groups, each with its own life and interests which
must be regulated and co-ordinated with those of the other groups. Fascism
has repudiated choice by ballot which is not a genuine choice, representative
government which is not representative, and the whole system of party politics
as we know it. It asserts that there is a fallacy in pretending that citizens can
be represented—only groups bound by common interests can be represented.
Accordingly, the unit of the system is the productive group. The entire pro¬
ducing population (employers, employees, and professional men) is organized in
provincial syndicates. These, in each industry, are combined into a federation
of the whole industry; these again into two great National Confederations, all
employer-organizations in one, all employee-organizations in the other,—that
of the professional men being an addition to the latter group. In this way
there are organized: employers in Industry, employees in Industry, likewise
Agriculturalists, Merchants, Maritime and Aerial Transportation, Land Trans¬
portation and Inland Navigation, Bankers,—and a thirteenth group, the Intel¬
lectuals. All employers and employees pay fees to the syndicates (which are
used for the work of the syndicates, not as taxes), and members are subjected to
rigorous discipline. No one is compelled to join, and other syndicates than
those recognized by the state are permitted,—but as everyone (member or not)
must pay the fee to the legally recognized syndicate, which in turn has complete
authority to make contracts and to arbitrate difficulties for members and non¬
members alike, there is little question of the result.
1 For those who would pursue the subject further,—among recognized authorities here drawn on are: Making
the Fascist State, by Herbert W. Schneider, and The Fascist Experiment, by Luigi Villari.
344
FASCISM
345
Above these organizations in the hierarchy is the Ministry of Corporations,
with Mussolini at its head, assisted by a National Council of Corporations, com¬
posed of the provincial political secretaries, and a Central Committee repre¬
senting the various regions of Italy, and elected by the National Council for one
year. This body has disciplinary authority.
There is the Parliament, of course, and by a reform of February, 1928, a new
system of electing its members was inaugurated. Each of the thirteen National
Confederations mentioned above nominates its representatives, eight hundred
nominees in all. The list is sent to the Grand Council of the Fascist Party,
and four hundred names are selected from it. This official list of four hundred
is then submitted to the whole body of syndicate members, to be accepted or
rejected, en bloc. In the event of their rejection, which is equivalent to a vote
of lack of confidence in the government, the law provides for re-election of a
different sort, the details of which need not be gone into here.
As will have been evident, the organizations already mentioned are in a
hierarchy of vertical formation,—employees, employers, and so on up the scale,
being entirely separate. Quite apart from this, there are national guilds which
might be regarded as in horizontal formation, combining all the associations in
any given industry, employers and employees together, and uniting the various
classes. These supervise conditions within the industry, and arbitrate questions
that have not gone so far as the Labour courts. There is also a national welfare
organization, the Dopolavoro, to which every organization, employers’ and
employees’ alike, must contribute.
The Prime Minister is appointed by the King, and is responsible solely to
him. The State, it is explained, is the legal incarnation of the nation. It is
not a state of syndicates, but “a state above syndicates”, and it must be strong
enough to dominate and give direction to the activities of the syndicates. Add
to this the concept that the nation is not merely the aggregate of now living
individuals, but a composite of an unlimited series of generations,—and we have
a fairly complete picture, except that no mention has as yet been made of the
status of the individual.
The individual, in Fascist theory, plays a very subordinate part. The
corporations must develop his forces and capacities and use them to the best
advantage,—he must not be submerged in this respect. But, regarding the
nation as the organism, and the syndicates as the cells composing it, the indi^
vidual is merely an atom, or perhaps less. At any rate, unless a contributed
to the life of the state, he has no part in the Fascist system at all—he must be a
producer. The drone, the parasite, has no place. Labour, it is asserted, is the
foundation of human welfare and progress, and everyone who devotes himself
to production and progress in any form whatsoever is regarded as a worker.
The general Fascist concept is poles-removed from modem individualism,
‘‘the rights of man” and individualistic theories of government. Emphasis is
laid on the right of the state, but only on the duty of the individual. ‘‘The more
ordinary type of Fascist will frankly admit that he does not believe in liberty;
that liberty has long since become a meaningless term. . . . Mussolini points
346
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
out that the mass of the Italian people at this particular time neither need nor
want liberty. They want peace, work, bread, roads and water, and they are
willing to work for these things.”
This, from actual practice; from Fascist theorists there is a comment
even more noteworthy: ‘‘A state which presupposes liberty denies it precisely
because it presupposes it; for there is no liberty outside the life of the spirit
which, unlike natural beings, does not presuppose itself, but creates, conquers
and evolves itself. A man becomes free; he is not so by nature. . . . The state
is liberal in fact and not merely verbally, if it promotes the development of
liberty considered as an ideal to be attained and not as a natural right to be
guaranteed.”
Not a basis, then, of the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but
an ideal of individual sacrifice for the good of the nation. Mussolini, who has
the gift of seeing the emergency in the commonplace, has repeatedly declared
that Italy is in a permanent state of war. Conditions are such that the Italian
must fight, not for happiness, leisure, or liberty, but for work. “Imagine a
Liberty Loan poster that would read: ‘Subscribe to the Loan and you and your
children will enjoy the serenity of labour!’ Yet that is precisely the appeal
made during the recent loan drive.” (This striking comparison was published
several years ago, at a time when, in America at least, such an attitude toward
employment was more difficult to comprehend than at present.) The theory
and the consistent aim is to find satisfaction, enjoyment and self-realization
in one’s work, not in getting free from it, and it is claimed that the social¬
ist’s emphasis on shorter hours and more leisure merely betrays the fact that
he does not want to work. Each citizen, it is declared, must be completely at
the disposal of the state. “Nothing for the individual; everything for Italy.”
In other words, the individual must find his own happiness in the national or
group life and well-being. If not, he is no real part of the nation.
Much of the idealism of Fascism suggests rules for disciples rather than for
the rank and file,—a standard so far in advance of ordinary human nature as
to seem visionary. Such a sentiment, for instance, as: “Fascism has revived
the primitive Christian joy of martyrdom. A true Fascist thinks only of his
duty, and regards any sacrifice which he may be called upon to make in the
performance of it a privilege.” The success of its practical application in Italy
is comprehensible only by taking into account—first her phenomenal leader,
who galvanizes the country, blends its elements by a special electrolysis, and
evokes the response to his own most positive spirit. But it is necessary to take
into account Italy’s inheritance from the past as well. One of the leaders of the
Fascist party, in a letter from the front, in 1916, wrote: “I will not hide from you
that I love war; we grew up with an unsatisfied longing for greatness, a longing
nourished by mediaeval duels, by Garibaldine achievement or rather by the
revolutionary exploits of Garibaldi, by plumes and songs, and we found our¬
selves keeping accounts and scribbling for ten cent magazines. We were
malcontents then and shall be after the war; for the present I am at my post.
I assure you modern war is not merry; nevertheless I like it.” Someone in dis-
FASCISM
347
cussing religion has said that the doctrinal expression of religious faith takes on
the colour of the age, and the age is made up of the cross-currents of thought
from every field of experience; that it is useless, for instance, to attempt to
understand the teaching of Saint Augustine or the origin of the Papacy, without
full knowledge of the prestige of the imperialism of Rome; that the Papacy could
never have originated in the democratic atmosphere of the Athens of Pericles.
Somewhat of the same thing is true of government. It, too, takes on the colour
of the age, is the resultant of cross-currents of thought from every field of experi¬
ence. For that reason, to explain the success of Fascism to-day, it would be
necessary to look back, not only to the glory of Rome and her genius for organi¬
zation (as Mussolini himself is doing), but to the many cross-currents of subse¬
quent centuries, here a period of aesthetic exaltation, there of revolutionary or .
patriotic exaltation, again of religious exaltation,—old, forgotten, far-off things
in Italy’s long life.
Among the misunderstandings of Fascism, one sometimes hears it referred to
as a despotism. In refutation of this, Signor Valli writes that if it be true that
Mussolini came into power in an irregular and revolutionary manner, yet “he
at once secured repeated votes of confidence in a Chamber elected under the
auspices of Signor Giolitti, and the enthusiastic approval of the Senate where
the immense majority of the members had been nominated by his various prede¬
cessors.” The same Chamber and Senate later voted the continuing power of
the Fascists, “but, above all, we should never forget that apart from its Parlia¬
mentary situation, the Fascist Government is strongly supported by the enor¬
mous majority of the people at large outside Parliament, the people who do not
belong to any party, but simply judge by results, and find the Fascist regime
preferable to any of those which preceded it and presumably better than any
other combination possible at the present moment.”
Other misconceptions lie in regarding Fascism as the same as socialism in
this or that particular. One book reviewer recently went so far as to term it
“a weak and timid imitation of Russian Sovietism”! It is the opposite of social¬
ism, for one reason because instead of the socialist formula of international
solidarity and class struggle, it proposes inter-class solidarity and national
struggle; in other words, it views capital and labour, not as antagonists, but as
groups to be co-ordinated to a common end (and in this, it has been extraor¬
dinarily successful). It is unlike socialism in that the latter trys to level down
the highest classes to the standards of the lowest, while Fascism works for the^fc
elevation of the lowest classes to the highest standards. It is unlike socialisrr^^
in that it defends capitalism as an institution, also in that it defends private
property and inheritance, recognizing a chain as it were: no private property
means no incentive to save; no saving means no capital; no capital means no
production; no production means economic paralysis. Capital then, must be
freed from impediments and utilized to the full, or the Fascist syndicates them¬
selves will suffer. Another point of unlikeness: instead of using strikes and lock¬
outs as a political weapon, Fascism has practically brought them to an end. No
strikes in the public services are tolerated. Arbitration of disputes is com-
348
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
pulsory; the Labour courts are a part of the judicial system of the country;
and employers or employees who foment labour troubles are punished by fine
and imprisonment. Fascists themselves claim that the whole spirit of the
movement is the exact opposite of socialism—as witness the attitude toward
work already mentioned; though here, as in many other directions, they realize
that to hold an ideal and to embody it are two different things, that real nobility
of spirit cannot be expected from the mass of humanity, except as a result of
moral discipline, and that the syndicates therefore must be educational insti¬
tutions, training the people (particularly the youth of the country), developing
in them the spirit of duty and sacrifice, and producing in the future a new class,
drawn from lowest as well as highest, but a genuine aristocracy, or, as is defi¬
nitely stated, a Samurai, to which only the best and truest citizens may hope
to gain admittance (the party was closed to new members some years ago
except to the boys, who enter it on graduating from the junior Fascist organi¬
zations). In keeping with this aim is the claim that Fascism is not a political
party so much as a mystical sentiment, a moral code, a rdgime of life, a life in
itself, and no aspect of ordinary daily activity is too small or too private to come
within its sphere.
In the achievement of these aims, there is a powerful ally in the Militia, the
army of Blackshirts which, all over Italy, is a continual and spectacular reminder
of Fascist strength, and not only a reminder, perhaps, but a partial explanation
of the continuing power of the party. The words of Mussolini are significant:
“To-day I assume the command of the Militia. You must certainly under¬
stand the import of this deed. The order is: Absolute and unquestioning obedi¬
ence, and be ready always and everywhere to defend our regime which to-day is
our country.” Originally, they were an irregular armed force, a party organi¬
zation merely. The bond which brought them together was a sense of outrage
over the results of the war, which they regarded as a betrayal of the heroic dead,
and as a nullification of splendid achievement. Their aim was to crush out Bol¬
shevism, remedy the deplorable condition of the country at the time, and set
up a strong government, inspired by national ideals. Their course, after Musso¬
lini’s access to power, was characteristic of the keen vision of their leader. To
those who confidently hoped that this irregular force would now be disbanded,
he is said to have replied, “Whoever touches the Militia, gets lead.” By Royal
Decree, the Milizia volontaria (after first being disbanded in its irregular form),
was created, “at the service of God and of the Italian Fatherland”, taking its
orders from the head of the Government (Mussolini), and as one of the regular
armed forces of the monarchy. It now takes the oath of allegiance to the King,
and its function is “to assist, together with the armed forces for public safety
(the police and the carabinieri) and the Army, in the maintenance of internal
order and to prepare citizens for the defence of Italian interests in the world”.
No one is admitted whose patriotism is regarded as doubtful. Anti-fascists
object to its receiving its orders from the Prime Minister, and assert that, still
merely a party organization in reality, it has no claim to being regarded as a
State institution. Whatever the right or wrong of such points, the incalculable
FASCISM
349
value of an organization like this, binding the whole nation together in disci¬
plined obedience, is obvious.
In its function of “preparing citizens for the defence of Italian interests in
the world”, it provides pre-military and post-military training for the youth of
the country. The boys are enrolled in the Avanguardisti and the girls in their
own organization, known as the Balilla. (In 1925, the former numbered 90,000,
increasing in 1926 to 211,000; the girls’ organization was even larger both in its
expansion and its total number.) As a result, “the whole youth of the country,
in case of a general mobilization, could be called up already trained, armed and
equipped.”
Aside from military training, the Fascist regime included (Jrastic reforms in
the entire educational system. The matters of education and of religion are,
of course, closely bound together, and for any real understanding of the reforms,
it would be necessary to take into account conditions in Italy at the beginning
of the rdgime—the position of the Vatican, the relations of Church and State,
the intense anti-clerical feeling resulting in no religion being taught in any
Government or municipal school, and so on. It is too long and involved a
subject to go into here. Suffice it to say that the noteworthy feature of the
reform is the effort to stop the cramming of brains with disconnected facts,
memorized for an examination, and to develop the faculty of learning and to
prepare good citizens. To this end, in the Government schools, the number of
pupils is limited, and the less capable students excluded (there are other schools
open to the latter, though these do not give higher education). Methods and
curriculum both are aimed at bringing about more thorough education and
higher standards. Further, all examinations—before the reform, arranged by
the teachers themselves—were thereafter conducted by an examining board,
and made intentionally more difficult.
As for religion, it was decided to introduce the subject in the elementary
schools, and the crucifix was placed in each class room. This measure aroused
much feeling—indignation on the part of the anti-clericals, consternation on the
part of the teachers, who were required to take examinations in religion and
teach the subject in order to hold their positions; and as religion was to be pre¬
sented thereafter in such manner as to “explain its moral and spiritual value”
(that is, explicitly not as taught by the priests, though still orthodox Catholic
doctrine)—the feeling in clerical circles may be left to the imagination.
During the first year or two of the party’s existence, Fascists were violent^
anti-clerical, and its leaders were both anti-clerical and, it is said, anti-religious.
Later the policy changed. “Because the Italian nation is Catholic and what¬
ever is national must be Fascist,” Fascism announced itself as wholly Catholic.
On this point there is some by-play on both sides, for, while Fascism gained vastly
by its “spiritualization”, giving the impression to many that it is the defender
of the faith,—the Church would find anything but gain in becoming “national”.
It was, indeed, suggested some four or five years ago, by a former correspondent
in Rome of the London Times , that the Vatican, which is Italian, would go out
of its way to “quarrel” with Mussolini, so as to impress non-Italian Catholics
350
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
with the internationalism and impartiality of its attitude. It was suggested,
even, by the same authority, that the Vatican must maintain the appearance
of being persecuted by the temporal powers of Italy.
However this may be, much ill-feeling seemed to have been aroused when
the Fascists took the vitally important step of ordering the Church to disband
the Catholic scouts, so that the Avanguardia and the Balilla should become the
sole organizations for the boys and girls of the kingdom. It was the last step
in depriving the Church of its power over the children of the country. By way
of compensation, it was agreed that the youthful members of the Fascist organi¬
zations should be sent to the priests for instruction once a week, but, as is pointed
out, the Church has this one comparatively dull hour a week in which to keep
its hold on the coming generation, while the State, by means of uniforms, badges,
salutes, marches, and its adroit tactics in nationalizing religious holidays and
saints’ days, is captivating imaginations, linking social and political life, and
instilling its own ideal for which thousands are ready to make any sacrifice.
Some opponents of the system see in it all a step toward general irrekgion in
the future. This would not seem necessary. Religion, as ordinarily understood,
holds an inconspicuous place in the system, it is true, but may this not be an
advantage in view of the nearness of the Vatican? The consecrated work of
Ignatius Loyola at once suggests itself—and the evil ends, to which, subse¬
quently, it was so often turned. The Vatican does not change its ways, or its
motives,—and welcome grist for its mill would doubtless be the devotion, exal¬
tation and self-giving which the Fascist movement is evoking; but with no
good to come of it for Italy or for the world. There is a wide field for specula¬
tion here, but one may surmise that the beings who mould the destinies of men
have a definite reason and purpose for current developments in Italy; that for
forty millions of people to accept with zealous co-operation, training in obe¬
dience, sacrifice, devotion to duty and to a cause, means the welding of an
instrument; and that, under existing circumstances, it is far safer for the life of
the spirit (by which is meant here, not necessarily a high degree of spirituality,
but the quickening and outpouring of the Italian genius) to find its expression
for the time being in channels other than those usually recognized as religious.
The answer to this, as to many another question which naturally suggests itself
with regard to Fascism, lies concealed in the future. While Mussolini’s leader¬
ship continues, it is impossible to judge the system on its own merits solely, or to
foresee what results would follow his removal, either by death or other cause.
Of course, the idea that he is responsible for all that has been accomplished,
that it is his single will that holds it all together, has been scoffed at as the
“Mussolini myth”. But myths, as we know, are apt to conceal a truth. No
one facing fairly the actual facts of Mussolini’s life can fail to recognize his
intense patriotism, stupendous achievement, dynamic power and force, greatness
of purpose. The real test of Fascism will come when men of smaller stature,
shorter vision, different ideals, undertake to carry on the work. Many of the
Fascist principles are a two-edged sword. Take the concept of no liberty for the
individual, every individual completely at the disposal of the state,—and, in
FASCISM
35i
imagination, apply that at the dictate of the Prussian spirit and aims, or the
Russian! Avcountless points, too, the application of Fascist principles is almost
entirely a matter of interpretation. From the beginning, its flexibility has
been stressed, its willingness to change, its freedom from party programme. Its
programme can be altered to fit every need—not in the spirit of opportunism, but
in the sense that, unhampered by a preconceived “platform”, it endeavours to
proceed steadily toward one goal, the well-being of the Italian people, the
embodiment of an Italian national entity. This has advantages, of course;
it means the utmost latitude at every point, but it calls for keen vision, unerring
judgment, a steady eye to the goal—the “instinct of equilibrium” which Musso¬
lini says accompanies him in the gravest, the most strenuous and the most critical
moments. Given the animating spirit, and we have authority for it that even
dry bones will live, but what they achieve and whither they turn, depends on the
source and nature of the inspiration. Fascism per se has yet to be put to the
test.
J. c.
The man who is truly free , is always free. —R. 0 .
The other side of an emergency is always an opportunity .— Dean Burroughs.
To this day I thank difficulties. They were more numerous than the nice , happy
incidents. But the latter gave me nothing. The difficulties of life have hardened
my spirit. They have taught me how to live .— Mussolini.
A RESPONSE TO THE THEOSOPH=
ICAL APPEAL
iHEOSOPHY is all-inclusive. It includes the essence of all great reli¬
gions, philosophies and sciences. So, when Madame Blavatsky brought
Theosophy to the West, she brought a doctrine which clearly points to
the mountain top of Bodhisattvaship—and beyond, but which also points
to an intermediate peak of chelaship: a condition of consciousness and service
leading directly from the place where man now stands to the more remote
pinnacle of Bodhisattvaship. Let us consider this appeal which Theosophy
makes to enlist in the glorious warfare of the soul, and, more particularly, the
opportunity for members of the Society to respond directly to that appeal; let
us consider it in very simple phrases, because when one speaks of the particular,
the more simple the words used, the more universal is the portrayal.
Let us look backward for a moment that we may the better look forward.
No rigorous requirements were placed before us when we applied for member¬
ship in the Society. We were not even asked to join; we did so voluntarily.
We were not asked to believe in Masters, in Bodhisattvas, nor in chelas. The
only request made was that we should be in sympathy with the main object
of the Society: “to form the nucleus of a Universal Brotherhood of Humanity,
without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste or colour”—to believe in the Ideal
of the Society, within which is the potentiality of chelaship, although perhaps
we did not know of that potentiality at the time we became members.
After we became members we were left free agents to study such subjects,
and to set our own time for doing so. However, most of us accept chelaship as a
possibility. If we did not there would be little incentive in remaining as members.
It is the natural result of reading and studying theosophical literature, made
available by Madame Blavatsky, Mr. Judge, Mr. Charles Johnston and others.
So we cannot for long remain as members of the present outer expression of the
Lodge Movement without realizing that something is required of us. That
requirement, inherent in a true membership, will lead us to a more diligent study
of the literature. This, in its turn, will lead to more than a mere intellectual
acceptance of theosophical principles, for we cannot study that richly divine
and compelling literature without coming under the spell of its contagion;
without realizing that the author of The Secret Doctrine , for example, must
have had access to old and time-tried truths, and to those who have guarded
such records through the ages. Thus, of our own accord and by our own free
will, we are brought to acknowledge that there must be those who are far in
advance of us, each real member discovering for himself a belief in the existence
of Masters, and of the Lodge of Masters. Because we have discovered that for
ourselves, it is an integral part of our consciousness, a living thing, and we long
352
A RESPONSE TO THE THEOSOPHICAL APPEAL
353
to find the means of serving the Masters and of working for that for which the
Great Lodge works.
For what do the Masters work? For the eventual salvation of mankind.
How do they work for it? We know that a General in time of war does not
work with his troops en masse , but through a few loyal and trusted subordinates.
Surely the Masters are no less practical and logical than a General in command
of armies. Even the casual perusal of the history of the last quarter of various
centuries will show that effort for the spiritual regeneration of mankind has been
carried on by a mere handful of valorous workers. Perhaps at this point there
will dawn upon us the inner significance of the one request made of us when we
applied for membership in the Society: that we should be in sympathy with its
Ideal, as expressed in its main object. Does it not seem plausible that the Lodge
would work now as it has in the past, through a comparatively few loyal and
trusted servants? Through the Ideal of the Society in which there is the potenti¬
ality of ch£laship? As we work for the Ideal, then; as we give ourselves to it,
the door is wide open for us to work continuously and consciously for the same
purpose and for the same cause as that of the Lodge. Here we have found a
way of directing our efforts to serve the plan of the Masters through the medium
used by the Lodge itself. Our efforts, formerly of a general character, become
more specific, more focussed. At this juncture it may be that we come more
directly under the attention of the Master who stands at the head of our ray,
or to the attention of one of that Master’s chelas,—as those who in time of war
compose a mobile unit for special work may be known to the General, or to one
of his staff. Our literature makes clear, however, that there is no Theosophical
escalator or funicular which will carry us from where we are to the peak of
chelaship. We have to do the climbing. Yet we find that we do not have to
make the entire journey alone and unaided, for as we climb there is a lift, as we
push from below there is a draw from above. Divine force co-operates with
those who honestly are attempting to serve spiritual purposes.
Now let us look forward. As we turn to our literature with this new sense
of direction in mind, we shall be impressed with all that is said about desire.
It will show us that we have misapplied the force which is abundantly ours
during Kali Yuga, and have used it in gratifying personal desires; that we have
built up a body of personal desires, a Kama Rupa, and that this body, as a body,
must be killed, but that the force back of it must be retained and redirected.
It is desire with which we have to contend; it is desire which we have to trans^
mute. It is this great power which, because of our misapplication, we have used
for the personal, or lower self, that we must redirect so that it re-becomes the
great power of the Higher Self. Paradoxical as it may sound, we must trans¬
mute desire by desire.
Is it so paradoxical, when desire has been back of our acts? Let us put a few
simple questions to ourselves, and see if we do not know already more about that
seeming paradox than at first we might suppose. Why do we go to one place
instead of to another? Because we desire to go there. Suppose we put our
question in a more impersonal way: substitute for ourselves the artist who
354
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
works for the love of his art. Why does he go to one place instead of to another ?
Because he desires to do so; but he chooses the place because it affords him the
scenery he wishes to portray on his canvas. The artist had an ideal for which
he worked, so he had transmuted some of his desire from gratifying mere self-
indulgence by using it for something larger than self. What the artist did
unconsciously, perhaps, we, students of Theosophy, must do deliberately.
By changing the phrasing of the question and by bringing ourselves back into
it, we may make a rather pleasant discovery: we have started already to make
the transfer, and in the right direction. Why did we join The Theosophical
Society? Because we desired to join. Right there we turned some of that force
toward the Movement.
We should not be surprised, then, when we turn to such a manual and guide
as Light on the Path to discover that desire is mentioned specifically in nine of the
first twenty-one numbered rules, and indirectly mentioned in several others.
Nor shQuld we be confused by any seeming contradiction between what is said
in the first three numbered rules, and rules thirteen, fourteen and fifteen, as may
have been the case formerly. It should be clear there is no conflict between
“kill out desire of comfort,” and “desire possessions above all”; that if we work
for ease and comfort for ourselves, we cannot work for the Ideal of the Society;
that unless and until we kill out such desire we cannot be free to desire “those
possessions” which “must belong to the pure soul only, and be possessed there¬
fore by all pure souls equally, and thus be the especial property of the whole
only when united.” And I think the word comfort as used in Light on the Path
is meant to convey more than its usually accepted sense.
The fact is, the first twenty-one numbered rules in Light on the Path are,
among other things, a treatise on the transmutation of desire by desire. They
show that as we kill out desire for something for self, we can and should supplant
that desire with the desire for possessions which may be shared with others; and,
further, that we turn desire from the interests of self by focussing it on interests
which are other than those of self: as in the case of the artist, or in our own case,
once we have definitely pointed desire toward working for the Ideal of the Society.
Thus far I have dealt with one side of the picture only: with our efforts in
response to the theosophical appeal. There is the other side: that is, the
purpose and the power wielded in us by the Ideal as we give ourselves whole¬
heartedly to serving it. As devotion to art for art’s sake can make of the artisan
a master craftsman, as loyalty to the mobile war-unit can make of each soldier
a first-class fighting man, so there is the power within the Ideal of the Society
to transform to its likeness those who serve it with sufficient intensity and con¬
stancy of desire. It can take that service based on desire and transmute it into
a service of love. Love is the great power. It is love which unites the ch£la
to his Master, and sends him out into the world to do his Master’s work as
though it were his own.
Of a truth, humanity’s to-morrow depends upon our response to-day to the
appeal Theosophy makes to enlist in the glorious warfare of the soul.
G. M. W. K.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
T HE Philosopher asked if anyone had tried to visualize the problem which
confronts the Lodge at the present time. “ ‘Fools rush in where angels
fear to tread’ ”, he quoted, ‘‘but I believe none the less that we gain more
by boldness than by moral and intellectual stagnation, and the mere reading of
other people’s ideas, unless it arouse independent and constructive thinking in us,
is little better than stagnation.
‘‘The problem of the Lodge”, he continued, ‘‘as we see it, can at best be only
a distorted shadow of the difficulties which really confront them, for Masters
deal with forces of which we see no more than certain superficial effects. None
the less, let me plunge in,—and almost any point will serve to start from. Thus,
I was reading the other day some Addresses delivered by a High Church Anglican
clergyman who at one time had been a missionary in Africa. ‘I have known
Africans walk’, he said, ‘for something like five hours on a Saturday night in
order that they may be at Mass on Sunday morning, for the simple reason, as
they put it: ‘‘If the Lord Christ was coming to meet them they could not stay
away.” ’ Sheer superstition, many would say. But what is superstition? Put
it this way: if you were a Master, and someone were to walk for five hours
through the darkness and dangers of the veldt in the expectation of meeting you,
whether in the semblance of a consecrated wafer, or a log of wood, or an image all
dolled up in spangles,—would you not go out of your way to do something for
him, to give him your blessing in some form or other? And, apart from any gift
of yours to him, would not that man infallibly benefit spiritually, in character and
in will, as a result of his sacrifice, especially if, as the missionary claimed, it was no
sacrifice but was done purely for love? Compare that man’s state with the state
of another negro, a more ‘enlightened’ negro, who believes that God is every¬
where, that God will speak to him in his own heart, at any time of the day or
night, if he but condescend to listen. No five hour walk for him; no such folly
as a consecrated wafer! He can get up and go to bed as the spirit moves him;
he can conduct his own ‘service’ to suit himself; he can ‘listen’ and then be
‘lifted up’ to his heart’s content; he can spout ‘mysteries’ to make all around
him cringe. Even supposing that he tries, according to his lights, to lead a goo^
life, he will do this, primarily, according to his lights, derived in large measure
from his interpretation of Biblical texts. The first man presumably looks up
to his priest, for it is the priest, in any case, who ‘consecrates’ the wafer; the
second need not look up to anyone, except to God, and God will always be on,
as well as at, his side, seeing that the man himself is God’s interpreter.
‘‘I wonder whether the universality of the problem involved in that mess, is
sufficiently evident, without further elaboration. The point is that a belief which,
in comparison with another, may be regarded as ‘enlightened’, is at least as dan¬
gerous, and often more so, than the rankest superstition,—depending entirely
355
356
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
upon the person who adopts it. If the Lodge were to disseminate its light, its
understanding, widely, the spiritual progress of humanity would be retarded
by a million years.
“Superstition and enlightenment are relative terms. One of the many ways
in which the world, and most philosophers, have shown their imbecility, is by
generalizing about ‘human needs’, when, as a matter of fact, the need of no
two people on the face of the earth is the same. I knew a man once (he is an
officer of one of our biggest and most powerful corporations) who thought that
any kind of manufacture was primitive, infantile, and unworthy of his attention
unless tools were set for the production of at least one hundred thousand units,
with all arrangements made, through distributors and agents, for the disposal
of these ‘over the counter’. People need chairs; very well, grind out 100,000
chairs, shop cost $2.14, to retail at $10.00, cost to distributor $5.60. They want
antiques, do they? Very well; cancel that order and grind out 100,000 antiques,
quick; add 200 per cent., to shop cost to cover extra labour and necessary de¬
partures from standard to show individual workmanship, with retail price $30.00.
The same principle is applied medically: it does not matter if you are tall and
thin, or short and fat, if you are phlegmatic or nervous, fiery, airy, watery or
earthy, if you are white or black, yellow or red,—granting you have influenza,
you need Medicine A., scarlet fever, Medicine B., mumps, Medicine C., and so
forth. In the same way with religion: if you are a Protestant, everyone ought
to be a Protestant, if a Roman Catholic, everyone ought to be the same, if a
Theosophist,—but really, there ought to be a limit! Can it be that any student of
Theosophy is so hopelessly ignorant of his own subject as to imagine that every¬
one either could or should be a Theosophist? I trust not.
“Of all genuine ‘persuasions’ (I exclude, of course, forms of black magic such
as Voodoo), Theosophy, being true, is necessarily one of the most dangerous.
It is not, and never can be, narrowly defined in creeds—for then it would cease
to be Theosophy, would cease to be true; but this leaves it at the mercy of every
crank and visionary who chooses to adopt it as his label, and goodness knows
they have not been slow to parade themselves accordingly. It leaves it at the
mercy also of anyone whose conceit is sufficiently turbulent to make him, in
his own eyes, the sole judge of his duty and obligations, regardless of his associates
and fellow-students. It cannot too often be re-stated that once a man falls into
the habit of indulging his lower nature, at any point, he will interpret his religion
(no matter what), his philosophy—even his Theosophy—so as to condone, and
finally to justify, his self-indulgence.
“Here is a Frenchman, for instance, who writes a book which has been trans¬
lated into English and published under the title of The Return of the Magi. He
believes in Theosophy, as he interprets it; he believes in a White Lodge, in
Masters, and also in the existence of a Black Lodge. He seems never to have
heard of Judge, but is familiar with the writings of Mrs. Besant and of Lead-
beater.
“Avowedly he prefers the lesser to the greater members of the Lodge because
the greater are ‘too perfect’, and it comforts him to discover, or to think that he
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
357
has discovered, frailties which correspond to his own. Speaking of Lao-tsze he
says: ‘What one remembers of him—and remembers with a certain satisfaction
—is that he had a bad temper*. I do not know on what possible ground he can
attribute a bad temper to Lao-tsze; but that is immaterial: what I object to is
the perversity, the vanity, of such an attitude, and the miserably wrong twist
he gives both-to the spirit and the letter of Theosophy,—a twist which becomes
monstrous when he speaks of sex, as when (referring to the vows of the Rosi-
crucians) he undertakes to comment on chastity. Shades of H. P. B. and Judge,
—how they would have suffered! Even ‘the ordinary man’, of whom he speaks,
knows better; even the most ordinary and exoteric of Christians, if sincere, holds
to an infinitely higher, purer and truer standard. The cause of such a distortion
is, of course, obvious. It simply means that, as Emerson said, ‘we find what we
seek*.
“Every effort of the Lodge to help humanity is perverted in the same way.
Consider the efforts of the Christian Master, first in one denomination and then
in another, to spiritualize the religion which exists in his name. See how the
Church of Rome, to reinforce its authority and its claim to a monopoly of the
means of salvation, has exploited the revelation to Marguerite Marie of the
continuance of that Master’s suffering. See how Protestantism has misused the
‘power from on high’ which has been poured into ‘Revivals’, sometimes con¬
verting it into mere emotionalism, sometimes into bigotry, and nearly always
cheapening and vulgarizing that which in itself is as crystalline and pure as the
everlasting snows. Give men manna from heaven, and they will not swallow it
unless smothered in an onion sauce, with some pickled eel thrown in for seasoning.
It is the fault of the personality we have built up,—‘that old serpent, called the
Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world’.
“Some of you, twenty years ago or more, met Samuel Stokes when he visited
New York from India. Originally from Philadelphia, he had gone to India as a
missionary, and later, under the auspices of the Bishop of Lahore, had founded
a religious order called the Brotherhood of the Imitation of Jesus. Its members
lived as Indian ascetics live, believing that, as disciples of Jesus, they could do
no less, and hoping, in this way, to appeal directly to the Indian people. There
can be no question of the devotion and sincerity of Stokes and his associates at
that time; nor can I question the fact that on one occasion the Christian Master
made himself known to Stokes, comforting him and giving him new strength
when Stokes had fallen exhausted on one of his expeditions. Stokes related thi^j
experience, in poetical form, in a little book called The Love of God , with an
Introduction by the Master of Selwyn College, Cambridge, who said - ‘The
author of this little volume is by birth an American, aged twenty-six [in 1908],
who, having seen—whether in the body or out of the body God knows, but in any
case with convincing clearness—a vision of the Lord Jesus, toilworn and travel-
stained, trudging on foot along an Indian high road, has found in that vision a
call to give his life, from love of his Master, to the service of his Indian brothers,
in literal imitation of the poverty, humility, and self-sacrificing devotion of the
earthly life of Jesus.’
358
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“Would you perhaps like to hear Stokes’ own account of his experience? It is
nothing so unusual—merely one of the Christian Master’s countless efforts to win
a soul who might perchance become a torch-bearer among men; but the signifi¬
cance of the denouement cannot well be appreciated unless you have the picture
before you.”
Most of us had read the poem years ago, but were glad to hear it-again; so the
Philosopher read these extracts aloud:
I slept, or seemed to sleep, but all at once
I felt a hand upon my shoulder laid.
Too weak I was to rise, but panting lay,
Striving to pierce the blackness with my eyes.
Yet feared I not, for from that gentle hand
There flowed a power which thrilled my soul to life;—
A power which told of love past human ken.
Of sympathy with all man’s woes, of peace
And joy to come upon a world forlorn,
Of sin o’ercome, and Heaven opened wide.
At last, in awe I whispered tremblingly:
“O thou who, speaking not, dost comfort give!
O thou who, in one moment, by a touch,
Hast given peace so great that all those things
Which dragged me down and filled me with despair
Seem far away, or easy to be borne!
Thou in whose presence my poor restless soul
Ceases to cry for rest and lies at peace,—
Who art thou?
Oh, tell me, art thou human or divine?
If human, then in what place dost thou dwell?
May I bide with thee—ever be thy slave?
Wherever thou dost lead I’ll follow thee;
For whether thou art God or man, I know
That thou art he in whom help may be found.
Oh, I have wandered all this wide world o’er
Seeking for peace, but always sorrow found.
And now, at last, when I, about to die,
Had laid me down, that peace has come to me.
Leave me not, therefore, wheresoe’er thou art;
Have pity on my sorrows, for ’tis thou
Who, taking all away, can’st give me rest.”
From out the dark a voice came clear and calm,
Quite low, and yet so full of melody,
So full of pathos, ringing so with love
That my poor soul, all thrilled and dazed with joy,
Could scarce make out the meaning of the words.
“O little lamb, I came to seek thee here.
Thou askest who I am and where I dwell.
I am thy Shepherd—though thou knewest not,
I have been seeking thee the whole world o’er,
Aye, calling, but thou would’st not answer me.
For I have loved thee, my poor little one—
So loved that I did shed my blood for thee.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
359
Had’st thou but known it, I was ever by,
But thou would’st never yield thyself to me.
For thou wast seeking peace in lands afar,
And little thoughtest thou that at thy side
The giver walked and sought his gift to give;
Yea, sought to give, but thou would’st never take.
Thou soughtest peace below, but thou hast found
It is not there, so I have come to help,
And give thee what thou long hast sought in vain.”
Then silence fell; and yet I felt the hand
Still sending forth its message to my soul.
I did not speak, for something said within:
“Keep silence, listen, pray!”
“It was a wonderful beginning. Later, instead of meeting with opposition,
the Bishop of his diocese encouraged Stokes in every possible way (almost a
miracle in itself, in India). ‘He was enthusiastic, and looked upon the founding
of this new Order as the greatest event that had happened to the Church in the
Punjab during his episcopate. He laid his hands upon them [Stokes and his
associates] at a solemn and beautiful service in Lahore Cathedral.’ Obviously,
by repercussion on the Protestant churches of England and America, the move¬
ment might have accomplished much, as it cannot be doubted, after such a
beginning, that the Christian Master would have reinforced it in so far as it was
made possible for him to do so, and always with the qualification that Masters
cannot and will not interfere with the free will of individuals. What was the
result? I learned of it only the other day, from a book, What I owe to Christ ,
by C. F. Andrews, who, if it had not been for illness, would have joined the order
on its formation. The story is this: Stokes, as head of the order, at first minis¬
tered to the lepers in their Asylum in the Simla Hills. Settling down among the
Hill people, he learned in the course of time that they regarded his Christian
service as a form of self-seeking with a view to his own spiritual advancement.
They would tell him that it was easy for him, in his homeless, celibate state, to
acquire merit, and thus escape from the bondage of rebirth, but for them it was
difficult because of family cares and the need to earn a living. This misunder¬
standing of his motives, purpose, and message, troubled Stokes inexpressibly.
Andrews says: ‘He struggled with this crucial problem, night and day, waiting
in earnest prayer to God for an answer. During much of this time I was with
him, and he consulted me frequently about his own inner difficulties. ... In
his own mind from the very first, since the day when the problem had really
gripped him, there had seemed to be only one real answer. ... He should reside
among them [the Hill people] as one of themselves, marrying into their own Hill
clan. Thus he would make himself in every respect one with them.’ Andrews,
a weak reed, adds that Stokes convinced him ‘by the argument’. The Bishop
of Lahore was not convinced; he appears to have reminded Stokes of his vows.
The end of it was that Stokes married a Rajputni woman, born in the Hills, a
Christian, whose grandfather was a Chinaman. ‘Thus’, says Andrews com-
360 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
placently, ‘his children have the blood of three different races flowing in their
veins.’ ”
“In other words”, interjected the Historian, “instead of converting the Hill
people, Stokes allowed the Hill people to convert him. What a tragedy! I
remember him well. ... I wonder how that Master felt about it. A cruel blow.”
“I am wondering”, said the Ancient, “whether we in our way have been more
true to the heavenly vision than was Stokes. Still—thank God—there is the
balance of this day, and perhaps to-morrow.”
“Excuse me”, asked the Student, turning to the Philosopher, “but do you
happen to know if Stokes met the woman he married, before or after he allowed
the Hill people to convert him,—in principle?”
“I do not know”, the Philosopher replied; “but I see what you mean, and I
agree with you as to the probabilities. In any case, the marriage of course
smashed the Brotherhood of the Imitation of Jesus into less than a rubbish heap.
. . . But the main point to my mind is the problem which confronts the Lodge,
as I said to begin with. It is a problem which necessarily confronts each member
of the Lodge also, and even, on a much smaller scale, everyone who attempts,
consciously, to serve a Master. Somebody once said: Many are they who find
Jesus; few are they who, finding, understand what they have found. And the
same is true of Theosophy. The veil between us and the spiritual world is lifted
for us, perhaps only for a moment, perhaps for weeks or months together, or
again and again at intervals. Always there follows the need to interpret what has
been seen, the injunction to do as we have learned. A spiritual experience, no
matter how real, can bear good fruit only to the extent that will and intelligence
co-operate,—a trinity of effort. Andrews, the author of the book I have been
quoting, is an illustration of what usually happens. His world swamped him.
Brought up on a dead-letter though devout interpretation of the Bible—as an
Irvingite—when he was about twenty he experienced conversion, deep and real.
No need to go into particulars, as so many similar conversions are related in
Varieties of Religious Experience , by William James,—which all of you have read:
at first crushed to the earth by a conviction of sin and impurity, a sense of peace
and forgiveness came to him with equal strength, as ‘the gift of God through
Christ’. ‘What,’ he writes, ‘had broken me down completely and made a new
man of me’, was the realization that there had been a sacrifice. ‘He had given
himself for me’. Not long afterwards, deeming the Irvingites too literal, he
left them and joined the Church of England. Then he was ordained, having a
terrible time over the Articles of Religion, which of course, being in no sense a
mystic, he interpreted as literally as his father had interpreted the Bible. Finally,
after working in missions in England, he went as a missionary to India, not only
a sincere and honest Christian, but with an abiding sense of Christ’s continued
gift to him: a minor, but none the less real effort on the part of the Christian
Master to win a soul who might have become a spiritualizing factor in Church
circles. To cut a long story short, he, like Stokes, instead of converting his
environment, allowed his environment to convert him: as I have said, his world
swamped him. Still calling himself and believing himself to be a follower of
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
361
Christ, he became literally and in fact a follower of Gandhi and Tagore, making
Tagore’s ashram his headquarters; he has become literally and in fact the em¬
bodiment and exponent of all the most modem infatuations,—Pacifism included.
As much a literalist as in his youth, ‘the poor’ mean only one thing to him,—
those who lack physical food and clothing: those who are starving spiritually,
while dressed in fine raiment and perhaps over-fed, mean nothing. In the same
way and for the same reason, he regards Albert Schweitzer, Kagawa of Japan,
and Sundar Singh, as those who have come nearest ‘to the imitation of Jesus’
in modem times. A man like Cardinal Mercier, who lived in a palace, and who
was the reverse of a Pacifist, would be classed, presumably, as an unfortunate
mistake. Joan of Arc would be a well-meaning but misguided girl who, because
she lived in the ‘dark ages’ before Tolstoy, must be excused and forgotten. ‘The
dead wrappings of the past’, he writes, ‘have always tended to constrain and
confine the insurgent spirit of man. Christ comes again to his own right in our
day [largely thanks, it would seem, to Gandhi and Tagore]. He comes to set us
free.’
“Free from what? From vanity and self-assertion, from pride and hypocrisy,
—or just comfortably free to do as we choose, or uncomfortably free to do as
some Soviet may ordain? And why ‘insurgent’ spirit? But enough. The
author’s only significance lies in the fact that he is typical; for he was helped to
a good start, and has turned all that into active harmfulness,—and this with due
regard for his many ‘good works’, and for what most people, I suppose, would
regard as a saintly life.
“So I return once more to my main question: what can the Lodge do that will
not be misunderstood, misapplied, perverted? I am not supposing that anything
can reach this world from theirs without a certain amount of discoloration on its
way through. I am making allowance for the fact that every shade of dis¬
coloration may be needed to meet the infinitely varied needs of human nature;
but there is a difference, as I see it, between discoloration and perversion. The
Salvation Army, for instance, has brought things down to a very primitive
plane; but it appeals to, and is intended to help, very primitive people: no one,
in my opinion, could justly characterize it as a perversion. The so-called Oxford
Group movement, headed by Dr. Frank N. D. Buchman, which recently held
a mass-meeting in New York at the Waldorf-Astoria, is not only discoloured—
and depressing—but is just as much of a travesty as the work of Andrews.”
“Why ‘depressing’?” our Visitor interjected.
“Because their movement provides such a commentary on what numbers of
people want when they want religion; it proves that, though converted from
cocktail parties in the outer sense, they crave a sublimated form of the same thing
in their religious experience. To speak frankly, they want the same common
familiarity, the 3ame self-exposure (both duly sublimated), the same utter lack
of reverence, of dignity, of refinement. Those among their converts who perhaps
never went to a cocktail party in their lives, make it evident that they enjoy
the atmosphere of one, in religious guise. One of our contributors, who was
present at the meeting in New York, told me that the first woman to speak
3^2
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
paraded her former cocktail parties as though the superiority of her present
state were proved by her past, and that several men, speaking later, said know¬
ingly: ‘Oh yes, I used to go to Marie’s parties’—for they make a great point of
calling one another by their first names, on the platform as much as in private:
it is supposed to be evidence of Christian amity. An English Knight, over sixty,
offered to relate privately incidents of his former career, not as a man ashamed,
but facetiously, so as to draw laughter, especially from the women on the plat¬
form. The ‘hit’ of the evening was a mutual forgiveness scene between an Oxford
woman and a German Frau, which the Chairman drove home as a lesson to the
authorities in Washington,—all Buchmanites being ardent Pacifists, regarding
the aggressor (Germany), and invaded Belgium and France, as in the same
category, and, at least in international matters, forgiving anything in everybody,
whether repentant or not. Do not imagine that I am basing my opinion on
a report of one public meeting. The book, For Sinners Only , written by one of
themselves for propaganda purposes, reveals the same tendencies, including the
habit of lowering all spiritual values and standards by speaking of themselves
as having attained absolute purity, absolute honesty, absolute love, absolute
unselfishness, and by describing as ‘radiant saints’ the well-meaning but some¬
times half crazy converts of a Rescue Mission.
“I am not suggesting that the world is any more inclined to-day than in the
past, to pervert good things to wrong ends; though it does seem to me that the
Lodge, having tried every imaginable avenue of approach, in vain, may well be
confronted with a peculiarly difficult problem at the present time, especially as
it has become almost impossible to confine an experiment to a locality,—every
sort of ‘movement’ becoming internationalized as soon as launched, as part of
the penalty paid for mechanizing inter-communication. There is good reason to
believe, for instance, that the Albigensian movement sprang from the work of
Adepts; but although it remained pure so long as it reached the few only, after
they had been tried and tested and proved worthy, there is no doubt that it
degenerated dreadfully when its essential truths were proclaimed to the many,—
though at that stage, thanks to the lack of facilities, the contagion did not spread
much beyond sections of southern France. That the movement was suppressed
by the Church with fiendish cruelty, is notorious; but that its followers had
gone ‘clean off their heads’ is proved by the fact—which their most ardent defen¬
ders admit that, in the south, sons of the noblest families often married the
lowest women ‘in order to regenerate them, to lead them one step forward up
the long path to perfection.’ It was their belief in reincarnation, strangely
enough, which they twisted to this abominable conclusion: can you imagine a
more wanton obliquity!”
“Has it ever occurred to you”, asked the Student at this point, “that it is
much less dangerous ‘to start something’ among Anglo-Saxons than among
Latins, if the ‘something’ be connected with religion, just because the Anglo-
Saxon is not fundamentally religious, while the Latin is? There are exceptions,
of course, but it is unusual for your Anglo-Saxon to be wholesale about any¬
thing, least of all about religion. Consequently, he can adopt a belief, such as
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
363
that in reincarnation, with very little result, one way or the other, while your
Latin, if he adopts it, will do so with passionate intensity,—which, as you have
shown, is likely to mean, during Kali Yuga, that he will give effect to it in some
extreme and dangerous way. It is easily conceivable that Theosophy is
being kept deliberately from France and Spain and Italy until, in the distant
future, they become less unready. Meanwhile it was given to America and to
England because, though they were quite unready, it could not do much harm
there anyhow!”
The Engineer now joined us. He was wreathed in smiles. ‘‘Things have
become so bad”, he said, ‘‘that they are amusing: the New York banks have
been shut” [It was the morning of March 4th, and the earlier editions of the
newspapers had not carried this information.]; ‘‘no one can draw any money;
I hope you have all been hoarding.”
Our Visitor showed surprise. ‘‘Hoarding!” he exclaimed. ‘‘Surely that would
not be ethical?”
‘‘Why not?” said the Engineer. ‘‘If more people had always hoarded, as they
have in France, there would have been no depression and no panic; nor would
there have been any Stock Market boom in 1929: we should have remained on
a level keel. It is because people turned all their money over to their banks or to
their brokers, that first the boom, and then the depression, and finally the
panic came. The banks used their deposits to make money quickly for their
stockholders, some lending huge sums in Germany, for instance, at a much
higher rate of interest than was obtainable here, and shutting their eyes, pre¬
sumably, to the risk (/ should have said, certainty) of losing it, perhaps blinded
by greed, and in any case dead to all the lessons of the Great War. It was the
French peasant, by keeping his gold in a stocking until really needed, who
enabled his Government to pay five milliards of francs to Germany after 1871,
and to pay the entire sum well in advance of due dates, thus ridding his country
of the German troops who had remained in occupation.”
“Incidentally”, remarked the Student, “the receipt of that money proved to
be the culmination of Germany’s moral ruin.”
Our Visitor was not convinced, however. “There may be something in your
argument”, he said, “as applied to ordinary times; but the New York banks
would not have been obliged to close their doors to-day, if it had not been for
the sudden and immense demand for gold and currency, largely for hoarding,
which followed the collapse in Detroit, Cleveland and other big cities. It should
have been a point of honour, at that juncture, not to reduce one’s balance.”
“It might rather have been a point of honour not to have needed , at that
juncture, to reduce one’s balance,—to have been so prudent as to have kept
in one’s own control enough to have tided one over an interval in which the
bank might be closed.
“The withdrawals, the last minute efforts to ‘hoard’, were, of course, prompted
by fear—the spread of mass hysteria and panic, which always creates what it
dreads. People ought to have acted long before; not from fear but from caution;
and if they had so acted the banks themselves would have been in far sounder
364
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
condition to meet any strain. But on what ground is it, or can it be ‘a point of
honour’ to the ordinary citizen to keep an unsound bank open, or to leave his
own money in it if he believes it to be unsafe? The banker’s duty is one thing;
the depositor’s another. Indirectly and unintentionally, you are echoing those
among the leaders of ‘big business’ whose panacea throughout has been to
spend, spend, spend. Instead of its being one’s duty to help keep the New
York banks open, thus supporting a system which is inherently unsound and
wrong, I claim that it would have been far better for the country if the New
York banks, as a result of public distrust, had been compelled to close their
doors some three years ago. If that had happened, and if Washington had not
further prolonged the agony by its futile attempts to suspend or offset the law
of supply and demand,—business, by this time, would have been on its feet
again.
“In the old days, money-lending was the unclean business of Jews; it was
the function of banks to hold the money of their clients in safe-keeping. If I
am not mistaken, instead of paying interest on deposits, they charged for their
service. Little by little, the banks became money-lenders, using the money of
their clients for this purpose, primarily for the benefit of the owners (stock¬
holders) of the bank: an illogical and absurd proceeding. In the old days,
again, it was a disgrace to borrow; it meant that you were living beyond your
means. But since, in this country and elsewhere, man’s chief purpose in life has
been, not to earn a living but to make a fortune, it has become a common saying
that a fortune can only be made with borrowed money; therefore borrow, and
the more you can borrow, the better off you are. Gambling has taken the place
of business, and is now known as business. A man with a salary of five hundred
dollars a month, would buy a house for ten thousand dollars, pay five thousand
in cash, which perhaps he had borrowed but perhaps had saved, and would
mortgage the house for the balance, gambling that he would continue to draw
his present salary, that this would steadily be increased as he grew older, and
that therefore he would always be able to pay the interest on the mortgage.
Then a Life Insurance agent would point out that the man might die, and that
his wife might be unable either to pay the interest, or to pay off the mortgage,
or to sell the house. So it became ‘good business’ to insure his life for ten thou¬
sand dollars at least, and to gamble again that he would continue to receive a
salary large enough to pay both the interest on his mortgage and the premiums
on his Life Insurance. Then bad times came (they always come); the man was
laid off; ceased to draw any salary; could not pay the interest on his mortgage,
and lost his house; could not pay the premium on his Life Insurance, and lost
that. Buying on the instalment plan, from automobiles to fur coats, was simply
an extension of the same system, all of it gambling, all of it a method of putting
the future in pawn.”
“Do you mean that you are opposed, then, to the capitalist system and to
private ownership as such?” asked our Visitor.
“I certainly am not. On the contrary, no other system would be tolerable.
To condemn a system because human nature has misused it, would be as childish
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
365
as to condemn religion because that has undergone a similar fate. What I am
advocating is a return to more conservative and sane methods under that
system. The world has become the victim of its desire, which was to ‘get rich
quick, with as little work against* the grain as possible’. It was this desire which
controlled almost every class of society, with the Labour Unions in the lead.
I do not believe that real wealth is produced except as a result of very hard
work and great self-denial,—that is, of sacrifice. Real wealth, even material
wealth, is the product of moral forces acting upon physical things, and I include
intelligence under moral forces for the excellent reason that the moral has no
force without intelligence.
“Nor am I suggesting that bankers and brokers and ‘Wall Street’ in general,
are less honest than other classes. They are at. least as honest, and in many
respects much more so than others, for in no section of the community can a
man’s word, about money, be accepted as readily in place of his bond. ‘Wall
Street’ has come into e xistence—and its European equivalents—in response to
the insistent demands of the rest of the country. If every broker on ‘the Street’
were suddenly to accept my thesis, and were foolish enough to infer that he should
begin life all over again in some other occupation, the only result would be a new
crop of brokers, inexperienced, unqualified, and less honest because devoid of
background and tradition; and the new crop would spring up for exactly the
same reason that a new crop of theatres or churches or newspapers or colleges or
groceries would spring up, if any of these groups were to renounce their activities.
The law of supply and demand is a reality, not a dream; and it is a real law
because it is a spiritual law, inherent in the nature of things on all planes.
“With men like Hearst and Samuel Untermyer yelling abuse at their betters—
Untermyer clamouring for the government ownership (which means control by
politicians) of all railroad, telephone, gas, electric lighting and other utility
companies—I am particularly anxious to emphasize the fact, which Theosophy
makes so clear, that it is the people of a country, in the mass, who create the con¬
ditions of which they complain. Just as the circumstances of my life are abso¬
lutely of my own making; just as it would be folly and worse if I were to complain
of the result, so is it true that a nation’s financial institutions and methods reflect
its commercial cravings, even as its churches reflect its religious cravings,—to
use a very strong word, in that case, for what is usually a very feeble flutter.
In other words, to condemn its bankers would be as unfair and as stupid as to
condemn its clergy,—no matter what you may think of their collective wisdom.”
“You must surely admit, however,” our Visitor urged, “that if borrowing had
been eliminated from business during the past fifty years, this country’s progress
would have been far slower than it has been.”
“I admit it gladly”, was the reply. “I admit with similar gladness that our
population would have been much smaller, as, throughout that period, we should
have been minus an immense number of low class immigrants, nearly all of whom
came here in the hope of making money in a hurry. I admit that fortunes would
be smaller, taxes lower, everything fewer; but beg to suggest that quality might
be better. The plant that grows a yard in the night is not, as a rule, wholesome.
366
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“Once more, to avoid misapprehension, I am not suggesting that it is wicked
to borrow: that would be absurd. Nor am I suggesting that to carry on a
business with borrowed money, even persistently, is wicked, but only that it is
regrettable and unwise. I do not consider a Mohammedan with a harem, wicked,
especially if his father had one before him. There are men of absolute integrity,
both among borrowers and lenders. All I can say is that I should prefer to be
neither the one nor the other. It is, unfortunately, nearly always easier to get
into a situation than out of it,—as even your Mohammedan, at times, doubtless
realizes also, while, in his case, it might well be cruel if he were to abandon his
harem in mid career. After all, common sense must govern.”
“So far as ‘hoarding’ is concerned”, commented the Professor, “it is really
the same situation as with food. It is the modern household’s lazy and improvi¬
dent habit to depend wholly on day-to-day buying in the city stores: to keep
nothing in the house against emergencies. The result is that any interruption of
traffic, delaying the flow of food to the city, becomes immediately a grave
emergency. Everyone then requires food, and there is not enough to go round—
or may not be enough. Anyone who then lays in a supply for the future and to
stock his empty store rooms, is accused as a food hoarder,—because he is late in
doing what he ought to have done long before. Had everyone steadily hoarded
food, from the time it was plentiful, the interruption would have caused no
crisis; and it is those who have hoarded, and whose needs in consequence can
be met by their own resources, without drain upon the diminished common
stock, who really save the situation.
“Is the connection clear”, the Ancient now asked, “between the Philosopher’s
original question, and the Engineer’s thesis, as I think he called it? It ought to
be. ‘Lo, this only have I found, that God hath made man upright, but they
have sought out many inventions.’ Yet, thank heaven, there is always a way
out, a way through, a chance to make a crooked path straight, whether in our
own lives or in the world around us; and when all ways seem closed, the wisdom
of Masters provides, the Everlasting Mercy guides, if only, learning the lessons
of the past, ready to sacrifice self , we fight forward toward the best and noblest
we can see.”
T.
God is a good worker , hut He loves to be helped .— Basque Proverb.
REVIEWS
aflfiM'
g;i==i&
The Land Locked Lake , by Lt. Col. A. A. Hanbury-Sparrow; Arthur Barker,
Ltd., London, 1932; price, 7s 6 d.
This is a book of the War, and one whose vivid, human appeal it would be
hard to overstate, but which may have a special and deeper interest for the
thoughtful student. Its author, scarce twenty-one when the War broke out,
was then a subaltern in Great Britain’s regular army, sent to France with the
first expeditionary force, and for more than three years was almost constantly
at the front with his regiment. A brief “Author’s Note”, taking the place of
a Preface, sets forth its aim and vouches for its sincerity.
“This book is true in that it describes, faithfully I believe, what I saw and
felt during the War. But that was inevitably based upon incomplete knowledge.
Of set purpose I have tried to eliminate at every stage of the tale later informa¬
tion and maturer judgments. This method may cause pain to some, but it was
unavoidable if I was to succeed in the task I had set myself. This was to unfold
the War in so living a way, that the younger generation might succeed where
we had failed; that they, seeing the War for what it truly was—an intense
spiritual experience—might be inspired to link up its lessons to the needs of
the Age, and to lead its land-locked waters to the parched river of life.”
As a story, the book sweeps us on from adventure to adventure, but beneath
and through them all is the author’s search for his own soul. He has to face
fear; and at first has nothing with which to front it but pride and duty. Then
he learns to call upon his patriotism and the will to give and sacrifice himself.
You “think you are doing it splendidly, and then crack! Fear has shot past
your head and only the instant application of will can save the whole structure
of conduct from utter collapse. Will to what? Bravery? No, the will to the
self-sacrifice of not-self. For the life of man oscillates between the two poles oL
self and not-self. As the Greek philosopher long ago pointed out, all abstract"
qualities go in opposite pairs, beauty and ugliness, cleverness and stupidity,
cowardice and foolhardiness: whatever you take, there is its opposite. Even so,
man lives between the two poles of self and not-self, and free will consists in
this—in steering his course between the two poles. Fear makes a man turn to
the pole of self, self-sacrifice to the pole of not-self, nor is it till the man has
attained the wisdom of seeing that fear is foolishness, and has acquired the
power of acting up to his wisdom, that he can be called free. . . . The current
367
368
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of fear deflects the moving coil that is you to the pole of self. In your fight
against it you react to the pole of not-self, and whilst you are there you remain
in an abnormal state of exaltation. Yet to whichever pole you swing, you are
not free, for your action has been dictated by fear.”
He learns, and teaches, the great lesson of the power of discipline—that the
men must be made to feel, in every moment, their officer’s supporting will, as a
horse must feel its rider’s. He shows, in incident after incident, how the pres¬
ence or absence of this discipline makes the exact difference between victory
or defeat,—so that it is literally true that no small part of the winning of a
battle may lie in the insistence that buttons be kept polished.
Yet all that he learns—all the wisdom and gallantry and fortitude that he
reaches for and makes his own, are not enough. Outwardly they keep him to
the mark, but inwardly, through more than three long years of pounding, of
wound following wound, they weaken and begin to fail him. In none of them
can he feel that he has laid hold upon what he seeks and needs. He feels, recur¬
rently, that he should be able to find it in religion; but of religion he has none
at all—not even the instinct of prayer, so far as his pages enable us to judge.
And there are none about him from whom he is able to gain what he himself
has not. “Unfortunately, the chaplains could do little to contribute. For it
was quite definitely ‘bad form’ to argue the fundamentals of religion with such
men, lest you shook their belief. That was the situation in a nutshell. . . .
The trenches aroused in men a very deep respect for the inmost life of the
other fellow. And so the chaplains were let alone.”
It is in this lies the tragedy of the book and of the author’s long, heroic trial.
The end of his soldiering is not made wholly clear, but enough is said to show
that Passchendaele broke him. “When I got out again in April, I only lasted
three months, as I simply couldn’t stand it any longer.” And in his book, too,
he feels that he has failed. Almost at the end, he cries out his consciousness of
this: “How utterly I have failed in this book to reproduce the fullness of the
War. Perhaps the theme is too great for words. You older generation who
stayed at home, you A. D. C. equivalents of my generation who stayed behind,
you youngsters who stayed at school, let me tell you this! You know nothing
of the War, you can’t. It’s utterly impossible you could. You can know noth¬
ing of the anguish and agony that the cream of the nation transmuted to Glory,
and, in so doing, perished. You writers of sex-filled war books! Stick to your
sex and leave the War alone. Its mysteries are not for such as you. Its Guar¬
dian lets none save the noble pass the threshold”.
Why is there this sense of failure left upon author and reader alike? He
teaches us the lesser mysteries, but the Greater elude his search. The anguish
and the agony, yes, and we believe the nobility and the glory, too, he has known
and shown us; but the resurrection life of the Spirit that can rise from the
human life laid down, the ecstasy of self-giving to a love that is not of the
world, that can grow strong on suffering and not be weakened by it,—this,
which does not fail in the hour of need, and which the War opened to many
simpler souls, he never found, and its radiance never lights his book. There-
REVIEWS
369
fore the book, like the picture of the War which it presents, remains predom¬
inantly terrible, rather than uplifting and transforming. It is war seen from
beneath, never from above.
To those who have loved and reverenced the England that was, it is not
the least grievous of the signs of our times, that the spiritual world has become
so hard of conscious access to the English genius: that even where they serve,
they know not Whom they serve; and even where they contend against the
wrong, they know no joy in the victory of Right. In the literature of the great
War, it is easy to list book after book in French, which shows the War as it was
to the higher, rather than the lower nature of man,—as it was to the soul con¬
secrated in a true and whole-hearted devotion. The Maximes sur la Guerre by
Ren 6 Quinton, Meditations dans la Tranche by Antoine Rddier, Mes Cloitres
dans la Tempete by Martial Lekeux, Maurice Barr&s’s Les Diverses Families
Spintuelles de la France , or Jacques d’Arnoux’s Paroles d'un Revenant , may
serve as examples, suggesting many others. But with what can they be matched
in English? We think of Donald Hankey’s A Student in Arms, and Austin
Hopkins’s Religio Militis, and a few others. But even these few are not of the
same order, nor are they typical of more than themselves. M.
Crusade for the Anemone, by Princess Marthe Bibesco; The Macmillan Com¬
pany, New York, 1932; price, $2.00.
This is not a book to be read in a hurry, or with a mind distracted by many
things. Rather should jt be chosen as a companion in solitude, for the reader
will wish to have plenty of time to gather anemones with the author, in the
fields of Palestine. The book is more a record of interior experience, than of
manifold outer incident; it is the record of a mind and heart quick to penetrate
outer semblances, thereby reaching the quiet places which lie behind all that
is depressingly obvious and impermanent. For that reason it may be read with
the deepest interest and sympathy by anyone who is at all drawn to a mystical
interpretation of life, no matter what his religion, or to what denomination
within that religion he may belong. Within the very small compass of this
small volume there are five letters, some of them written to friends who are still
living, others addressed to those who have passed through the valley of the
shadow—letters tender, humorous, full of insight. The author, “to whom
flowers are living words”, tells us that the anemone belongs to the family of
those spoken of as “the lilies of the field” which Solomon in all his glory could
not rival, and that although she went to Palestine at a season of the year when
this “flower of the wind” did not ordinarily blossom, nevertheless, just before
she entered Jerusalem, a bouquet of them, thrown unexpectedly in at her car¬
riage window by someone outside, was the first thing of all to greet her arrival.
It proved to be a talisman, for by its means she could reconstruct the hallowed
places of her dreams. She protests against the passion of the “devout” for
the building of crude shrines; she wants to see the sacred spots over which these
shrines now stand, once more open to the winds, the sun, the rain, as they were
370
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
of old. In this she will certainly have the sympathy of many if not most of her
readers. She feels cramped and depressed in Jerusalem, because of the con¬
fusion caused by all these mediocre erections which to her are wholly inappro¬
priate, so, with her imagination, she occupies herself “in destroying and then
in rebuilding Jerusalem”. And this is what she does wherever she goes: to
Tiberias at twilight, to watch the night fall over the lake; to the ruins of Caper¬
naum at dawn, where the wind from the sea blows memories of the past to her;
to Nazareth, where the almond orchards in full bloom are a true and living
shrine—those other, man-made shrines being lifeless. “All that is heaven and
all that is earth draws me. All that men have built repels me. Here I seek
only the living rock.” As we close this very unusual and beautiful book, it is
with the sense of soul refreshment which poetry always brings, for, like all
poets, the author touches things which many of us cannot feel, and she sees
things to which the eyes of too many of us are blind.
One wishes that Princess Bibesco knew something of Theosophy; it would
undoubtedly be of great interest to her, and it would certainly explain many
things—such, for instance, as when she writes of Jerusalem: “I was invaded by
the overpowering feeling of having been here before.” To the student of The¬
osophy this would not be surprising; he would, of course, believe that she had
been there in some former life, and was merely remembering.
In many ways it is a pity to read Crusade for the Anemone in any but the
original, the author being well known for the classic purity of her French, but
the translator is to be congratulated on what he has accomplished; it must
indeed have been a difficult task. T. D.
The Great Pyramid in Fact and in Theory , by William Kingsland; Rider &
Co., London, 1932; price, 305.
Any work which purports to throw light on the subject of the identity of the
Great Pyramid (this should read, “the pyramids and many similar ancient
relics”) with the work of the Lodge in prehistoric times, is naturally of interest
to readers of the Theosophical Quarterly. We are therefore attracted by
such a title and preface, and search through the text expecting to find a sub¬
stantial exposition or addition to the numerous publications already available.
Unfortunately, Mr. Kingsland’s work fails to give what we are led to expect.
In this book (a promised Part II is not at hand), he confines himself rigorously
to commenting on the geometry and measurements of the Great Pyramid, and
does that, over the shoulders of such men as Piazzi Smyth, Petrie, the Edgar
brothers, and Davidson and Aldersmith. Pyramid investigation has reached
the point where all investigators have discovered and proved the existence of
relations between Pyramid chronology and measurements, and fragments of
ancient wisdom—once esoteric, now breaking out into the “open”. Pyramid
research appears, indeed, to have exhausted the possibilities of deduction and
inference that can be made from the data supplied by surveys. Chronologists
and Biblical interpreters are now pushing their conclusions beyond the point
REVIEWS
37 i
where such conclusions can be strongly fortified by the existing data; they in¬
dulge in conjectures, not always warranted by the facts; get themselves mired
in suppositions that are founded on a basis which has been stretched beyond a
solid foundation; detect unavoidable flaws in each other’s work, and expose
them. One may take the different theories of Pyramid investigation, hang
them on the same peg, and watch them destroy each other till nothing tangible
is left—save the conviction that once there was really something there which
now has disappeared. Mr. Kingsland seems to have entered the field in such
a spirit of criticism of his predecessors, and to have taken up the subject from
that direction and in that attitude of mind, rather than by directly attacking
the problem and using, instead of abusing, what others have done.
There are some outstanding flaws in his attitude which may possibly justify
attention. He informs us that Davidson’s and Aldersmith’s work on the Pyra¬
mid is too mathematical and too technical to be popular. His own work is
entirely of that kind, and in addition utterly lacks the thorough, complete and
painstaking research evident in Davidson and Aldersmith. There is much
which suggests that his mathematical and technical equipment is inadequate
to his subject, and that he may thus be betrayed into misunderstanding and
misrepresenting what he both borrows and criticizes. He shows that there is
probably real justification for assuming that the ancient Egyptian cubit equals
20.612 British inches, but he fails to note that this is merely a reference scale
for measurement, and does not alter in any way whatsoever the relative pro¬
portionality existing amongst the numerous significant measurements of the
Pyramid.
He also tries to break down the argument by which several others have at¬
tempted to show that there is definite relation between certain base measure¬
ments of the Pyramid and the length of the year (365.242+days); but all the
experts, Mr. Kingsland included, are here on very doubtful ground, since their
statements are based upon the assumption that the lengths of the solar day
and year are the same now as they were many thousands of years ago when
the Pyramid was built! How do they know that such is the case? Astronomers
do not know. The most the latter will say is that, so far as they can detect,
the time periods are the same now as they were 1,000 or 2,000 years ago, and
that is all. These are comparatively short periods against which to balance the
facts known to the ancients, and to some modems, that in very ancient times
the contour of the continents was different, which caused different tidal effects,
and that the inclination of the axis of the earth (the obliquity of the ecliptic)
was very different, which also involved different tidal effects, as well as altering
the seasons and the distribution of ice, changing the gravitational conditions
and thus operating on the length of the day. All of this is yet to be proven by
modem science and to be found in the historical and chronological measure¬
ments of the Pyramids.
Our author exhibits diagrams giving specific and numerous measurements.
On comparing these with Davidson’s and Aldersmith’s, one is more struck with
the similarities than with the differences. We wish that he might have begun
372
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
where the Edgar brothers and Davidson and Aldersmith left off, instead of
simply picking trivial flaws in their work, without applying their thorough
and comprehensive analysis. We have ourselves little fault to find with
the work of the various persons criticized by Mr. Kingsland, but only with
their attempts to apply exclusively the measurements related to ancient, long-
running cycles, as recorded by the Pyramids, to modern current and World
War events.
We do not know what Mr. Kingsland has in store for us in his second volume,
but we feel sure that there already exists ample mathematical and geometrical
data for identifying the Pyramid as being a great and important work, incor¬
porating knowledge preserved in the Lodge,—provided more attention is given
to Lodge records, now published, and less to minute differences in surveys and
measurements. The Pyramidists think they are analyzing the Pyramid. They
have that question upside down. It is the Pyramid, with its massive, silent,
irresistible logic and involved ancient esotericism, which is forcing them con¬
stantly to re-orient their point of view, until they wake up to a realization of
its symbology.
If you were to acquire a comprehensive interior visualization of occult, esoteric
wisdom, and should attempt an objectivation, a materialization, you would neces¬
sarily find that you were able to express or expose only one aspect or phase of
that unified conception along one particular line. Objectivation must always
mean fragmentation. If, reversing this, you have at hand an exoteric phase
of an esoteric generalization, you may have insuperable difficulty in tracing an
investigation back from the particular to the general, and are liable to go off
at a tangent; but if you can get “on top” of the question and look “down”,
there is no difficulty whatsoever in recognizing and identifying the particular
for being what it is and where it belongs. The Pyramid investigators must
eventually get “on top” of their problem, and look down and not up, and then
they will achieve a comprehensive vision of that thing which is now, to them,
an enigma. A. B. R.
The Orient in American Trancendentalism, A Study of Emerson , Thoreau, and
Alcott, by Arthur Christy, Ph. D.; Columbia University Press, New York, 1932;
price, $4.00.
This fascinating volume of 382 pages continues the interesting pioneer work
begun two years ago by Professor Carpenter’s book, Emerson and Asia (see
Theosophical Quarterly, Vol. xxvm, p. 202); and with changing tides of
opinion and values, it ought to be of great influence in bearing people to a safe
harbour. Just one hundred years ago, Emerson left America to seek fresh
hope in new fields, for in 1832, at the age of 30, he appeared to be a failure,
his health a wreck, his domestic peace a wreck (through his wife’s death), and
his life work as a clergyman also a wreck. Yet from that wreck of earth, Heaven
constructed another great success, Emerson, with his Concord friends, becom¬
ing a god (“of tradition”, alas!), honoured to-day by the lips of New Englanders
REVIEWS
373
and others whose hearts and minds, unfortunately for them, are “far from
him”. When “sensual, avaricious America” rediscovers its sage, it will find
him not an isolated and eccentric recluse but—thanks to Professor Carpenter’s
book and Dr. Christy’s—a prophet who brought to the crude, ignorant Western
world the ripened wisdom of the ancient, civilized East.
Bom and bred in the East, Dr. Christy handles his subject with unusual
sympathy and understanding, in a book that is not academic sawdust but is
really vital. Recognizing that the Concord approach toward the Orient “was
not that of the theologian, metaphysician, or specialist in comparative reli¬
gions”, but that “of the poet and mystic”, he has centred his own attention
upon the literary and mystical results of Oriental Wisdom that flowered in
Concord. A single passage will reveal the difference between Dr. Christy’s
vital understanding and the sterile misunderstanding of the East that is too
often found. Thus, on page 19, he writes: “As has already been intimated,
philosophy in ancient India was not developed among the priests. Indeed,
Hindu philosophy in no way abetted the cause of the priests. ... It was
through others than members of the Brahman priestly caste, even through
the Kshatriyas” [the warrior caste] “and through sceptics and unbelievers,
obnoxious fellows to the priesthood . . . that India continued to probe for
Reality.”
This book is the product of painstaking effort. Among other labours of
love, the author examined the librarian’s records at Harvard for the purpose
of learning what books Emerson had used in his student days; that investi¬
gation proves that from his 19th year Emerson was occupied with Eastern
Scriptures.
Sympathy and understanding mark Dr. Christy’s book (though one will
differ from many of his interpretations), and also courage. To maintain his
own opinions and conclusions, he has had to go counter, at times, to those of
his elders and his superior officers, Drs. Canby and Erskine, Professors Van
Doren and P. E. More. Whenever placed in so unenviable a position, he has
acted with true courage, and, therefore, with modesty.
The last paragraph of Dr. Christy’s “Conclusion” will show what a “find”
this doctoral dissertation is for religiously minded readers: “The mystery of
the attributes of God it is not for us to solve. Our province is here not to ques¬
tion the wisdom and method of His governance of the Universe, or the conclu¬
sions at which the Concord men arrived. It is enough for us to realize and in
finality restate the chief reason why Emerson, Thoreau, and Alcott turned
Eastward, a gesture which brought all the consequences we have studied. They
could not live with an absentee God, and they were of Sankara’s temper, San¬
kara, that great sage of ancient India, who on his deathbed prayed that he
might be forgiven for having frequented temples, since by doing so he had
seemed to deny the omnipresence of God. All that the Concordians thought
and did was consequent to this fact. We may be assured that when this is the
temper of the best minds of the East and West, the twain do meet in the sym¬
pathies of the mystical bond, which is universal.” Ph. D.
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
An Idealist View of Life , the Hibbert Lectures for 1929, by S. Radhakrish-
nan; The Macmillan Company, New York; price, $4.00.
It is Dr. Radhakrishnan’s thesis, that the world is in dire need of a new
revelation of spiritual truth. He does not mean that this revelation should
be new in the sense of being different from the wisdom of the ancients; but
that it should be based upon a re-discovery of the Divinity above and within
the order of Nature. An Idealist View of Life is a confession of faith in the
ability of modem man to find God as He was found by the sages and mystics of
other ages. Men like Gautama and Jesus could speak with certitude of the
spiritual world, because they actually lived in it and saw its denizens face to
face. So, to-day, one can gain a direct knowledge of the Divine through the
diligent cultivation of the inner faculties which we possess but so seldom use.
As Dr. Radhakrishnan points out, the actual crisis in religion is due less to
the attacks of its enemies, than to the lack of real experience and understand¬
ing among its defenders. It is no wonder that men are everywhere seeking
some substitute for religion—such as communism, for instance—if the so-called
representatives of religion have not proved for themselves the creed which they
profess.
Dr. Radhakrishnan is an authority on Indian metaphysics, and his own
thought reveals the paramount influence of the Vedanta. Very fortunately,
he does not suggest any particular form of “yoga practice” as a quick and easy
way to mystical experience. Moreover, he is a man of broad culture and with
cosmopolitan sympathies, and he does not claim for the Hindu mind a monopoly
of wisdom. It is part of his purpose to show that the tmths of the Vedas have
been independently discovered by saints and philosophers in the West. The
Rishis, he says, “are not so much the authors of the tmths recorded in the
Vedas as the seers who were able to discern the eternal tmths by raising their
life spirit to the plane of the universal spirit” (p. 89); but as he makes clear,
a Rishi may be bom anywhere.
The following is typical of his general point of view:
“The Western mind lays great stress on science, logic and humanism. Hindu
thinkers as a class hold with great conviction that we possess a power more
interior than intellect by which we become aware of the real in its intimate
individuality, and not merely in its superficial or discernible aspects. For the
Hindus a system of philosophy is an insight, a darsana. It is the vision of tmth
and not a matter of logical argument and proof. They believe that the mind
can be freed by gradual training from the influences of speculative intellect as
well as past impressions, and that it can unite itself with the object whose nature
is then fully manifested. . . . Intuitive insight is identical with freedom.
‘Whoever knows “I am Brahman” becomes this all.’ ‘He who knows that
supreme Brahman becomes that Brahman itself.’ We cannot know Brahman
fully and truly unless we partake of its essence, become one with it. . . . Brah¬
man, which symbolizes the absolute reality, means also holy knowledge, in¬
tuitive wisdom. Intuitive wisdom becomes personified as the first principle of
the universe. He who knows it knows the essence of the cosmos. . . . The
REVIEWS
375
general tendency of Hindu and Buddhist thought is to take hold of the aspira¬
tion of the human soul after a higher life, and treat this fact as the key to the
interpretation of the universe” (pp. 127-129).
The student of Theosophy will find much valuable material in these pages.
Dr. Radhakrishnan deserves recognition and respect for his erudition and
lucidity, for his discernment of what is of universal significance in the Indian
scriptures, for his understanding of the profound analogies between the reli¬
gions of the Orient and the religion of Christ. Above all, one is grateful for his
illustration of a tolerant spirit. It is unfortunate that his tolerance is not
sufficiently large to embrace Theosophy which he includes among other ‘‘crude
and amazing cults” (p. 52). Possibly his excuse is that he has only heard of
Theosophy in connection with the travesty of it which has had so much pub¬
licity in India. In any case, we can assure him that Theosophy is not a cult,
much less a crude and amazing one.
It is really tragic that a book with so many excellent qualities should be
marred by a few passages which reveal, in our opinion, a complete misunder¬
standing of the character of the spiritual man. For example, he says: ‘‘No
man on earth has ever maintained spiritual poise all through his life. The
Jesus who declared that men must not resist evil if they are to become the
sons of the Father who makes his sun shine upon good men and bad, . . .
was the same Jesus who cursed the fig-tree and drove the tradesmen from the
temple” (pp. 113-114). In other words, while Jesus did not resist his personal
enemies, he did not hesitate to declare war against his Father’s enemies. What
is the paradox? We wonder what Dr. Radhakrishnan has to say concerning the
similar martial proclivities of the Avatars of Vishnu, Rama and Krishna. This
pacifist view of spirituality is not that of the Rishis; it reminds one painfully of
Gandhi and his swaraj. One ventures to suggest that it is not the least of the
causes of India’s present degradation.
How did this pacifism come into being? Perhaps, the long supremacy of
the priestly Brahmans has much to do with it. In any event, it is closely asso¬
ciated with the cult of “inaction” which is so vigorously condemned by the
Bhagavad Gita (Chapter III). Also it has flourished in conjunction with a
delusion, prevalent for many centuries in India, that it is possible to leap to
the Absolute in one bound. Nothing is quite so futile as to try to behave like
the Absolute, before we have learned to behave like men. S. L.
The Buddha and the Christ: An Exploration of the Meaning and of the Purpose
of Human Life; the Bampton Lectures of 1932; by Canon Burnett Hillman
Streeter; The Macmillan Company, 1933; price, S2.50.
The primary value of this volume lies in the fact that a man of the eminence
of Canon Streeter in the Anglican Church should actually have been commis¬
sioned to deliver the Bampton lecture on such a topic. An avowed student
since 1913 of “Comparative Religion”, Canon Streeter, on his appointment as
Bampton lecturer, made a special and extended tour of Japanese religious and
376
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
university centres, discussing Buddhism with the heads of various Buddhist
sects, studying their scriptures, witnessing the life lived by differing types of
adherents to Buddhism, lecturing to learned Buddhist audiences as a Christian
apologist, and receiving their return criticism in friendly controversy. This
special study followed an equally intense survey of the most recent scientific
theories of life, its meaning and purpose, as popularized by Jeans, Eddington,
Einstein, Balfour, Thomson and others,—a study which bore fruit in a recent
volume, Reality , which attempted to show that “Science and Religion are two
parallel avenues to a knowledge of Ultimate Reality”. As a result of this earlier
volume, Canon Streeter tells us he realized that “Religion” could not safely
be limited to Christianity; so he had undertaken an investigation of the other
great world religion, Buddhism.
This volume, therefore, explores the meaning and purpose of human life in
three comprehensive sets of terms,—Christian, Buddhist, and modem scientific.
To the student of Theosophy, the outcome is a very curious book. The same
ground has been covered in our literature, time and again. The problems raised
are familiar. As one reads, one is met with a tolerant spirit, sympathy, occa¬
sional humour, strong convictions temperately expressed, and much condensed
thinking. The manifest effort throughout has been to seek out the truth, and
the method of approach has been in large measure the Theosophic Method.
But the net impression is singularly weak and inconclusive. One’s interest in
such themes as the meaning of Pain, or of Immortality, is aroused only to be
left suspended between the various solutions offered. The Christian, and even
the scientific position, are presented with more cogency than the Buddhist, as
might perhaps be expected; but one also feels that the author’s fear of indulging
a Christian bias has robbed him of decisiveness. Moreover, exoteric, philo¬
sophic Buddhism no more represents the whole teaching of the Buddha than
Christian theology to-day represents the heart and mystery of Christ’s teaching
and example. Of the latter, Canon Streeter appears to have at least intuitive
recognition; of an esoteric Buddhism, none at all. As one reads, one misses
the illuminating insight of Mr. Johnston’s many expositions of Buddhism,
based on the teaching of Madame Blavatsky, to which readers of the Quar¬
terly have become accustomed. The conviction grows that no true synthesis,
no “Exploration of the Meaning of the Universe and of the Purpose of Human
Life” can be successful without a grasp of certain fundamental principles—
principles which are Theosophy. For example, Canon Streeter’s criticisms and
rejection of what he conceives to be the Buddhist teaching of Karma and Re¬
incarnation, and of Nirvana, hardly seem pertinent to what students of The¬
osophy understand by those terms—so wide are they of the mark. Similarly,
Gnostic elements in Christianity are dismissed on the assumption that everyone
agrees now-a-days that they are worthless philosophically. Again, he suggests
that Plato was too great an artist to commit himself specifically about after¬
death survival, and so cast his ideas avowedly in a “myth”; and that Christ,
likewise, repeatedly used the purely poetic image of a “Messianic Feast” to
characterize life in the next world. In effect, therefore, we are to suppose that
REVIEWS
377
however great the religious or philosophical teacher, nobody really could , or
in any case has , told us more about the mysteries of life than a highly educated
and conscientious University don can discover by diligent reading and thought
to-day. What does not meet with modern intellectual approval, is rejected,
even though a Gautama or a Jesus taught it.
As a result of this attitude, the net impression of the book is unfortunate.
The best that Canon Streeter has to offer us in the way of a constructive sug¬
gestion is borrowed from Chinese and Japanese canons of art: “The primary
aim of art is not realistically correct representation but the communication of
a spiritual apprehension” (p. 299). Buddha and Christ being great artists,
lead us towards, communicate to us, a new “spiritual apprehension”. Science
definitely fails us here, and, “To understand Reality these [art, poetry, music]
must be studied alongside of science” (p. 298). So far so good; but when Canon
Streeter tells us that supreme achievement in an art “in the last resort is a
matter of flair ” and that “the same thing holds in the matter of morals” (p.
240),—we wonder whether “the Purpose of Human Life” is to produce men
with a flair for morals, or whether he realizes the implications of such a thesis
propounded in these Freudian days.
The book as a whole may be regarded as a splendid advance over anything
similar produced by the generation which called forth H. P. B.’s Open Letter
to the Archbishop of Canterbury. It is significant to find the Bampton Trus¬
tees inviting a lecturer, not merely to compare Buddhism and Christianity,
with whatever light science may throw added, but to do this looking specifically
towards a better restatement, or solution, of life’s meaning and purpose, and
to have found a Canon of the Church of England eager to undertake the task.
But the very effort is foredoomed to inadequacy until such time as theologians
as well as scientists open their minds to the existence of the Wisdom Religion,
and bend their energies to the assimilation of iis profound truths. Q.
The Other Spanish Christ , by John A. Mackay; The Macmillan Company,
New York; price, $2.50.
Most North Americans are inclined to forget entirely the whole continent
of South America. Dr. Mackay’s book will not only make them aware of its
intense life and enormous possibilities, but will arouse in them questionings
as to their own problems and preoccupations. It is a most interesting work,
full of information and ideas, and written with a profound religious under¬
standing and broad tolerance.
Dr. Mackay first discusses the Spanish character and the religious ideas
peculiar to the Iberian temperament. He then takes up the history of these
ideas in the Latin American countries south of the Isthmus of Panama, leaving
aside Mexico because its religious history and anti-clerical struggles require a
volume to themselves.
The Iberian temperament will always be a fascinating study, and to those
378
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
who love it, a source of pride and sadness and of a hope that its great potentialities
may some day develop into a purified power. The history of the Conquest is
full of extraordinary paradoxes and contrasts. The Conquistadores managed
to combine blind religious dogmatism with an unbounded lust for gold and
ruthless cruelty. The banner of Spain still bears the colours of blood and gold,
sangre y oro. Yet, along with them went men with a spirit of heroic charity
and self-immolation. Pizarro and Las Casas!
Ricardo Rojas, in El Cristo Invisible , says that only in the sixteenth century
did the fourth of the Magi reach Bethlehem. Dr. Mackay remarks, “The
copper-coloured king came to Bethlehem, but it would seem as if, unlike the
three visitors from the East, it was the Virgin Mother who impressed him most.
At least he adopted the ‘young child and his mother’, and adapted him to his
primitive pagan taste.” He continues farther on: “But however much over¬
shadowed by His Mother, Christ, too, came to America. Journeying from
Bethlehem and Calvary, He passed through Africa and Spain on His long
westward journey to the pampas and cordilleras. And yet, was it really He who
came or another religious figure with His name and some of His marks?- Me-
thinks the Christ, as He sojourned westward, went to prison in Spain, while
another who took His name embarked with the Spanish crusaders for the New
World, a Christ who was not bom in Bethlehem but in North Africa. This
Christ became naturalized in the Iberian colonies of America, while Mary’s
Son and Lord has been little else than a stranger and sojourner in these lands
from Columbus’s day to this.”
And what is the nature of this Christ “bom in Tangiers”? He is either an
infant in arms whom one can patronize, or he is dead.
“In Spanish religion Christ has been the centre of a cult of death. And yet,
paradoxically enough, it was the passion for fleshly life and immortality that
created this interest in death.* The dead Christ is an expiatory victim. The
details of His earthly life are of slight importance and make relatively small
appeal. He is regarded as a purely supernatural being, whose humanity, being
only apparent, has little ethical bearing upon ours. This docetic Christ died
as the victim of human hate, and in order to bestow immortality, that is to
say, a continuation of the present earthly, fleshly existence. The contempla¬
tion of His passion produces a sort of catharsis, as Aristotle would say, in the
soul of the worshipper, just as in the bull-fight, an analogous creation of the
Spanish spirit, the Spaniard sees and feels death in all its dread reality in the
fate of a victim. The total sensation intensifies his sense of the reality and
terribleness of death; it increases his passion for life, and, in the religious realm,
makes him cling desperately and tragically to the dead Victim that died to give
him immortality.
“The Spanish religious passion for life has not, however, aimed at life in the
qualitative Johannine sense; it has been a craving not for regeneration, but for
immortality, for ‘total immortality in its vilest and sublimest meaning’. Its
supreme dread has thus been death not sin.”
He quotes a tragic and terrible passage from Miguel de Unamuno describing
REVIEWS
379
the Dead Christ of Palencia, which ends with the cry, “And Thou, Christ of
Heaven, redeem us from the Christ of earth”.
For there is “The Other Spanish Christ”, the Christ of the great Spanish
mystics, the Christ upon the Cross of Velasquez. He is the Living Christ.
“Henceforth the love of Christ will be the compelling motive of his life and not
the hope of reward or the fear of punishment, either in this life or in the life to
come. Religion is here a quality of life and not the simple prolongation of
existence. It is the passionate response of love and not a sordid appeal for
things. . . . Christ is for him our Life, our new, eternal life. He does not
immortalize life as it is, but transforms it into what life should be. The evi¬
dence, moreover, that we shall never die is not that we believe in our immor¬
tality but that we love.”
Dr. Mackay proceeds to find the influences of this Other Spanish Christ, first
in Spain and then in Latin America. Unfortunately, the Monarchy in Spain
was too bound up with the church, and sincerely religious people have been
unable to dissociate the principle of kingship from the abuses of the curia. Dr.
Mackay is one of them. His rejoicings over the new-born Republic strike one
with consternation, and they are doomed, we fancy, to fade out before the
reality if it be viewed without sentimentality. His chapters on new spiritual
currents in South America are intensely interesting. He describes these move¬
ments, Catholic, Protestant or social, with great detachment and impartiality.
Among these movements he discusses the influence of “Theosophy”. Unfor¬
tunately, Dr. Mackay knows nothing of the real Theosophy but judges it, as
does Count Keyserling, whom he quotes at great length, by its travesty at
Adyar. He seems to derive his information about Madame Blavatsky from a
book by Dr. J. N. Farquhar where she is described as “unsavoury” and an
impostor. When we see him place reliance upon such a source without real in¬
vestigation of the facts, we become doubtful of the correctness of his other
statements. Judging, however, by his evident desire to be impartial and
charitable, we feel that Dr. Mackay would be willing to be corrected in this
instance. Apart from these points on which we must disagree with him abso¬
lutely, his book is profoundly interesting and suggestive. We cannot but wish
that Dr. Mackay might become aware that it is in Theosophy that the teaching
of a Living Christ, of Living Masters, is to be found. St. C. LaD.
One purpose of reading is to make us keenly aware of what had been dim per¬
ceptions .— Commonplace Book.
Question No. 377. —The Theosophist believes that there is no such thing as chance, and that all
happenings are dictated by some need of the soul . How can this be expressed in the case of the
sorrmv of another without seeming detached and unsympathetic?
Answer. —There are many kinds and degrees of sympathy, as many kinds, perhaps, as there
are people; for the power to give true sympathy, and equally, it may be added, the ability and
will to receive it, are without limit. The need of every soul is different; the expression of our
sympathy for the troubles of a child (whether that child be five years old or fifty) would not
be the same as when we were wishing to share the sorrows of a grown man or woman. True
sympathy, however, does not lie in the outer expression, but in the inner understanding of
that which is at the root of the sorrow of another—whether that understanding be flattering
to the sufferer’s lower nature, or the reverse, for, in the last analysis, our sufferings are too often
wholly self-made. Therefore, in the profoundest sense, such sympathy is a matter of the
heart. During some sorrow’ of our own, we must all have recognized the difference between a
friend who sincerely and with genuine kindliness says, and perhaps mistakenly does a great
deal, and one who says almost nothing, and w’ho seems to do little, but who, as we know in
every part of us, really understands, and upon whose love and loyalty we know we can depend
to the death. When a friend has this kind of sympathy, it is a living thing , and we sense it as
we do all really living things, knowing that however great the detachment may appear, how¬
ever outwardly remote our friend may seem, soul is speaking to soul. But for this silent,
formless sympathy to do its w’ork, it must be truly alive.
So it is usually our ow’n fault, and due entirely to our own limitations, if we convey the impres¬
sion that we are “detached” in the cruder sense, or unsympathetic toward the sorrow of another.
T. A.
Answer. —Why should we appear detached and unsympathetic? We must take people
as we find them, speak to their needs on the plane on which they are. On that plane, their
sorrow is real to them, and our hearts may, perhaps, instinctively go out to them in sympathy,
especially if by chance we are able ourselves to see something of the probable purpose and mean¬
ing of their sorrow, and realize that they do not. We win them, we draw them, through our
sympathy, which, being real, enables us, perhaps, to say at the time some simple thing in their
own terms, arresting their attention, and affording something of consolation or hope which
they can grasp at the point at which they are. If they are left with a feeling of sympathetic
understanding on our part, the way may be clear for us later to impart gradually to them some¬
thing of a real comprehension of what has happened, and of the reasons for it; but we must
reach them, gradually, through sympathy. There is nothing whatever to be gained by telling
some one plunged in grief that everything is all right really, and explaining just why, and all
about it: quite the contrary. C. R. A.
Question No. 378. —We are told that matter as we know it is not matter, but merely a reflection ,
real matter being invisible to us. I do not understand.
Answer. —The Ancient Wisdom tells us that the visible universe is embodied consciousness,
380
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 381
a reflection of Reality. The Ancient Wisdom also tells us, however, that “matter”, or its
equivalent, exists on every plane of manifestation, growing denser and farther away from
Reality as it descends in the scale of life, but that the “eyes” with which to “see” it, must also
exist on every plane. Every student of Theosophy knows that man, a small universe in himself,
is composed of seven principles or “sheaths”; that the real is not the physical man with whom
he may daily converse; that, on the contrary, his real friend is the invisible soul, the spirit
living within the outer, visible vehicle. He cannot see in actual form or substance the soul
or spirit of his friend, but he may see these reflected in the face of his friend when he smiles,
or hear them in his friend’s spoken thoughts. And after all, how much there is, even on the
purely physical plane, that we cannot see, yet which we know is there. We see a “solid”
stone, but we cannot see unassisted, the infinitesimally fine, whirling particles—the molecules
and atoms—of which it is composed. We watch a small rainbow move slowly across our wall,
and we know that it is there because a shaft of light is falling on the bevelled edge of our
mirror on the other side of the room, and that the rainbow moves along its tiny course because
the earth is revolving around the sun, and the sun itself is moving onward in its eternal ways;
but can we actually see the sun and the earth moving, or the particles as they are split up in
that ray of light, save in the result —the little rainbow?
“Eyesight” on all planes must not only be developed but also perfected. We could not
actually see a Master with our ordinary eyesight, unless he were manifesting on the physical
plane, yet some stirring of our inner senses (a dawning inner sight—embryonic sight on a higher
plane) might convince us that that Master was close at hand. In Light on the Path we are told
that an Adept might live in the same house with us without our recognizing him for what he
was—an Adept. Our outer eyes would see the physical man, the vehicle; it would need inner
eyes to see and recognize the Adept. So it is with “matter”. What we now see is the vehicle,
the reflection of the Reality within; when we begin to develop inner eyesight, we shall begin to
perceive something more akin to real “matter”. T. A.
Answer. —The querent’s difficulty in understanding is at least reasonable, because it would
seem as if the whole of manifestation were directed to the end of enabling us finally to under¬
stand just this truth. It must, therefore, be both difficult to learn, because, so to speak, it
requires such an outlay, and also immensely worth while. A series of essays in the October,
1929, Quarterly under the title “Why I believe this to be a Shadow World”, offered six
pertinent attempts to answer it. A generation or two ago, physicists defined “matter” in terms
of the primitive stuff we contact in everyday life; but the logic of their own experiments with
earth, stone and metal, brought them to realize that these things were but tangible and sensible
semblances of inner, mobile forces. Change the force, and you changed the semblance, or the
“matter”. With the earlier limitations of their instruments for experimentation refined almost
beyond belief, the modem physicists still cannot penetrate behind the veil of matter, or within
its refined forms to the essence that lies behind its outer expression. We are told that only a
trained occultist can see the “real matter”—the substratum or essence that lies behind so many
manifested forms. And such a trained occultist seems to indicate to us that all matter, in¬
cluding “real” matter, is but a passing form in the periodic manifestation of spirit, which dis¬
appears during Pralaya. Wherever one begins, therefore, in the scale or hierarchy of evolution
—with stones, or thought-substance, or what not—that plane is but a reflection of something
higher. Contemplation, or experience, of the Universe itself, moreover, forces us back and back,
until we reach “God, who is our home”. Q.
NOTICE OF CONVENTION
The Theosophical Society
To the Branches of The Theosophical Society:
1. The Annual Convention of The Theosophical Society will be held at 64 Washington
Mews, New York, on Saturday, April 29th, 1933, beginning at 10: 30 a. m.
2. Branches unable to send delegates to the Convention are requested to send proxies.
These may be made out to the Secretary T. S., or to any officer or member of the Society
who is resident in New York or is to attend the Convention. These proxies should state
the number of members in good standing in the Branch.
3. Branch Secretaries kre asked to send their annual reports to the Secretary T. S. These
reports should cover the significant features of the year’s work and should be accompanied
by a complete list of officers and members, with the full name and address of each; also a
statement of the number of members gained or lost during the year; also a record of the place
and time of Branch meetings. These reports should reach the Secretary T. S. by April 1st.
4. Members-at-large are invited to attend the Convention sessions; and all Branch mem¬
bers, whether delegates or not, will be welcome.
5. Following the custom of former years, the sessions of the Convention will begin at 10; 30
a. m. and 2; 30 p. m.
6. On Sunday, April 30th, at 4: 30 p. m., tea will be served at 64 Washington Mews, to
delegates, members, and their friends.
Isabel E. Perkins,
Secretary , The Theosophical Society ,
_ t P- O. Box 64, Station 0 , New York, N. Y.
February 21st, 1933.
NOTICE OF MEETINGS
The regular meetings of the New York Branch of The Theosophical Society are held on
alternate Saturday evenings, at 64 Washington Mews, which runs from the east side of Fifth
Avenue, midway between Eighth Street and Washington Square, North. No. 64 is the first
studio east of Fifth Avenue, on the north side of the Mews. The meetings begin at half-past
eight, and close at ten o clock. There are meetings on,—
April 8th and 22nd.
Meetings after Convention to be announced later.
Out-of-town members of the Society are invited to attend these meetings whenever they
are in New York. Visitors who may be interested in Theosophy are always welcome. 7
382
INDEX TO VOLUME XXX
Bergson’s View of Mysticism; Stanley V. LaDow . 108
Madame Blavatsky’s Forbears; Charles Johnston . 12
Cave .11, 107, 205, 300
Chuang-Tze, II; Stanley V. LaDow . 17
Convention 1922; K (Reprint). 56
7 . C . 344
Descartes and the Eastern Wisdom; Stanley V. LaDow . 213
Discernment; 5 . 3 2 3
Dudley , Stuart . 260
Fascism; J. C . 344
Fragments; Cav 6 .11, 107, 205, 300
E.T. H .27, 122, 206
Johnston , Charles . 12
Judge , W.Q .27, 122, 206
Karma and Battle; Stuart Dudley . 260
G.M.W.K .148, 352
LaDow , Stanley V .17, 108, 213, 333
Letters from W. Q. Judge, V, VI, VII; E. T. H .27, 122, 206
Mahayana Buddhism, I; Stanley V. LaDow . 333
Material Wealth and Celestial Economics; Qucesitor . 241
Maxims of Rend Quinton, The; G.M.W.K . 148
Meditation, A; B.A.R . 258
Mitchell , J.F.B .130, 220
Myths of Plato, The; L. S . 238
Notes and Comments.5, 99, 195, 291
A Deluded Cock and a Very False Dawn; “Brave New World’’; “A
New Education for a New Time” (5). Is There Purpose In Evolution?;
The Universality of Life; The Biochemical and the Biopsychical; The
Science of Consciousness; The Interpretation of Dreams; The Evil
Eye; Physical and Spiritual Dynamics (99). Theosophy and Foreign
Missions; An Advance Towards Religious Tolerance; The Illusion
of Humanitarianism; A Model for Missionary Activity; Co-operation
and Competition; When Nature Clashes with Economics; Economic
Planning; Economic Law and Moral Law (195). The Law of Analogy;
The Power of Imponderables; Imponderables in Biology; Units of Life
and Units of Matter; Bacteria in Meteors; Aphanobionts; The Essen¬
tial Divinity of Matter (291).
On the Screen of Time; T .49, 170, 265, 355
One Purpose of the Theosophical Society; J. F. B. M . 220
Parable of the Persian Beggar, The; M . 119
Path of Beauty, The; Sauvage . 317
Psychoanalysis; L.S.W . 135
Qucesitor . 241
Questions and Answers. 95, 190, 287, 380
Reprint: Convention 1922; K . 56
Response to the Theosophical Appeal, A; G. M.W. K . 352
Reviews:
Ancient Beliefs in the Immortality of the Soul; Clifford Herschel Moore 280
383
3^4
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Ancients Civilizations of the Andes; Philip Ainsworth Means .
Angelus Silesius; trans. by J. E. Crawford Flitch .
L’Art Religieux apr&s le Concile de Trente; Emile Mdle .
Beginnings of Man, The; E. 0 . James .
Black Elk Speaks; transcribed by John Neihardt .
Blessed Spinoza; Lewis Browne .
Buddha and the Christ, The; Canon Burnett Hillman Streeter .
Edmund Burke; Rev. Robert H. Murray , Litt.D .
Cosmic Problems; J. S. Mackenzie .
Crusade for the Anemone; Princess Marthe Bibesco .
Dante: The Divine Comedy; Arthur H. Norway , C. B .
Earlier Religion of Greece, The; Sir Arthur Evans .
Fortune to Share, A; Vash Young. .
Fragments, Vol. I; Cav$ .
General Botany for Colleges; Dr. R. E. Torrey .
Golden Sequence, The; Evelyn Underhill. .:...
Great Pyramid in Fact and in Theory, The; William Kingsland ....
Idealist View of Life, An; 5. Radliakrishnan .
Indian Monk, An: His Life and Adventures; Shri Purohit Swami .. .
Land Locked Lake, The; Lt. Col. A. A. Hanbury-Sparrow .
Meditations on the Gospels; Bishop Ottokar Prohaszka .
Moral and Religious Aphorisms; Benjamin Whichcote .
Mystic Will, The; Howard Brinton .
Mysticism East and West; Rudolf Otto .
La Mythologie Asiatique Ulustrde; Librairie de France .
Nicholas of Cusa; Henry Bett .
Orient in American Transcendentalism, The; Arthur Christy , Ph.D. .
Other Spanish Christ, The; John A. Mackay .
Peace Veterans; Roger Burlingame .
Person of Evolution, The; W. D. Lighthall , LL.D .
Political Philosophy of Confucianism, The; Leonard Shihlien Hsii. . .
St. Augustine’s Conversion; W. J. Sparrow Simpson , D.D .
Samaritans of Molokai, The; Charles Dutton .
Secret Fire, The; E. J. Langford Garstin .
Secret of the Golden Flower, The; trans. by Richard Wilhelm .
Spinoza, Liberator of God and Man; Benjamin De Casseres .
Theurgy or the Hermetic Practice; E. J. Langford Garstin .
Thought Transference (or What?) in Birds; Edmund Selous .
Tongues of Fire; Grace H. Turnbull .
Vision of God, The; Rev. Kenneth E. Kirk .
War Memories; Princess Marie de Croy .
Wheel of Life, The; Rev. A. Henderson .
Wisdom of Egypt and the Old Testament, The; W. 0 . E. Oesterley , D.D.
Richness of Life; J. F. B. Mitchell .
B.A.R .
93
280
282
278
182
283
375
181
183
369
188
279
184
94
88
284
370
374
281
367
185
89
186
186
286
183
372
377
184
94
181
286
93
183
88
283
183
93
188
90
282
188
282
130
258
Sauvage
i54, 3i7
L.S .
Trees; Sauvage .
T .
Volunteer .
War Memories, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX; Volunteer
L.S.W .
. 238
. i 54
49 * 170* 265, 355
39 * 159 * 225, 301
39* 159* 225, 301
. 135
STANDARD BOOKS
Blavatsky, H. P. Isis Unveiled. Vow. I and II."«
Complete in one book.cloth, 7.5o
Key to Theosophy . doth . 2 - 26
Secret Doctrine, The, Vols. I and II and Index.. -doth, 10.00
Complete in one book, without subject-index volume, 7 *50
Theosophical Glossary .doth, 2.25
Transactions of the Blavatsky Lodge .doth. 2.50
Voice of the Silence .fabric, 1.00
Gave. Fragments, Volume I. boards, 1.50
Volume II. boaraa, 1.50
Volume III. boarda, 1.50
Gerard, John, Letters to Friends .boards, 1.75
Hillard, Katherine. Abridgment of the Secret Doctrine, .doth, 3.00
Johnston, Charles. Bhagavad Gita .Translated, amiotet^j^do^ 1.25
Crest Jewel of Wisdom, The .doth, 1.25
Great Upanishads, The, Volume I . doth, 1.50
Parables of the Kingdom, The .paper, .bo
PATANJALI’S Yoga Sutras .Translated, annotated; doth, 1.26
Song of Life, The .paper, .75
Judge, William Q. Bhagavad Gita .Edited; doth, 1.25; leather, 1.50
Echoes from the Orient .paper, .25
Letters That Have Helped Me, Volume I and II, each, .cloth, 1.00
Ocean of Theosophy .doth, 1.00
Patanjali’s Yoga Aphorisms .doth, 1.00
Keightley, Archibald. Theosophy as an Influence in Life paper, .20
LaDow, Stanley V. Plotinus ...paper, .50
Mitchell, Henry Bedinger. Meditation, Special edition, .20 1 paper, . 5 «
Talks on Religion . doth, 1.5c
Theosophical Society and Theosophy, The .paper, .2c
Sinnett, A. P. Esoteric Buddhism .doth, 2.5c
Occult World, The .doth, 2.51
Walker, E. D. Reincarnation . doth, 1.71
Idyll of the White Lotus. doth, 1 . 3 ?
Light on the Path.doth, .75
Through the Gates of Gold.doth, i.a<
THE QUARTERLY BOOK DEPARTMENT,
P. O. Box 64, Station O, New York.
Dbvotional: Bhagavad Gita: Crest Jewel of Wisdom; Fragments: The Great Upani-
shads; Letters That Have Helped Me; Utters to Friends; Light on the Path; The Par¬
ables of the Kingdom; The Song of Life; Through the Gates of Gold; Voice of the Silence.
Philosophical: Abridgment of the Secret Doctrine: Isis Unveiled; Key to Theosophy;
Plotinus: Reincarnation; The Secret Doctrine; Talks on Religion; Theosophical Glossary
Founded by 1$. P. Blavatsky at Hew Vork in 1875
HE Society does not pretend to be able to establish
at once a universal brotherhood among: men, but
only strives to create the nucleus of such a body*
Many of its members believe that an acquaintance
with the world's religions and philosophies will
reveal# as the common and fundamental principle
underlying these# that “spiritual identity of all Souls with the
Oversoul 99 which is the basis of true brotherhood l and many
of them also believe that an appreciation of the finer forces
of nature and man will still further emphasize the same idea*
The organization is wholly unsectarian# with no creed#
dogma# nor personal authority to enforce or impose; neither
is it to be held responsible for the opinions of its members#
who are expected to accord to the beliefs of others that
tolerance which they desire for their own*
The following proclamation was adopted at the Conven*
tion of the Society* held at Boston# April# 1595:
“The Theosophical Society in America by its delegatesand
members in Convention assembled# does hereby proclaim
fraternal good will and kindly feeling toward all students of
Theosophy and members of Theosophical Societieswherever
and however situated* It further proclaims and avers its
hearty sympathy and association with such persons and
organizations in all theosophical matters except those of
government and administration# and invites their cor¬
respondence and co-operation*
“To all men and women of whatever caste# creed* race# or
religious belief# who aim at the fosteringof peace, gentleness#
and unselfish regard one for another# and the acquisition of
such knowledge of men and nature as shall tend to the eleva¬
tion and advancement of the human race# it sends most friendly
greeting and freely proffers its services.
“It joins hands with all religions and religious bodies whose
efforts are directed to the purification of men's thoughts and
the bettering of their ways* and it avows its harmony there¬
with* To all scientific societies and individual searchers after
wisdom upon whatever plane# and by whatever righteous
means pursued# it is and will be grateful for such discovery
and unfoldment of Truth as shall serve to announce and con¬
firm a scientific basis for ethics ♦
“And lastly* it invites to its membership those who, seek-
in# a hifcher^Iife hereafter, would learn to know the path to
Applications for membership should be addressed to the
Secretary T. S., P. O. Box 64, Station O, New York.
Uncharted Knowledge
Wisdom From Previous Realities
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