Theosophy
The theosophical quarterly. Vol. 35
Theosophy
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CONTENTS OF VOL. XXXV, NO. 1
January, 1938
PAGE
NOTES AND COMMENTS. 5
FRAGMENTS. 18
WAR.
CYCLIC LAW IN BIOLOGY. 24
THE EMPEROR AKBAR. 32
WITHOUT CENSOR, XI. 45
PRAYER-WHEELS OR POWER?. 55
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME. 62
REVIEWS. 74
CORRESPONDENCE. 8 3
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS: Notice . 87
Entered as second-class matter September 5 . 1923. at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., under the
Act of March 3, 1879.
Copyright, 1938, by The Theosophical Soriety
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.
caste or colour. The subsidiary objects are : 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 Theosophical Quarterly is the official organ of the original
Theosophical Society founded in New York by H. P. Blavatsky,
W. Q- Judge and others, in 1875. . .
We have no connection whatsoever with any other organization
calling itself Theosophical, formerly headed by Mrs. Besant, nor
with similar bodies, the purposes and methods of which are wholly
foreign to our own .
Editors, The Theosophical Quarterly.
JANUARY, 1938
in thic 7 V '’ ’ w responsible Jor any opinion or declaration
US ma £ azme < b y whomsoever expressed, unless contained in an official document.
E CONOMICS or political economy has been defined as “the science
which investigates the production, distribution and consumption of
, ° r t ie matenal means of satisfying human desires”. It has
fvin n v C h ^ d ’ S " al SCienCe ”’ bUt the Study ° f “ the material -eans of satS
fying human desires can become an affair of absorbing interest. Let no one
“hiVher rf S Th V?*? 1S t0 ° S ° rdid t0 concern an aspirant towards some
gher life . The light of the firefly is one with the light of the sun. Nature
cannotT* 6 AS a banker recentl y remarked, economic principles
satisfy huTn d ^ *** to “ ^ ****"■ ^ ^tempL
satisfy human desires uncloses many possibilities of strange and dangerous
adventure, for some desires cannot, and others ought not, to be satisfied
Moreover, the laws of eternal Nature operate as inexorably in the commerce
of mankind as m the harmony of the spheres, or the interaction of physiological
functions, or the communion of the heavenly host. Long experience has re-
! ea . edC ® " Cementary economic Principles upon which the existence of any
social order depends. In so far as we understand them, we are helped to an
understanding of cosmic and spiritual principles to which these correspond.
At the present time, men everywhere are throwing overboard the accumulated
experience of centuries and are devising schemes to circumvent the “natural^
aw the jus gentium of the Roman jurists, which is indispensable and common^
raT s^nd The ^ ft T 656 deViCeS haVC b6en tfied before with lamentable
results, and they cannot fail to bring disaster again
It is the duty of the student of Theosophy to face realities, to combat error
to seek truth. Nowhere is the distinction between truth and error more clearly
seen than in the economic domain, where men are constantly forced to choose
between honest commerce and one or another form of brigandage. The student
of Theosophy who is indifferent to the phenomena of the market-place is
neglecting an opportunity to acquire knowledge.
5
6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
The Law of Supply and Demand
“Honest commerce” implies the right of the individual to hold and to transfer
property. If A possess something which B wants, B can steal it; or he can
beg for it; or he can barter, offering in exchange for it something which he him¬
self possesses. Under normal conditions, the exchange of goods or capital or
labour, according to the rules of honest commerce, is regarded as a more re¬
spectable enterprise than banditry or mendicancy.
But what is honest commerce? According to a venerable standard, it is
commerce which is regulated by the law of supply and demand. This law
merely affirms the simple fact that the natural price of a commodity is de¬
termined by the varying ratio between the quantity which is offered for sale
and the quantity which is wanted by buyers: when the supply is greater than
the demand, the price falls; when the demand is greater than the supply, the
price rises. The price thus determined at any given moment is said to be a fair
basis of exchange.
The law of supply and demand functions in conjunction with the maxim,
Caveat emptor , “Let the buyer beware”. This is not an invitation to sharp
practice on the part of the seller. It merely affirms that the purchaser should
examine what he buys, and that he acts on his own judgment and at his own
risk. It is the duty of the seller not to deceive the buyer, but he is free to sell
or not to sell at his own discretion and on his own terms,—as the buyer is free
to buy or not to buy.
The law of supply and demand is not properly appreciated by people who
want to get something for nothing or for less than it is currently worth. It
has always been defied, more or less openly, by nations and groups and indi¬
viduals with predatory instincts. But it cannot be defied with impunity. The
financial and social convulsions of the contemporary world are due, in no small
measure, to the desperate attempts of nations and organized mobs to outwit
the law of supply and demand, and to take what does not belong to them by
methods which are not those of honest commerce. Frederick the Great said
that one could always find a “philosopher” to justify any villainy. Our insti¬
tutions of learning are not without doctors of economics who call banditry and
mendicancy by other names, and then plead their cause.
The Labourer and His Hire
Intellectuals and demagogues are fond of contrasting what they call “human
rights” and “property rights”. It is argued that labour is not a commodity;
that labour has a right to a living wage; that labour is entitled to a larger share
in the proceeds of capital, etc., etc. It might be suggested that labour leaders
are almost the only people to-day who treat the labouring man like a commod¬
ity. However, whether an individual be a bank president, or a clerk in a grocery,
or a founder in a steel mill, he is employed and paid, not because he has a “human
right” to employment and a “living wage”, but because he renders certain
services which deserve a certain recompense. If he fail to perform those ser¬
vices, his employer has no obligation to keep him. “The labourer is worthy of
NOTES AND COMMENTS
7
his hire.” When the law of supply and demand operates without too much
human meddling, the hire is, as it were, automatically proportioned to the
employer’s need for an individual labourer. A wise employer is willing, even
eager, to divide a larger share of his profits with any employee who is helping
him to improve his business. If the employee be really receiving less than his
due, he can demand and get better terms from his employer’s competitors, or
he can set up in trade for himself. If a man’s work be mediocre, no one will
voluntarily pay him more than he is worth. If his work be valueless, no one
will voluntarily employ him at all. This may sound disagreeable to modem
ears; but it is in accordance with the natural law, to which Darwin so forcibly
called attention, that existence is a struggle which only the fit and worthy sur¬
vive. “Competition is the life of trade.” Emulation, the desire to equal or
excel, is a mighty stimulus. In a higher form, it would seem to be indistinguish¬
able from the disciple’s aspiration to grow in likeness to the Master. In the
life of the ordinary man, the sense of honest rivalry quickens effort and makes
him work hard and cheerfully. It is probable that there would be fewer “mental
cases” and fewer “unemployables”, if employers were more free to deal with
labouring men as individuals and were not so often compelled to bargain with
them as a class or a group.
The facts are that the superior members of any group or class are necessarily
and invariably in a minority, and that, in the field of Labour, it is the more
skilled and responsible minority who suffer, both financially and morally, by their
forced association with, and domination by, the lazy and less skilled but bully¬
ing majority. The avowed aims of Labour (or Trade) Unionism are to abolish
competition between workmen; to slow down production to the average per¬
formance—which means inclination—of the majority, and to prohibit special
rewards for special service or ability. That these aims were given practical
effect in Soviet Russia, with the result that production fell to zero, compelling
the Soviet dictators to reverse their policy, and to introduce a harsher form of
competition than any which capitalism had imagined,—is taboo as a subject
of conversation in Labour circles.
The intellectuals and sentimentalists attempt to meet these facts on the
ground that it is the average, the “forgotten” man, who needs protection, and
that it is their duty, as the saviours of mankind, to see that he gets^ regard¬
less, presumably, of the industrial and racial deterioration involve<^ r But the
truth is that the keen competition between employers to secure the best type
of labour, affords abundant protection for the average workman, because this
competition covers the entire scale of wages, and, in addition, the “working
conditions” in one plant as compared with those in another. Thus, thousands
of dollars are spent by relatively small corporations to supply iced water during
the summer, and, during the winter, the stifling heat which the American work¬
man loves, in order to make working conditions competitively attractive. In
the same way, and irrespective of possible gratitude, an employer will create
work for an old employee for long after the employee has ceased to be of com¬
mercial value, knowing that consideration of that kind will tend to attract
8
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
first class men from neighbouring plants. In brief, whenever the law of supply
and demand is allowed to take its unimpeded course, it can be relied on to
counteract the effects of man’s inherent selfishness.
Some of the confusion which exists under this head is due to the misleading
use of the term, Labour. The so-called labouring class includes a noisy element
who have no intention of working except under dire compulsion. It is an insult
to common sense to speak of “the workers”, as if they were all alike, as if they
did not differ widely as regards skill, industry, thrift and honesty. “Collective
bargaining” has not only become a means of sacrificing the superior individual
to the mob, but also frequently disrupts the whole economic order by imposing
upon the employer a wage-scale which is entirely disproportionate to the ser¬
vices rendered by the employees. His only chance of remaining in business is
then to raise the price of his goods to absorb the increased cost of production
and distribution. This may mean that he can no longer meet the prices of his
competitors, while, if they are similarly situated, and prices become higher
than customers are willing to pay, trade stops, and the over-paid employees
are no longer paid at all. The extreme depression of the building industries in
New York illustrates how trade can be paralyzed by the demands of labour
leaders who respect no laws, human or divine.
A Natural Economy
The term, Laissez jaire , is misinterpreted to-day to mean an easy-going toler¬
ance of evils, but to the school of eighteenth century economists who originally
used it, it stood for the proposition that “it is the function of the state so to
govern as not to interfere with the natural processes of society and industry”.
It was based on the theosophic principle that law operates everywhere, and
that man’s well-being lies in recognizing and obeying natural law, not in trying
to contravene it. The idea was developed in protest against “mercantilism”,
the “planned” economy of the time. The governments of the eighteenth
century regarded the “rationalization” of trade and the control of markets as
part of their function; and, as always happens under such conditions, the course
of prices had become arbitrary and incalculable. Quesnay and his followers
held to the truth, demonstrated by experience, that if prices were left freely to
shift for themselves in accordance with actual supply and demand, “natural
processes” would automatically tend to diminish an excessive supply, and to
check an excessive demand. If the price of a commodity were too high, it
would stimulate sellers to produce and to offer it in increasing quantity; if the
price were too low, production would cease. Thus a “natural economy” would
balance itself.
The most cursory observation of Nature justifies this conclusion. Biologists
have noted that under natural conditions no species of plant or animal can
multiply unduly in a locality, without a corresponding increase in the number
of its natural enemies. If there be too many rabbits or squirrels in our fields
and woods, we shall witness an invasion of hawks and owls. On the other
hand, it is part of the function of hawks and owls, in the biological economy, to
NOTES AND COMMENTS
9
wander from place to place in search of a region where rabbits and squirrels
are excessively abundant.
It is a theosophical hypothesis that, on the higher planes of Nature, supply
attracts demand and demand attracts supply. Man could not imagine, much
less aspire towards a superior consciousness, if there were not in the world an
accumulation of spiritual energy to inspire him,—the “deposit of faith” left
by all who have attained knowledge and sanctity. The disciple who effectively
demands the Master’s aid, finds at his disposal an inexhaustible treasure of
wisdom and power.
The economic activities of men would, indeed, be simplified, if there were no
interference with “natural processes”. But alas, man ceased to be “natural”
ages before the beginning of what we call history,—which is thus largely the
record of his efforts to substitute his own for the Divine will, and of the dis¬
asters which he suffers in consequence.
Business Cycles
Whether they like it or not, men are still constrained to live under the dominion
of natural laws. Economic processes cannot be isolated from cosmic processes.
In economic writings, for example, there is frequent reference to “business
cycles . Every known economic order has been subject to fluctuations of
fortune, to alternations of good times and bad, which recur with a certain
regularity. There exists a notion to-day that these undulations point to de¬
fects in the order itself; that a properly planned econo ly would be perma¬
nently stable; that there would be no business cycles in a commonwealth where
production and credit were controlled by science. No one will deny that the
normal effects of the business cycle are aggravated and modified by human
folly and dishonesty; but the cycle itself is part of Nature and depends upon
causes, both psychic and physical, far removed from scientific restraint.
Not only the functions of our bodies but the moods of our consciousness
change periodically, for we live in a universe which is always in a state of rhythmic
motion. Cyclic law governs every detail of our inner and outer existence. In¬
deed, this is a cause, not for complaint, but for thanksgiving. If it were no^
so, we should not be compelled to keep awake, to put forth effort. The retm^
ing cycles provide the only possible opportunity to learn and profit from mis¬
takes, to test judgment, to grow strong.
One immediate physical cause of instability in any economic order, is the
cyclic increase and decrease of agricultural production. Within certain limits,
man has been able to reduce the menace of repeated famines, but he cannot
prevent the fundamental alternation of abundance and scarcity. This rhythm
is determined by cosmic agencies.
For instance, meteorologists are at last convinced that there is a connection
between weather changes and the sunspot cycle. We quote from an article in
the Scientific American , November, 1937, by Dr. Harlan T. Stetson of the
Mg^rchusetts Institute of Technology:
10
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
H. Helm Clayton, who has spent many long years in the Weather Bureau service,
... is a firm believer that changes in the sun are accompanied by the fundamental
. changes in the earth’s atmosphere, and has found definite indications that changes in
the earth’s atmosphere in different parts of the world accompany the appearance
and disappearance of sunspots throughout the n-year cycle. He has not only shown
certain definite relations between temperature and sunspots over definite parts of the
globe, but he has shown why many investigators have failed to find such a relationship.
. . . Dr. Abbot’s long investigations of solar variations and weather at the Smithsonian
Institute have convinced him that the sunspot period is an important factor in untangling
the vagaries of the weather. He finds that the variations in the sun’s heat and in the
weather really appear to comprise 12 or more regular periods, the most conspicuous of
which is a period of 23 years, equal to twice the average sunspot cycle. Observations
show that when we are concerned with the electrical nature of sunspots, 23 years really
elapse between the recurrence of sunspot cycles of the same kind. The examination of
weather records at strategic points, Dr. Abbot says, shows very definitely this long
period of weather variation covering 23 years.
Obviously this branch of meteorology is in its infancy, but enough informa¬
tion has already been tabulated to support Jevons’s theory that the expansions
and contractions of trade and credit are affected by the course and intensity
of cyclones on the sun. As sunspots change, so changes the weather, and as
the weather changes, crops become abundant or deficient and the buying power
of the average mortal increases or declines. While both the farmer and the
business-man should prepare in advance for “bad years”, nothing can be done
directly to alter the situation, for no scientist is likely to discover a way of
regulating sunspots; nor should we conclude that sunspot periods are the only
cosmic cycles connected with the rise and fall of human fortunes. Man’s moods
and faculties are no less susceptible than his physical life to all the great tides
of Nature.
The immediate point is that business cycles are as natural and as inevitable
as the alternation of day and night, winter and summer, waking and sleeping.
The law of periodicity is incessant and universal. “The appearance and dis¬
appearance of Worlds is like a regular tidal ebb of flux and reflux.” We do
not begin to suspect the manifold ways in which man affects and is affected
by the succession of the cycles, great and small, of the universe. As an Eastern
Master has written: “Even simple muscular contraction is always accom¬
panied with electric and magnetic phenomena, and there is the strongest con¬
nection between the magnetism of the earth, the changes of the weather and
man , who is the best barometer living, if he but knew how to decipher it prop¬
erly.”
Booms and Panics
Business cycles come and go, testing courage and endurance and faith. If
we were all as wise and as provident as the Patriarch Joseph, we should be
able to bear the lean years without undue strain and worry. But men have a
fatal capacity for turning success into a South Sea Bubble, and depression
into a Black Friday. During the past decade, we have had the privilege of
observing and even of participating in a gigantic boom followed by a gigantic
panic. It is impossible to blame the weather or any physical variable for what
NOTES AND COMMENTS
ii
has happened. At least during the early phase of the panic, Mother Earth
was more than usually generous and bountiful. The seat of the trouble was
and is unregenerate human nature. Too many people failed, first to stand the
strain of pleasure, and then to stand the strain of pain.
As has been said, there was a crisis of spiritual unemployment before physical
unemployment became epidemic. The economic collapse reflects a world-wide
moral break-down. The law of supply and demand was so outrageously vio¬
lated by the overproduction of luxuries and by the reckless extension of credit
during the era of post-war speculation, that men lost confidence, not only in
the stability of values, but in the ability or willingness of individuals to pay for
anything which they bought. Even so, the ensuing depression might have
cured itself, and confidence might have revived, if there had been a general
recovery of ethical standards. Such a recovery has occurred before during
periods of financial calamity, and has marked a real turning-point. But where
are the signs that a moral renaissance is taking place?
Without doubt, there are individuals who have grown in wisdom and in
virtue during these years; but with few exceptions they are not leaders of public
opinion. In many respects, the efforts to recover from the depression are more
depressing than the depression itself, for they are largely based upon the de¬
lusion that prosperity can be restored and made permanent by intensifying,
through a “planned economy”, those violations of natural law which destroyed
it. The resulting incoherence and confusion have weakened still further the
citizen’s confidence in himself and in others.
Planned Economy
It is everyone’s duty to plan his own economy and, sometimes, that of others
for whom he is responsible; but he must do this in obedience to law. Joseph
was an “economic manager”, in the best sense of the term. Let it be noted,
however, that he did*not prescribe how much com the farmers of Egypt should
plant each year. He let Nature and Providence determine the size of the
harvest. He stored and did not destroy any annual surplus. He did not inflate
credit to raise prices.
As a matter of fact, the prototype of the contemporary “economic manager”
is not Joseph, but the French King, Philippe le Bel, who sought to fill an en^ty
treasury by robbing the Templars, the bankers of his time, and by de®Rng
the currency. This is not the first era which has experimented with managed
money and unbalanced budgets, with controlled production and fixed prices,
with trade restrictions and confiscatory taxation, etc., etc. If a Roman banker
or merchant of the Empire were suddenly to appear in our midst, he might
fancy that he was continuing the same old nightmare.
Nightmares can end, for not infrequently the natural forces working for
recovery triumph, in spite of all the “plans” of mortal men. But this can
happen only when there is a sufficient realization that it is in the long run less
jpainful to co-operate with natural laws than to treat them with indifference
febr contempt. Recent events in the United States should have awakened many
12
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
from their dreams. The Wall Street “panic’' of 1937 may serve as an example.
Doubtless, there were many reasons why stocks should have begun to decline
during the late summer; but it has been evident enough to observers with
practical experience that the violence and abruptness of the break were due
primarily to the artificial limitation of normal market operations. In theory,
the regulation of the Stock Exchange by the Federal Government was intended
to protect the investor from the speculator, but in practice it made impossible
any normal interaction of supply and demand. As a result the unpleasant
experiences of 1929 were repeated. However, this time “it happened that
way”, not because of the mania of private bankers and speculators, but because
legislators and administrators without practical knowledge had so restricted
the buying and selling of securities that even prudent investment carried an
inordinate risk. As a commentator remarked, “You cannot possibly get more
wisdom out of a head than is actually there. A little more humility and a little
less arrogance are suggested.”
The Case for Individualism
Not many years ago, at least in England and France and America, the average
citizen would have vigorously resented the idea that a group of professors or
young intellectuals could plan his life and manage his business more wisely
and successfully than himself. It is easy to argue that the average citizen is so
incapable of administering his own affairs that he should be glad to put them
in the hands of anyone who claims superior knowledge. Of course, he should
seek and welcome all the help that he can get. But this scarcely implies that
it is the proper function of the state to treat all of its citizens alike as if they
were wards or incompetents.
It is significant that the laissez faire theory, the faith and reliance upon natural
law which is to-day so scorned, prevailed during a period when great stress
was laid upon the rights and responsibilities of individuals. The nineteenth
century was, in particular, an age of great individuals, of genius, not only in
commerce and empire-building, but in the arts and sciences, and in the domain
of religious experience and pure thought. The individual who malingered or
shirked was not regarded with favour by our grandparents, nor would they
have found acceptable the doctrine that industry and thrift should be taxed to
the limit in order to care for the shiftless and inept.
To-day it is fashionable to accuse the leaders of the nineteenth century of
indifference to the needs of the majority of mankind. It is possible that they
overestimated the capacity of the ordinary individual to care for himself;
that some of them—not all, by any means—did not worry much about the fate
of the “underprivileged”. Nevertheless, it is invigorating to recall two truths
for which the nineteenth century stood, and for which Theosophy stands be¬
cause they are based upon Nature and common-sense. There is the truth that
theory must be confirmed and tested by experience. The best judge of the
candle business is not someone who writes a doctor’s dissertation upon the
subject, but a candle-merchant who has grown up and lived with the business;
NOTES AND COMMENTS
13
as the best judge of spiritual values is the man who daily and hourly seeks to
embody them in his life. There is also the truth that individual consciousness
is so precious in itself that, in its perfected form, it may well be described as
the supreme end of evolution. “The Universe exists for purposes of Soul.”
Society exists for the sake of the individuals who compose it. It is their duty
to learn to co-operate, to recognize that in essence their several selves are un¬
divided fragments of One Self. But the fact remains that no group can become
superior unless it produce individuals who are superior themselves, and who,
by the force of their example, evoke the superior qualities of others. There
can be no Grande Arm6e unless there be a Napoleon to lead it. Christianity
becomes a confused mass-phenomenon, perverting truth, whenever it is sepa¬
rated from the living reality of the Christ.
It would seem, therefore, that our economic managers persistently work
against Nature, in so far as they suppress both individual initiative and the
opportunities for the development of individual responsibility. In economics,
as in every department of life, the words of the Bhagavad Gita may be taken
as a guide: “Better one’s own duty without excellence than the duty of another
well followed out. Death in one’s own duty is better; the duty of another is
full of danger.’’
The state has its own duties which are arduous enough to kill out political
ambition in anyone who has some awareness of his limitations; but it is not
more difficult “so to govern as not to interfere with the natural processes of
society and industry”, than to attempt to govern on the theory that natural
processes are immoral and must be reversed. It is the evident duty of the state
to frame and enforce laws which are concordant with natural laws; to guard
the lives, the property and the honest commerce of its citizens from the mur¬
derer and the thief; to prevent the selfish and reckless exploitation of natural
resources; to organize and maintain a system of national defence; etc., etc.
But, in every instance, these duties are fundamentally concerned with the
protection of the individual citizen from injustice and rapine, and, pr^erly
performed, would leave him free to work out his own salvation with a fuPKnse
of responsibility for the outcome. A country thus governed would produce a
race of men,—instead of parasites.
Collective Banditry
Indeed, in practice if not in theory, a state-planned economy is most often
merely a system of organized banditry whereby, to curry favour with a group
or class, politicians give them a sort of franchise to rob and plunder the rest
of the community, or cause the government to do the plundering for them
Lunder the guise of taxation. This is manifestly the case in Soviet Russia, where
the process of burglary has proceeded so far that the burglars possess all the
property and are resorting to the expedient of robbing one another. But the
symptoms of collective greed can be observed in nations and groups much
nearer home.
14
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Class consciousness is, of course, not reprehensible in itself. A man cannot
and should not forget that he belongs by birth and nurture to a certain level in
the social scale. However, classes, like individuals, fulfil their respective func¬
tions by co-operating, by complementing one another. The class war is a dis¬
ease of society. Like planned economy, it is not new. There were uprisings
of the masses in Athens and Rome; mediaeval Europe had its jacqueries and
peasants’ revolts. Then, as now, these mob movements were not spontaneous,
but were fomented by dreamers and agitators, and by the tribe of those who
fish in troubled waters.
The present epidemic of class envy is none the less distinguished by its scope
and virulence. One can suggest various reasons for its rapid spread,—the
growth of democracy, the materialistic trend of education, the ease of modem
communications, the over-development of city life, the substitution of the
machine for the artisan, the recurrent crises of unemployment, etc., etc. But
there is evidence that a more subtile force is at work. Modem mass move¬
ments, in Russia and Germany and elsewhere, are comparable to the great
waves of emotional mania and hysteria, often assuming a religious mask, which
have from time to time swept over the globe, changing the course of races and
peoples. One recalls, in particular, the torrent of Mohammedan conquest
which almost engulfed Europe.
The typical contemporary fanatic is the devotee of some scheme for dividing
the property of the “haves” among the “have nots”. He has his “scriptures”
and his “creed” and his “high priests”, his conceptions of orthodoxy and heresy.
Like every fanatic, he hates the heretic more than he hates the infidel. Thus
the Fascists and Communists—to mention an outstanding example—are as
irreconcilable as the Catholics and Protestants who devastated Europe with
their wars three hundred years ago. But what are the fundamental differences
between them? As far as the individual is concerned, he is almost equally
enslaved under either system, although he may perhaps live longer and less
uncomfortably under a fascist regime. In any case, there is essential identity
of motive,—to appropriate what does not belong to them. Perhaps, as Mr.
Walter Lippmann suggests, the fascist powers “have converted the struggle
between Haves and Have Nots at home into a struggle between Haves and
Have Nots in international affairs”, while the Communists still concentrate on
the fomenting of class strife within each nation.
However, whatever may be the various phases of collective greed, the modem
civilized order is threatened in its very life by a “revolt of the masses” delib¬
erately incited by “intellectuals”, and by politicians seeking their own aggran¬
dizement. As Gustave Le Bon has made clear, the individual incorporated in
a mob, is capable of crimes which he would not commit in his normal “isolated”
state. To-day there are multitudes who seem to have surrendered what little
individual character they may have had, and who have, as it were, blended
their identity with that of the mob to which they belong. There are thousands
of such mobs, or “pressure groups”, loose in the world, mobilized for plunder.
When they attain their ends through political agents, the result is, as we have
NOTES AND COMMENTS
iS
noted, most frequently called a “planned economy”. One is reminded of a
comment in Petrie’s Revolutions of Civilization:
When democracy has attained full power, the majority without capital necessarily
eat up the capital of the minority, and the civilization steadily decays, until the inferior
population is swept away to make room for a fitter people. The consumption of all the
resources of the Roman Empire, from the second century when democracy was dominant,
until the Gothic kingdom arose on its ruins, is the best known example in detail.
The Mediaeval Conception of Society
The Goths were themselves not averse to loot and plunder when they entered
the Roman domain. But after they had become settlers there, they revealed
a capacity for hard work which must have astonished the natives who had
been living for generations upon the savings of others. The same phenomenon
was repeated in many parts of the stricken empire, notably in Gaul after the
arrival of the Franks. Thus a new civilization, the mediaeval, was born from
the ashes of the old, in many ways copied from ancient models, but still essen¬
tially sui generis and unique. It grew through the accumulation of capital,
that is, of goods produced by labour and sacrifice, and used to promote the
production of other goods instead of being consumed on the spot.
The Middle Ages had plenty of defects and disadvantages, nor was mankind
more immune then than now to vice and brutality and stupidity. But under¬
lying and supporting mediaeval civilization, even in its debased forms, was a
magnificent idea, a conception of Nature, which lives in its religion and philos¬
ophy and art, and which had a profound influence upon the organization of its
society.
According to this conception, Nature is a hierarchy comprising all beings
in a graduated order from the highest to the lowest. It is the proper function
of each being to serve those above it in the hierarchy, and to protect those
below. At the summit of this host is the Divinity, the Eternal God, who pro¬
tects all and whom all should serve; and because the life of all creatures emanates
from Him, the least manifestation of that life has a certain dignity, a certain
nobility of ultimate origin, which commands wonder and respect.
It is this majestic view of the universe which is reflected in the sculptures of
the cathedrals, as it is also mirrored in the constitution of mediaeval society
which represents an attempt—in part, at least, a conscious and inspired attempt
—to imitate in the social order the divine order of Nature. One remembers
the words of a Master of the Great Lodge during the last century: “But you
must know and remember one thing—we but follow and servilely copy Nature
in her works.” This sentence might have served as a motto expressing the
ideal which the mediaeval genius sought to embody.
The guild system, the orders of craftsmen, the feudal hierarchy with the
consecrated monarch at its head, were intended to be as interdependent, as
comp®ientary, as the divisions of the heavenly host. The extraordinary
fact is that although the Middle Ages had what might be called a planned
economy, it was an economy planned in subordination, not to personal envy
i6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
and fancy, but to a vision of the fundamental nature of things. The primary
characteristic of the whole construction is that a place was reserved for every¬
one who was willing to work and, first of all, to prepare himself for better work
by a long apprenticeship. The individual was free to exercise his profession
in the state to which it had pleased God to call him. But whether he were a
coppersmith or a knight, he was expected to exercise his right to work in con¬
junction with his duty to serve his superiors and to protect his inferiors.
The religious order, embodied in the Church, completed the secular order.
The ideal, as Dante and others conceived it, was that, by the force of con¬
templation and consecrated action, the religious order should transmit and make
explicit to men the design of Divine Nature. The Church failed, partly because
it lost faith in its own mission, partly because its leaders were distracted by
worldly ambitions. The secular order of the Middle Ages could not survive
the collapse of the religious order, for the spectacle of the Divine Hierarchy
which had inspired it, faded away.
Moral Rules and Natural Laws
A student of Theosophy can conceive of only one conclusion: men must
live by certain fundamental principles, if they are to live at all. There is a
“scientific basis of ethics”. Moral rules, in so far as they are really efficacious,
correspond to natural laws, which are absolute, implacable and immutable.
“The things which give birth to harmony and peace”, said Spinoza, “are those
which have reference to justice, equity and honourable dealing.” Nothing
which is persistently unjust, inequitable, dishonourable, can endure in the
universe.
Certainly there is a distinction between the justice of men and the justice
of God. The moral rules which prevail at any time or place, are incomplete,
imperfect, subject to constant amendment and improvement. But the basic
rules and customs which endure from generation to generation, have the sanc¬
tion of experience and experiment. They have what biologists call “survival
value”. Their very persistence testifies to their validity, and measures their
conformity to the eternal standards prescribed by Nature for the human king¬
dom. The modern mind is too often educated to believe that our conceptions
of good and evil can be changed at will to suit convenience and expediency.
A man can become more just and honourable to-morrow than he is to-day,
because he is capable of expanding infinitely his understanding of the ideal of
justice. However, the growth of understanding is an organic process, including
in each successive increase, the essence of all past discoveries of truth. The
gentleman has a more refined standard of honesty than the ordinary man;
but he does not reject what is worthy in the ordinary man’s standard; he does
not regard petty larceny as justifiable merely because his ideal of honour does
not condone modes of behaviour which seem to others innocent and harmless.
An individual or a society, which deliberately despises the laws of Nature
revealed by experience, must repent or perish. If our civilization finally lapse
into such chaos that no endeavour of God or man can save it, it will be de-
NOTES AND COMMENTS i 7
stroyed, and a new civilization will take its place. But let us have no illusions.
This “new world”, if it come, will not be a “new deal”. The natural law of all
worlds is the same, without change or turning, now and for ever.
The Firm Establishment of the Law
There are the words of Krishna in the Gita: “Whenever there is a withering
of the law, O son of Bharata, and an uprising of lawlessness, then I manifest
myself. For the salvation of the righteous, and the destruction of such as do
evil, for the firm establishment of the Law I come to birth in age after age.”
According to a universal tradition, the “Gods” intervene actively in the
affairs of men when there is a grave crisis of civilization. Theosophy identifies
these “Gods” with the Masters of the Great Lodge, the <ffite of humanity,
the assemblage of those who, like the Buddha and the Christ, have conquered
unwisdom and mortality, and who labour, century after century, to lift man¬
kind towards their own state of freedom and enlightenment. But they labour
in vain, unless individuals living in the world respond to them. It is the theme
of the scriptures of all races and ages, that the “Lords of Compassion” are in
desperate need of helpers on the plane where we live.
If a sufficient number of individuals answer the call of the Great Lodge
to-day, the mediaeval dream of a spiritual order within and above the secular
order can be realized, in a degree which Dante himself could scarcely have
imagined as possible. The vision of the Divine Hierarchy, the model for all
earthly societies, would be renewed and clarified. But one may suggest that
between the mediaeval dream and the reality, there must be this distinction:
the members of a real spiritual order are—if we understand correctly—not
necessarily recognized as such by the world, nor are they necessarily with¬
drawn, save in the freedom of their spirit, from the world, nor do they, in any
sense, constitute a "vested interest” like the medieval Church. The outer
activities of the “spiritual man” may frequently be indistinguishable from
those of the “secular man”. It is part of his purpose to touch the commerce
of mankind, even in its humblest and most commonplace details, with the^
spirit of consecration. Nothing that can become just, equitable and honour-^
able, not even our daily business of buying and selling, can possibly be a matter
of indifference to the soul. How can there be a “firm establishment of the
Law”, unless the soul, the Higher Self, be in command of all the inner and
outer activities of the human being?
Someone will say: “But there is so little that I can do”. There is something
which everyone can do. Surrounded by false ideas, he can seek and find true
ideas and embody them. He can begin almost anywhere, even with economics,
as we have tried to show. “There is no Religion higher than Truth.” What
can limit the power of a true idea, firmly held in the mind, to affect the thought
currents of a century ? A glorious opportunity to work for and with the powers
of thqgjpirit is open to anyone who loves truth and righteousness more than
he loves his life.
FRAGMENTS
T HERE are dark days, saith one, days of an intolerable sadness; days of
exhaustion both of mind and body, the exhaustion of a ceaseless conflict,
of a steadily losing battle. The whole nature becomes numb, steeped
in an overwhelming gloom. There is need for swift, decisive action, and no
least idea what that action should be; or all the mistakes and blunders of the
past seem tied in inextricable knots about one’s feet, making the required
action appear impossible. And when in answer to the desperate cries of our
hearts only the mocking echoes of them return to us, we are tempted to despair.
Who has not known the bitterness of such hours! None, save those who
have never lived.
But, 0 soul, be not deceived! Here lies thine hour of glorious opportunity;
in it is wrapped the answer to all thy prayers', the gift of gifts thou so long hast
coveted, the priceless pearl thou knowest well to be worth all other possessions.
Look for the Warrior, eternal and sure; let him fight in thee. He is thyself ,
though he has been buried hitherto beneath the rubbish of thine ordinary life.
This is his hour—his hour to awake and live; therefore thine hour also to live.
Thus thinking of him, dost thou not feel him stirring within, girding on his
armour; does not thy pulse begin to beat with his, full of ardour for the con¬
flict, full of power to conquer—the power of the Grace of God? He beholds
the legions of angels that support him, he sees the Great Commander who
smiles triumphantly and beckons. Go thou with him, confident, unafraid.
Go to victory by his side remembering that he is thyself, even while the mists
of life, like blinding tears, obscure thine eyes, and the truth is hidden from
them. He is eternal truth, and that truth shall make thee free. So at the day
of the great peace, the peace that comes when thou hast “entered”, thou shalt
know, in joyous certainty, that which perhaps is only faith to-day,—his oneness
with thee; for all faith in Reality brings its sure reward in realization.
Join step beside him as the swinging ranks march forward radiant in the
light that shines from the Master’s face. Thy conflict is the Warrior’s conflict,
and his conflict is the Master’s. To that thou must go with heart aflame to
win for Him the Day of His Great Peace. Cav£.
18
WAR
The Lord is a Man of War
EITHER war nor religion can be understood unless it be recognized
that the human spirit seeks and serves values dearer to it than com-
^ fort, or life, or any personal gain. The decline of religion and the in¬
crease of pacifism are twin phenomena, each arising from the mind’s failure
to hold to the spirit’s loyalties, and the consequent mental deification of ease
and security. Good and kindly people are particularly prone to such perverted
humanitarianism, which belies the essential and deepest characteristic of hu¬
manity, and it has become one of the definite occupational diseases of pro¬
fessional social workers. But even those who shun sentimentality, and whose
pacifism is anything but cowardice, either for themselves or for those they
love, still indulge in very wishful thinking regarding war; and from this, move¬
ment after movement arises, all of them admirably intentioned, but all of them
inviting, by their declared unwillingness to fight, the very evils they are designed
to avoid. Their proponents argue that as men have outgrown personal, physical
combat, so nations should do the same, learning to settle their “disputes” as
do private individuals. They would have everything settled by reason and
law, by courts and conference, commissions and compromise. They refuse to
face the ugly facts of the existence of evil and lunacy, which will recognize
reason only as it may be made to further their unreasoned ends, and which,
having in heart and will broken the moral law, will respect no other, nor be
restrained by any pacts, nor anything but force. Those who have once faced
these facts, whether in their own nature or in the world around them, can
never again use the language of pacifism. The warfare between good and evil,
madness and sanity, in which all that the soul values is assailed and put in
mortal jeopardy, cannot be viewed as a “dispute”—the word loved of pacifists
—that can be hushed by “getting together” around a tea table, reconciled by
conference, or compromised by concessions. It is war.
And there was war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon;
and the dragon fought and his angels, and prevailed not: neither was their place found
any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the
Devil and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world; he was cast out into the and
his angels were cast out with him. And I heard a loud voice saying in heaWi, Now
is come salvation and strength and the kingdom of our God and the power of his Christ;
for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, . . . and they loved not their lives unto
the death.
Blessed are the peacemakers. But it is only so that peace can be made.
It can exist only in the heart that has warred against the hosts of evil in itself,
until it has cast them out as something other than itself. Then, when their
place is no more in the heart but outside it, when the warfare is externalized as
with a recognized and foreign foe, then in the heart of the warrior is peace.
20
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
So long as there is evil in my own nature, there must be war there. So long
as selfishness, for example, makes me prefer my own good to another’s, so
that I am willing to seek advantage for myself at the expense of others, there is
something in me which is in rebellion against the divine Law, something which
wars against my divine nature and violates the sanctities of my soul. Against
it my soul must war, or stultify itself. This being the inner reality, its inverted
image must be projected upon the screen of outer manifestation. There must
be occasions prompting me to selfishness, which array, in sharp conflict, the
good and evil in me. And if the evil triumph habitually, silencing conscience,
so that I identify myself with my selfishness and follow its promptings, it is
only that which hurts my selfishness that can restrain me. I will listen only to
fear or force; for my whole attitude proclaims my rejection of morality.
This, which is so clearly obvious in the individual, is equally true of nations.
So long as there is the selfishness that prefers what it deems self-interest to
divine Law, it will not be held back by any theoretical respect for human law.
It will take what it wants for itself, callous to the harm it works to others,
unless it be restrained by fear or force,—fear prompted by the show of force.
The exertion of that force is war; and the choice is restricted to it, or to sub¬
mission to evil, unless the force on the side of the Right be so overwhelming
and at hand that the mere show of it commands surrender. “When a strong
man armed, keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace.” But when a stronger
come upon him, or one who thinks himself such, then there is war. There can
be no escape from war, no substitute for force, in the life of the Spirit. “The
Lord is a man of war.”
Let us assume that there is a lunatic at large. Selfishness, that is willing
to go the lengths of robbery and oppression and murder to gain its supposed
good, is in itself a kind of lunacy. There is no use arguing with a lunatic. He
may be but temporarily insane, but while his lunacy is on him, there is but
one thing to do: you must restrain him. You must capture and confine him,
for the protection of those he would victimize, and for his own protection against
himself. After he has been restrained you may try to cure him. You may
get the best of doctors—and it may be hoped they will be something more
than vague sentimentalists—but while he is mad you will not put trust in his
words, unless you, too, are mad. He is mad so long as he is bent on breaking the
moral law. While he will contravene that, he will contravene everything but force.
Consider Mussolini. Having done much for Italy, his accomplishments and
position went to his head. It was inevitable that they should have; for he was
never consecrated, and the sequence he followed has been the course of un¬
consecrated power through all of history,—ambition growing with achieve¬
ment. Partly from an innate and ardent patriotism, in the belief that it would
be for Italy’s good, in providing raw materials, the ability to expand, and an
opportunity for needed economic recovery; partly to take the country’s thought
from its internal difficulties, and thus to safeguard his party position; partly
confusing self with country,—he starts his raid on Ethiopia, to see how far
he can go.
WAR
21
England, which has a sense of justice (when her own self-interest does not
lead her to abandon or deny it), made her gesture in the Mediterranean. But
in doing it, she revealed both to herself and to Italy that she was not ready,
was not prepared, either in her armament or in the temper of her people, actually
to fight. Geneva considered and conferred and voted, but even more than
England made it clear that Italy need fear nothing from the League. And
Mussolini, seeing these things, called England’s bluff, and pressed on to a
complete conquest, far beyond what he had at first deemed possible. Ethiopia
was slaughtered, while Eden shuttled back and forth, and Geneva talked.
Mussolini was not restrained by pacts. Italy had signed the Briand-Kellogg
pact outlawing war, and had pledged herself at Locarno, and to the League,
and in many “gentlemen’s agreements”. Germany was not restrained in 1914
by her pledges to Belgium. Japan is not restrained to-day in China. No country,
dominated by a selfishness that is exalted above justice and the moral law,
has ever been, or ever will be, restrained by written agreements or formal
treaties, for the only authority of these is in the moral law which is itself
defied. The only restraint the lunatic recognizes is that of force.
The lesson has been written too large to be misread. It was the pacifism
that dominated Geneva, the ghastly pretence that words could be substituted
for deeds, the inability or unwillingness of England and France to resort to
force in the Mediterranean, that caused Ethiopia’s overthrow. Ethiopia trusted
in law, in pacts, in the League, in covenants, in avoidance of offence, in justice
and sanity,—in all that the pacifists rightly maintain should rule the dealings
of men and nations; but which never will, while justice and sanity seek “peace”
with militant evil and lunacy. Similarly, in China, Japan knows that no force
will be brought against her, save China’s own; and Japan deems herself stronger
than China because better armed and better prepared. So notes are exchanged
interminably, and Japan presses on. Had England and France been armed
and ready, had the Mediterranean been stiff with their warships, the sky black
with their air-planes, Egypt garrisoned, Malta impervious, and the French
and English people equally prepared in spirit and ready to fight, there would
have been no need to fight. Before such a show of force, and the conviction
that, if need be, it would be used, Mussolini would have withdrawn. ThtfB
would have been no war, either in Africa, or the Mediterranean, or in Europe^jli
all probability not even in China. Ethiopia would have been saved, the Le^ue
saved, justice and respect for pacts and the given word, saved.
From it all, one good thing has come, since even evil is turned by the great
Lords of Karma ultimately to its own undoing and the service of the good.
England, in her humiliation, has learned, or at least begun to learn, her lesson,
and has started to arm. By this she has done something to atone for Italy;
for it was Italy that taught her, and the good Karma of this gain in England’s
wisdom is therefore Italy’s.
Thus over the whole world it has been written that so long as there is evil
in the hearts of men and nations, it will work its way, unless there be force
typist it, and the willingness to employ that force. It is a mistake to think
22
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
that in their individual relations men have outgrown the need for force—the
tacit, if not explicit, premise upon which so many pacifist arguments are based.
Behind the courts and the law there stand the police, the militia, the army,
and without these to enforce the law, the courts, and the law itself, would be
useless and impotent. And the police, let it be remembered, must not only
be ceaselessly vigilant, but must be ready at any instant to meet force with
force, to put duty before anything of self, and, if need be, to take the lives of
others or to lay down their own, that the law may be preserved inviolate. Some
talk as though an international police force could be armed with night sticks,
or merely with white gloves as a symbol of “authority”. They must be an
army, ready at any moment for war, better armed, more powerful, more ready
to exercise force, than the army of any nation, so that no nation could stand
against them.
There are two kinds of preparedness and force, material and spiritual. Both
are needed. There must be both arms and the willingness to use them, to
kill and to be killed when necessary. It is useless to be armed if you advertise
to all men that you are unwilling to use your arms, that they are no more than
a show, and that when faced by one who will respect nothing but force, you
will “back down”, seek compromise, resort to many words and pretexts for
doing nothing.
This brings us to the Christian pretexts, which so belie Christ’s life and char¬
acter, taking from their context his teaching to his disciples for their conduct
towards each other. But even so, it is the soldier, rather than the pacifist,
who interposes his cheek to the blow of evil, that it may not fall upon the
innocent. It is rare that the soldier fights primarily in defence of himself. If
it be his own safety and welfare that dominate him, the chances are large
that he would never have enlisted, or that he will run away, and will fight
only when, like a rat, he is cornered and can run no further. The soldier does
present his own cheek to be smitten, rather than let the blow fall on women
and children, the helpless and the wronged. And if he be not willing to do this,
it will be sensed by others, most directly and surely by those whom he should
oppose, and no matter how powerful be his material armament it will avail him
nothing. He is not “prepared”; his spirit is a coward spirit; he will be brushed
aside, and evil will pass on and triumph, as though he were not there.
If we are still in any doubt of this, we need do no more than look back over
•our own diplomatic correspondence of the past months. On September 5th,
the headlines of the New York Times proclaimed our foreign policy with regard
to Japan’s continued invasion of China. “Firm Tone is Taken. Far Eastern
Policy Aims to Impress Japan, Reich and Italy. Pacts’ Sanctity Backed.
Washington Would Show the Militarists They Can’t Win Objectives by
Default. But Resolute Attitude Does Not Seek to Lead This Country One
Inch Toward War.” In view of that last sentence, just what does all the
rest mean? What attention should be paid to a “firm tone”, a “resolute
attitude”, a “sterner purpose” (as set forth in the text from Washington), which
it is proclaimed, with most unmistakable sincerity, will under no circumstances
WAR
23
be backed by force? Japan’s answer was, none at all: and so was Italy’s, and
Germany’s.
It can, at least, be said of England that she was stung by her humiliation.
So far, we have remained serenely oblivious of ours. The shining self-compla¬
cency of Washington continues to beam, unspotted and undimmed, upon the
world.
At basis, therefore, outer war will be necessary just so long as there is inner
war between good and evil; for the outer world is but the projection of the
inner. The soldier is he who subordinates safety, comfort, self-interest, to the
furtherance of a good he puts above self, and for which he is willing to die. If
he is willing to die for it, he will not turn from it for any pleading of self. If
he be not willing to die for it, the enemy will sense the existence of his limits,
and, pushing him to them, will triumph over him. If England arms merely in
self-interest, Mussolini has but to manoeuvre properly to gain once more his own
way, making it seem to England’s advantage as well as to Italy’s.
War, as we set forth in the beginning, thus compels man to face the fact
that there are spiritual values that transcend all material values—things dearer
and of greater moment to him than his own existence. He can fight only in
that realization, and that realization and temper are an essential part of arma¬
ment and preparedness. No man can achieve the triumph of right who sets
limits to what he will suffer in defence of it. To realize that war is of this char¬
acter is to be lifted for ever beyond the contemptible futility and cowardice of
the pacifists’ “neutrality” and effort to reduce all conflict to the level of “dis¬
putes”. The “dispute” between the gangsters and the bank they shoot up
and loot; the “dispute” between the kidnapper and the baby or his tortured
parents; the “dispute” between the criminal lunatic and the child he attacks
and murders. It is not the teaching of Christ that other children be offered the
madman as another cheek, to appease his murderous lust.
To expect suffering, hardship, loss, difficulty, death, for oneself and for
those we love, to face this and to go forward without fear or anxious foreboding,
cheerful and happy and enjoying to the full the good we meet, resolved taiieal
rightly and manfully with whatever we encounter, but by nothing to be 4Brned
aside—this is the temper in which life should be approached and lived. It is
the temper of the ch&a, and of the soldier. It is the temper of the soul that
has been forged in the Master’s warfare. G.B.
He who runs away from one cross will meet a bigger one on his road .— Philip
Neri.
CYCLIC LAW IN BIOLOGY
HERE is an aspect of the theosophical teaching which, in view of the
present condition of the world, has, I am sure, occupied a prominent
place in our thoughts of late. It is the doctrine of cycles. Almost at
the beginning of the Movement we find it assuming a leading position in the
Theosophical philosophy. Sinnett had questioned one of the Masters about
the curious uprush of civilization which seemed so remarkable in the recent
history of the West, and the query called forth a highly interesting explanation
of the law of cycles as it applies to changing civilizations. Later came the
fuller teaching about rounds and races. We know too, that various scholars,
notably Flinders-Petrie, Spengler and Berdyaev, have offered a similar inter¬
pretation of the rise and decline of nations, which, like organic beings, appear
to traverse a natural cycle of birth and growth to be followed by decline and
senility.
For us the subject receives an added and poignant interest from a definite
remark made by Mr. Judge in The Ocean of Theosophy where, in a general dis¬
cussion of cyclic law, he pointed out that a cycle was ending in 1898, and that
the new one destined to succeed it would be marked by social or geological
changes, or perhaps by both. There are hints in Madame Blavatsky’s writings
too, of ominous things waiting for humanity around the comer of the Century
to come: things that might be measurably warded off if the theosophical phil¬
osophy, and above all the theosophical life, could become widespread, breaking
the grip of materialism, ameliorating the moral atmosphere, and giving men a
rational basis for ethics.
To-day we are living in the world which our leaders saw approaching, and
while it would be rash to say that their hopes have not and cannot be realized,
yet, on the other hand, nothing is to be gained by refusal to face the facts, or by
adopting a fatuous optimism in regard to what is going on to-day in Western
civilization. It hardly looks now as though that civilization were destined to
be a heaven in the twenty-first century compared to what it was in the nine¬
teenth, as Madame Blavatsky had hoped that it might be.
Our Theosophical body is a small one—betrayals and traitorous attacks have
seen to that. The organism bom of the Lodge was weakened, and was not able
to do the work it might have done otherwise. But, weak or strong, The Theo¬
sophical Society faces the future, and assuredly anything which can help its
members to a clearer understanding will be so much to the good.
At the outset let us ask if Mr. Judge’s words are in process of fulfilment.
What about the impending geological changes? Is there any evidence that
such are in action about us? Floods? We have had them before, all through
our history. Open winters? There is nothing particularly new about that.
However, there is one meteorological fact that may possess significance in this
24
CYCLIC LAW IN BIOLOGY
25
connection. I refer to the recurrent droughts and dust storms in the West.
In itself it may seem a phenomenon merely temporary and local, but taken in
connection with a note which recently appeared in the journal, Asia , it con¬
ceivably takes on another colour. For it is reported there that rainfall has been
increasing in the Gobi Desert to such an extent of late years that the nomad
inhabitants are thinking of agriculture. Quite possibly the two details are
related—perhaps the wind currents are shifting, so that the drought of our
Western country is counterbalanced by increasing precipitation in Asia. Me¬
teorologists begin to suspect that comparable climatic shifts are rather frequent.
For example, the Arizona-New Mexico region, as attested by the remains of
aboriginal settlements, must have borne a much denser population in quite
recent historical times than it could now possibly support, and Yucatan, at
present a place of pestilent swamps and strangling jungle, could hardly have
developed a vigorous and healthy people if its climate in earlier centuries had
been that of the same region to-day.
But without stressing the geological phase any further, let us pass to the
other aspect of Mr. Judge’s words. Do I need to bring forward evidence to
prove the fact that social changes of enormous magnitude have appeared since
the century opened? Nations are falling under ruthless dictatorships and re¬
verting to paganism; they are carrying on bloody civil wars, and flaming out
into struggles between employers and employed. We see a bewildering chaos
where the lines between good and evil are often so vaguely drawn that one’s
sympathies are tossed back and forth. We are distressed by the vacillation
which marks the official policies of those whose duty it is to carry the banner
of the White Lodge. The children of evil so often seem to be wiser than the
children of light. They at least know what they want and go after it.
So the great social change which Mr. Judge predicted is in process of ac¬
complishing itself. Do we possibly discern also the grim outline of the Terreur
to which Madame Blavatsky referred?
Mr. Johnston used to call H. G. Wells a psychic. Now a psychic often senses-
more strongly than other people just the sort of storm which is now raging,
and in recent book reviews we are notified of Mr. Wells’s latest lucubration.
He has discovered that fear is invading the world—a fear that drives mtftfto
madness because they have finally realized that they cannot chain the '^ive
man”, and that the Terreur is approaching. As the reviewer shrewdly says:
what matter whether we call it the cave man with science, or the old Adam of
theology—the fact remains a fact. Mr. Wells has been pretty accurate before
now in catching wireless waves from the particular region of space on which he
“times in”, and we may add his testimony to what our own healthy senses report.
If this be true, if civilization, indeed, is disintegrating under our eyes, it will
profit us in the first instance to learn what we can about the laws under which
such movements occur, and, in the second place, to examine the means by
which a rout may possibly be converted, at least in part, into a final victory.
i cannot hope to cover the subject exhaustively. I have not the time, and
w less, the knowledge requisite for such a task. But I can, perhaps, bring x
26
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
small contribution from the field of biology to bear on the problem; and so I
propose that we should examine the principles which underlie other organic
cycles where the curve of development is more fully and more clearly revealed.
For the law of cycles is universal; it pertains to all organic systems. One and
all, they rise from small beginnings, increase in power to their maturity, and then
decline into old age and death. The upcurve involves active assimilation and
growth; the downcurve is characterized by dissimilation and dispersal of energy.
Now when we speak of organic systems, we do not refer to plants and animals
only. It is becoming increasingly apparent that the concept of organism must
be extended to include the totality of manifestation. The manifestation may
be physical or metaphysical; it may compass a solar system or a sunflower or
the genius of a nation. All existences, everything which can be seen and touched,
everything which can be thought of as formed or unformed, are living and organic.
If we allow the expression, “organic evolution”, to apply specifically to the
phyletic development of plants and animals, it is only a concession to an un¬
fortunate historical accident which led our scientific predecessors to draw an
unwarranted distinction between the realms of the living and the non-living.
Such, then, is our first proposition: that all systems are living and organic, and
that all systems are in process of evolutionary development.
To this proposition we must add the concept of “holism”. All organic sys¬
tems are multiple in their structure, yet within the multiplicity lies an over¬
ruling unity. As we often phrase it: “There is a unity behind the manifested
diversity.” So a man’s body or a plant’s body is a diversity of functioning
parts, harmonized, integrated and ruled over by a governing centre. And these
parts in their turn are wholes. The hand—a part of the body—is an elaborate
combination of muscles, bones, nerves and blood vessels, all effectively serving
the function of prehension. Moreover, though they may be definitely subordi¬
nated to the higher whole, each one of them possesses a peculiar autonomy and
is relatively independent in its rate of evolution.
Two familiar tendencies express themselves in every organic system. One is
centripetal; it is the urge toward sloth and the continued repetition of a familiar
activity along well-worn grooves of habit. It comes out of the past; it rests in
life already experienced; it resists the expansive pressure of the life-impulse.
It may come into almost complete control, whereupon life stagnates and con¬
sciousness sinks into automatism. There are numerous examples of delayed
races among the plants and animals. The brachiopod Lingula , for instance, has
been repeating itself in the mudflats of Chesapeake Bay since the Cambrian
Period. The molluscs, the Crustacea, the starfishes, and dozens of other such
minor races still run their weary cycles but appear to go nowhere.
But the centripetal tendency is matched by its opposite which constitutes
the other pole of the dualism. This is the centrifugal tendency; it moves into
the future; it drives the organism toward the new and the untried. Western
civilization to-day is suffering from a highly explosive excess of this power,
which reveals itself in an abnormal tendency of the elements to escape from
holistic control and to drive apart. It is here that we come face to face with
CYCLIC LAW IN BIOLOGY
27
a certain theory of government which is now centred in Washington. The
Theosophical Society does not enter into politics, but it has a perfect right to
examine political systems from the basis of the principles upon which they
rest. The present movement in government is hailed by the so-called liberals
as progress. I do not believe that it is truly such, and I think it can be shown
that upon a strictly biological, holistic basis, the movement parallels a phe¬
nomenon which generally appears when organisms are undergoing racial
senescence. At such times the higher centre appears progressively to lose its
control, and the lesser microcosms of the body start forward into abnormal
development without reference to the good of the associated systems. The
Irish elk offers an illustration. Its enormous horns, developed beyond all rea¬
son, must have conduced to its speedy decline and death. A second example
is seen in the saber-tooth tiger, unable to close its jaws over its terrible canine
teeth. The later trilobites and the modern fishes both assume strange forms
and exhibit overdeveloped and disproportionate appendages; the dinosaurs of
the closing Mesozoic were homed and hooded monsters. In all these instances
a part of the organism starts out on a career of “self-expression”, becoming, as
it were, a parasite upon the whole in which it should be a co-operative unit.
It needs no particular insight to recognize in certain current and widespread
psychological and social ills, a striking parallel to these zoological facts. Our
asylums are crowded with pathetic, tormented creatures whose psychic life
has broken into fragments, while the constituent elementals, released from cen¬
tral control, proceed to wage war in the field of the inner nature. Long nour¬
ished by their creators, these creatures, grown strong, have assaulted the re¬
straining soul, each seeking to carry out the purpose—all too often a sinful one
—which was originally laid upon it. These are they of whom Tennyson speaks:
He seemed like one that all in later time
Begins to war against ill uses of a life,
But these from all his life arise and cry:
Thou hast made us lords and canst not put us down.
Applying the same analysis to a theoretically declining civilization, we might
deduce certain facts and expect to witness just what we are witnessin^the
loss of the sense of national unity, self-assertion of parts against the whole and
against one another, struggles for special privileges, malicious accusations and
civil war.
The very thought has been set in poetic form by Macaulay, who contrasts
the older integrated, organic Rome with the declining senile State, tom by
factional strife:
Then none were for a party;
Then all were for the State;
Then the great man helped the poor,
And the poor man loved the great:
Then lands were fairly portioned;
Then spoils were fairly sold:
The Romans were like brothers
In the brave days of old.
28
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe,
And the Tribunes beard the high,
And the Fathers grind the low.
As we wax hot in faction,
In battle we wax cold;
Wherefore men fight not as they fought
In the brave days of old.
In all these instances we are dealing with the destruction of a holistic system
which occurs when its lord is departing. The organism has either rejected its
own soul, or it is rejected by the soul. In either case the work of its incarnation
has to be done all over again. Moreover, we cannot fail to see that its fate is
similar to that of the physical body and the psychic nature at death. It is the
soul, the function, the purpose, the integrating self, which always holds the
system together. When it departs, confusion overtakes the household, and the
building falls in ruins.
The small book, Through the Gates of Gold , has set forth the law as it applies
to civilizations. Through the use of striking metaphors it makes clear how
with united efforts men have repeatedly rolled the stone of civilization up the
hill of difficulty, only to see it slip back again into the valley. Or again, a ma¬
tured culture is compared to a full-blown flower with the petals but slackly held
together. Either metaphor sets forth the law of disintegration which we have
been considering; the soul withdraws, and the centrifugal forces tear the vehicle
in pieces. A dark picture, and one that is haunting many a humanitarian as it
is haunting Mr. H. G. Wells at this moment.
Most happily, though this is the whole picture for Mr. Wells, it is not the
whole picture for The Gates of Gold. Mr. Wells is a materialist, and the real
author of The Gates of Gold is “anything but”! For wherever the doctrine of
death and rebirth is taught, there also is taught the doctrine of liberation.
Evolution is not a little up-and-down affair of the material world only; in its
highest expression it is a mighty cosmic process which sweeps the life-wave
around a circle of seven globes which are “in coadunation but not in consub-
stantiality”. It is not enough that organisms should whirl repeatedly through
cycles of birth and death upon a single plane. The time must come when a
certain mode of manifestation must give way to a new life differing in kind
from its predecessor. And though the masses are swept to their death along
the declining arc of their cycle, we know that the fittest survive. It is left then
for the individual at the apex of the wave of culture to resist the downpull of
the curve, and, identifying himself with the imperishable soul, to break the
cycle and to set out on the path of the gods toward the spiritual kingdom.
Here is no democracy, no whining sentimentalism about the “underprivileged”.
Here is a warrior doctrine for aristocrats!
But this doctrine is high and difficult for us; we find it a hard saying, though
we dimly perceive that it is truly the burden of the message of all wise men, and
the very heart of the Christian teaching.
CYCLIC LAW IN BIOLOGY
29
Moreover it has left its witness likewise among the lower organisms. For
what is the keynote of evolution but the glorious truth that life has, indeed,
perpetually escaped the net of death and outstripped its former records. De¬
cline of life and renewal of life in perpetual cycles on the same level—that is
not the story. The song of Easter morning has been ringing for a hundred
million years over this old earth!
According to our present biological understanding, the line of plants and
animals started with the unicellular races—the protozoans and the protophytes.
It was their destiny to pass to the multicellular state; they were to be lifted up
to higher holistic systems: to enter upon a mode of life qualitatively different
and far richer in content than anything which had gone before, anything offered
on the archaic level. They were to subordinate their small lives to a greater
life, to throw their lesser wills into vigorous co-operation with a mightier will.
But how few accomplished it! The majority were caught by the tendency to
inertia and remained unicells. To be sure, they entered upon strange ways
and evolved into extravagant and peculiar forms, but they preferred an increase
in quantity to a change in quality, and, though they linger through the ages, they
are failures of nature, fit only to be devoured by their advanced brethren.
The development of a multicellular Volvox -sphere was, on the contrary, a
fact of high spiritual import. This little organism, a ball of ciliated cells, all
moving under a central control, is a revelation of spiritual law. Paraphrasing
•certain familiar words, we may say in very truth: Among those bom of the
Protozoa there hath not arisen a greater than Paramecium, yet he who is least
among the Volvocales is greater than he. The meaning is identical with the
original thought which relates to John the Baptist.
In a slightly different way the miracle appeared again when plant and animal
life abandoned the water for the air. The water-world and the air-world stand
to organisms in their evolution as a pair of superposed planes. The biologist
believes that ages of aquatic life preceded the transfer from water to land. Life
had attained the level of the seaweeds and the fishes in the respective kingdoms.
It had accomplished all that was necessary to be accomplished at that lev^
Ahead lay senseless repetition or—a breath-taking adventure (literally). Am4^
the primitive ganoid fishes arose certain individuals endowed with the spirit of
genius. They were tired of living in the water; already they tasted in their
imaginations the sweet fruits which grew on the trees by the shore. They de¬
sired and willed ardently, and so striving, they sprouted out lungs from their
gullets, dropped their gills, turned their fins into legs, and behold! a race of
three-eyed Stegocephalia crawling on their bellies in the marshes. But their
fish relatives missed the chance; their time of opportunity had come and gone,
and they remained in future ages water animals, unborn and without power,—
ruled by the ancient mode of life. Some, indeed, sought the dark and cold
abuses of the ocean to become little else than terrible devouring mouths—a
detail whose analogy it is not necessary to follow.
It is ever left for the individual to make the transition from plane to plane.
For what was The Theosophical Society founded? To make mild and lovely
30
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
characters “too sweet for earth but not for heaven”, as the New England tomb¬
stones have it? Well, that sort of an ideal may produce “a fair atmosphere and
a happy future” and a Devachan full of rosy dreams, but who wants to remain a
fish, no matter how many iridescent fins and tails one may develop? We know
that our deeper Theosophy scorns such idle dreams. Our true ideal is to pass
from the world of Caesar to the Kingdom of the Heavens, from a three-dimen¬
sional, temporal world to a four-space continuum where there shall be time no
longer. Use whatever illustration we may, one and all they carry the idea of
a complete transformation, a rejection of the old structure devised for life
under the old conditions, and the assumption of a new morphology adapted to
life in a world which is qualitatively different.
Two paths lie before us: along one of them modem science is urging us. If
we accede to that urge we shall do what the timid unicells and the stupid fishes
did: remain under the familiar conditions of our material and psychic worlds,
seeking to remould them nearer to the heart’s desire. Such is (or was) the
dream of Mr. Wells, who formulated thereby the unexpressed ideal of almost
every modem learned man. In a recent cinema adaptation of one of his popular
Utopias, where cities of glass rise to dizzy heights, where horrendous wheels
and levers clang and clash and roar, we are allowed to witness the apotheosis
of the Wellsian dream—a young man and woman about to be shot into space
from a great gun—the first daring attempt at the conquest of other worlds.
Or, to take another example from that popular book, Lost Horizons: a Chris¬
tian priest finds a favoured spot in Tibet where men do not die, but where life
may be prolonged through the centuries. Realizing all too painfully the im¬
pending decline of Western civilization, he makes his monastery a repository
for all beautiful and precious things: porcelains, statuary, music—hoping
thereby to save at least this much from the universal ruin which is to come.
I have heard men say that the book provoked nostalgia. But it is only the
Wellsian formula tricked out in finer clothes. It reveals a desperate desire to
cling to things , and it matters not a whit that the things represent matter in
its more aesthetically pleasing forms. Do not mistake me: we all value beauti¬
ful things in a world which has become very ugly, not for themselves, but as
revelations of the Divine Beauty. For, back of the shadows thrown on the
wall of the Cave, are the Divine Originals. So powerful in beauty are they
that even their reflections have strength to move us strangely. The porcelains
and brocades must all perish in the cycles of the ages, but in our Father’s House
they are preserved eternally in their noumenal realities.
The scientific dream is but a dazzling Maya —just little fish dreaming about
bigger fish with swifter fins and larger appetites. We are all familiar with
pictures in which a replica of the same scene is repeated again and again to
infinite regression. It may be a picture of a room on whose wall hangs a pic¬
ture of the same room, on whose wall hangs ...» etc. Science is caught in
this kind of scheme. Probing with the microscope it follows the pictured re¬
flections inward; probing with the telescope it follows them outward, and
it calls the journey scientific progress. Well, it is progress of a sort—better
CYCLIC LAW IN BIOLOGY
3 i
than clinging to a single picture for ever. But a child playing with blocks is
still playing with blocks, even though it build up a cube measuring ten feet
on a side: volume is still volume and cubicity is still cubicity. If we might
only prevail upon science to leave its flat picture-world and turn its eyes to¬
ward the real room. Its boasted wisdom is sciosophy (shadow knowledge),
but it controls the governmental, educational, economic, social, and well-nigh
all the religious life of America. Its triumphs mean the progressive failure
of evolution to bring to manifestation the truer and deeper life of the soul.
But there is another way—the way those brave fishes took, and a human
being is worth more than many fishes. It is the Way of chGlaship, the Way of
Liberation. We may well close with the biological parallel which Oliver Wen¬
dell Holmes gave us in the fine lines of the “Chambered Nautilus”:
Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil;
Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year’s dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,
Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home,
And knew the old no more.
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
Child of the wandering sea,
Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!
While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought
I hear a voice that sings—
Build thee more stately mansions, 0 my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell
By life’s unresting sea!
/
R.E.T.
0
There is no virtue , properly speaking , without victory over ourselves ; and in
general that which costs nothing is worth nothing. —J. de Maistre.
THE EMPEROR AKBAR
SEEKER FOR TRUTH
BAR, Emperor of India from 1556 to 1605, brought about the triumph
of a fundamental principle of Theosophy,—religious tolerance, in an
intolerant age and nation. In this, consciously or unconsciously, he
undoubtedly did the work of the Great Lodge. He is particularly interesting to
members of The Theosophical Society, whose motto is “There is no religion
higher than Truth”, because, though one of the greatest rulers that ever lived,
his dominant interest was inner, not outer; his passion was the search for
truth, which he sought ardently and in all ways throughout his life. He is also
interesting in himself, for he was a great man in every respect, just, generous,
recklessly courageous, chivalrous, high-minded, doing well whatever he put his
hand to, and some things supremely well. Vincent Smith, who cannot be ac¬
cused of partiality toward Akbar, closes his history of him with the words: “He
was a bom king of men, with a rightful claim to rank as one of the greatest
sovereigns known to history. That claim rests securely on the basis of his ex¬
traordinary natural gifts, his original ideas, and his magnificent achievements.”
Our main interest, however, lies in him as a seeker for truth. Akbar was by
nature a mystic, but, like such great Christian mystics as St. Teresa of Avila,
St. Ignatius Loyola, St. Catherine of Siena, and many others, he lived a life of
intense outer activity, one which changed the face of history.
From his early youth, Akbar dreamed a splendid vision of what he wished to
accomplish for India. In place of a land tom by internal strife, divided into
many petty, hostile states constantly warring against one another, the weak
always in peril of conquest by the strong, the adherents of each religion regard¬
ing as enemies to be persecuted those whose creed differed from their own,—he
pictured an India at peace, a great confederation of states united under one
Emperor as Overlord, but with each race and nation developing its own genius
under its own rulers, each man, Mahometan, Hindu, Sikh, Jain, Parsee, free to
worship and to seek the truth as his own conscience might dictate. Religious
tolerance was not an ideal widely held in either India or Europe in the sixteenth
century. There had been bitter religious persecutions in India, as there had
been the burning of heretics in Spain, the massacre of St. Bartholomew’s Day
and religious wars in France. Henry IV and the Edict of Nantes ended it for
the time being in France, and Akbar ended it for the time being in India, in both
cases as the result of hard-won victories on the field of battle.
The death of his father Humayun, in January, 1556, left Akbar, at only thir¬
teen, as nominal sovereign of all Hindustan. Actually, however, he did not even
control the capital, Delhi. All he had was a precarious hold on a few districts
of the Punjab, a small army of doubtful loyalty, and last but not least, a brilliant
general, Bairam Khan. There were three other claimants to the throne, one of
32
THE EMPEROR AKBAR
33
whom promptly occupied both Delhi and Agra. Akbar, though only a boy in
years, was already a skilful and experienced warrior, trained through the stormy
period of his father’s strife and exile to face adversity and superior forces with
courage and boldness. On this occasion, the enemy’s forces were vastly superior,
so much so that Akbar’s advisers, with the important exception of Bairam Khan,
urged him to give up the fight and retire to Kabul. Bairam Khan was strongly
in favour of fighting it out, advice that accorded entirely with Akbar’s own
courageous nature. Heavily outnumbered though they were, they advanced to
meet the opposing forces and gained a decisive victory. In less than two years,
Akbar had reconquered his entire realm and was established on the throne.
The next few years were occupied with getting the reins of authority firmly
into his own hands. Against the violent opposition of the bigoted Mahometans
at his court, he adopted a policy of conciliation toward the Hindus, and admitted
them to the high offices of state on a basis of equality. He also remitted the
poll tax levied on Hindu, but not on Mahometan pilgrims, a tax which had been
bringing in a very large revenue, but which seemed to Akbar grossly unjust.
He regarded a tax on devotion as an outrage. His own house put in order, he
was in position to attempt to realize his vision for India. That vision is the
key to his policy throughout his life. He had no love of conquest in itself, but
he could not carry out his plans without it, so he conquered most of India before
he died. W e do not mean that he shared the modem feeling about wars of
aggression. He felt as his age felt, as his great ancestors Genghis Khan and
Timurlane had felt, that such wars were quite normal. “A monarch”, he said,
‘ should ever be intent on conquest, otherwise his neighbours rise in arms against
him. The army should be exercised in warfare, lest from want of training they
become self-indulgent. 1 He treated his beaten foes with the utmost generosity.
Chivalrous and loyal by nature himself, he recognized those qualities in others
and trusted them accordingly. The Rajputs whom he conquered, he restored
to their thrones, requiring only that they yield him allegiance. They responded
to his trust, gave him their loyalty, and became the stanchest supporters of his
rule. Without their aid, he could not have carried out his plans. At his death,
his empire extended from the Hindu Kush on the north to the Deccan on the
south. Where he ruled, justice, security, peace, and religious tolerance pre¬
vailed. In so far, at least, as his dream for India went, he had not been dis¬
obedient unto his heavenly vision.
We cannot go into his many reforms, such as the abolition of the practice of
enslaving prisoners of war, his strictly enforced orders against molestation of
the women and children of conquered foes, his attempts to discourage child
marriage, the ending of compulsory suttee , and many more. Great as a general,
he was, like Napoleon, still greater as an administrator. Again like Napoleon,
he combined a mind capable of grasping broad and novel general principles
with an extraordinary capacity for laborious attention to detail. His adminis¬
trative reforms still form the basis of government of a great part of the land he
ruled. Elphinstone sums up his reign with the words: ‘‘It is to his internal
1 Abul Fazl, Ain-i-Akbari, "Happy Sayings of His Majesty", p. 399.
34
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
policy that Akbar owes his place in that highest order of princes whose reigns
have been a blessing to mankind.” 2
Any man bom with a noble vision who lives to carry it out in action, leaving
the world better than he found it, any man whose life has been ‘‘a blessing to
mankind”, is sure to have had during his life the backing, support and guidance
of the Lodge. To what extent he may have been aware of being aided, whether
he was or was not a conscious agent in the great work that he did, what his
Lodge connection may have been, what the degree of his spiritual attainment,
his occult rank, 3 are questions on which it is interesting to speculate but dan¬
gerous to dogmatize. As we have said, the passion of Akbar’s life was not
conquest, not power, not even his dream for India; his passion was the search
for truth. Only a man whose soul had seen and preserved some memory of its
vision, could yearn for truth as Akbar yearned for it. We do not know just
what that soul’s connection with the Lodge may have been, but we may be
reasonably sure that that for which the exile longs is his true home.
What kind of man was he? His boyhood had been spent with his father in
exile, in a long series of conflicts, headlong flights with a handful of loyal fol¬
lowers, a victorious foe in hot pursuit, followed by triumphant returns and the
recovery of lost territory. It gave the boy a marvellous training in the warrior
qualities, and developed his physique to an extraordinary extent. He was quick,
active, endowed with great strength, a good shot, a brilliant swordsman, and a
remarkable horseman. There are many stories of his physical prowess. He
once rode two hundred and sixty miles on horseback in two days. He would
often walk thirty or forty miles a day. He swam his horse across the Ganges in
full flood. On one occasion, he and a small group of friends were returning on
foot from a hunt, when a tigress with five cubs suddenly emerging from the side
of the narrow path, blocked their way. The friends shrank back. Akbar sprang
forward alone and killed the tigress with a single blow of his sword.
His manners were charming, and his innate dignity such that it was said that
“anybody even at a first glance would recognize him as a king”. One of his
Jesuit visitors wrote of him that “to his own family he was most dear; to the
great he was terrible; to the lowly, kind and affable. With small and common
people he was so sympathetic and indulgent that he always found time gladly
to hear their cases, and to respond graciously to their requests. Their little
offerings, too, he used to accept with such a pleased look, handling them and
putting them in his bosom, as he did not do with the most lavish gifts of the
nobles.” The Jesuits at his Court speak of the zeal and watchful conscientious¬
ness which he showed in the administration of justice. What he said of himself,
* Elphinstone, History of Indio, p. 520.
* Since writing this article, the author’s attention has been called to a statement of Madame Blavatsky’s in The
Bonner of Light, Oct. 18th, 1879, reprinted in A Modern Panarion, p. 221, in which she speaks of “the great
Emperor-Adept, Akbar”.
(Editors' Note: In 1879, theosophical terminology was still very loosely defined. The term, Adept, was used
by H.P.B. much as Mackenzie used it in his Royal Masonic Cyclopcedia (1877). where we read of "adepts in al¬
chemy", "an adept among astrologers”, etc. It was not until much later that H.P.B. limited the title to high
Initiates. In The Theosophical Glossary, published in 1892, she says of Akbar: "The great Mogul Emperor of India,
the famous patron of religions, arts, and sciences, the most liberal of all the Mussulman sovereigns. There has never
been a more tolerant or enlightened ruler than the Emperor Akbar. either in India or in any other Mahometan
country." This is high praise, but it does not imply Adeptship, or Initiation in the Great Lodge.)
THE EMPEROR AKBAR
35
“If I were guilty of an unjust act, I would rise in judgment against myself",
was not a boast but simple truth. He was by nature humane, gentle and kind,
but his anger, though short-lived, could be terrible.
He was as chivalrous as his grandfather, Babur. One instance of this is worth
relating. A rebellion broke out in a part of his dominions and the rebels gath¬
ered an army of twenty thousand men. Akbar was far away. On hearing of it,
he assembled swiftly a force of two thousand horse, and rode the intervening
six hundred miles in eleven days. So rapid had been his movements that he
took the rebels completely off their guard. “It is a shame", said Akbar, "to
attack an unprepared foe". He sounded his trumpets, and waited for his ene¬
mies, though they outnumbered him ten to one, to arm and form their line.
Then he charged, and after a bitter fight in which the issue was for some time
in doubt, he scattered them in wild rout.
Both his grandfather, whose memoirs are famous, and his father, were schol¬
ars. Akbar himself as a boy had had the best of tutors before and after he came
to the throne, but, for some reason, he stedfastly refused to learn either to read
or to write. Extraordinary as it may seem, this did not in the least interfere
with his becoming a man of unusually wide culture and learning. Apparently
he preferred to learn by his ear rather than his eye. He was very fond of listen¬
ing to reading aloud, and at his death had a library of some twenty-four thousand
manuscripts, most of which were beautifully illuminated and bound, and which
were valued at over six million rupees. He had a remarkable memory which
retained what was read to him. He studied the great Sanskrit writings, and had
many of them, including the Bhagavad Gita , translated into the vernacular. He
was a patron of science and of the arts,—painting, architecture, poetry, music,
literature, all of which flourished during his reign.
Akbar was by nature a mystic who, like the Sufis, with whose poetry he had
saturated himself from his early youth, sought earnestly all his life to attain to
the ineffable bliss of union with the Divine. There is good reason to believe
that at times and in some measure, he succeeded. The first such experience, of
which we have any record, occurred when he was fourteen, about a year after
he came to the throne. He was afflicted with a sudden disgust for the life around
him, and found the presence of “short-sighted men", men whose thoughts were
all of this world, intolerable. Sending for his horse Hairan, a high-spirit^but
particularly vicious steed which only one with his extraordinary abilitj^rith
animals could have ridden, he galloped away unescorted into the desert to be
alone. He rode for many miles, how far he did not know, and then dismounted
“to commune with God". The horse galloped away and disappeared. Akbar
fell into an ecstasy. After a time, his “heart eased and refreshed", he came to
himself, alone, on foot, and far out in the desert. For a while he hesitated,
uncertain what to do. Then he saw a riderless horse in the distance, galloping
toward him. It proved to be Hairan, who came up and stood beside him, wait¬
ing for him to mount. The incident made a deep impression on Akbar, who
regarded it as a Divine intimation that he take up his work in the world.
^ All his life he sought earnestly to learn the Divine will, and often spoke of the
36
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
great difficulty of doing so. Some of his methods were strikingly original.
Shortly after the incident just mentioned, he engaged in a series of the most
recklessly daring adventures. One will serve as a sample. One day he met a
particularly savage elephant that had just killed its mahout, mangled other
men, and become a general source of terror. Akbar walked up to him smiling,
put his foot on the elephant’s tusk and mounted to his back. Then he set him
to fight another quarrelsome elephant. At the height of the fight, Akbar saw
that the driver of the other elephant had lost control. The young Emperor
immediately leapt from his own elephant to the back of the other. Later in life,
Akbar stated that his reason for risking his life in these dare-devil escapades
was that he wished to learn the will of God for him, to test whether or not he
had in truth been entrusted with a divine mission. If God were displeased
with him, he would make it easy for his life to be taken away. If he were pre¬
served, it would be a sign that there was work in the world that he was intended
to do. Akbar probably had never heard of the second of the temptations in the
wilderness, and this seemed to him a simple way of learning God’s will.
Another experience, of which we have only meagre and confused accounts,
occurred some years later. Akbar had ordered a huge hunt, after the Mogul
fashion. For ten days, many thousands of beaters had been driving the game
in a huge semi-circle preparatory to slaughter on a great scale. Then, while
resting under a tree, a vision came to Akbar. “A sublime joy took possession of
his bodily frame. The attraction of cognition of God cast its ray.” “The
primacy of the spiritual world took possession of his holy form. . . . What the
chiefs of purity and deliverance [Sufi seers] had searched for in vain, was re¬
vealed to him.” He had a vivid sense of union with God. One of its immediate
effects was to fill him with a strong revulsion against the world, the pomp and
splendour of his throne, and all his outer activities, so that for the moment he
seems even to have thought of abdicating and becoming a hermit. That mis¬
understanding passed at once, and he attacked his duties with renewed activity.
But in his vision he had seen all life as one, in the Creator’s eyes. The slaughter
of unoffending animals appeared as a crime, and he instantly gave orders that
the hunt was to be abandoned and “not a feather on a finch hurt”. Every animal
was to escape “according to its habits”. He had been very fond of hunting, but
from that time on he gave it up. Even when his enjoyment of it had been at its
keenest, he had often in the past broken off in the midst of a hunt, if he chanced
to see a hermit or “holy man”, in order to talk with him in the hope of gaining
a new insight into truth. He also gave up meat-eating for at least six months
of every year. He did not wish, he said, to “make his body a tomb for animals”.
Vigorous and highly successful man of action though he was, he spent many
entire nights in religious discussion, and many whole mornings in solitary prayer
and meditation on a stone bench in a little bare room. “He was”, wrote his son
Jehangir, “always with God”. He never missed an opportunity to gain light
from anyone he thought might have something to contribute to his knowledge
of truth. Early in his reign, he instituted religious discussions every Thursday
night. His methods bore a close resemblance to those of a Theosophical So-
THE EMPEROR AKBAR
39
THE EMPEROR AKBAR 37
ciety Branch meeting. Holders of the most divergent views were invited to
speak, and a general discussion followed. At first the debates were between
the different sects of the Moslems, but later on the representatives of other
religions were invited to explain and defend their beliefs. Akbar himself usually
presided and did his best to enforce courtesy and the theosophical ideal of
according that tolerance to the opinions of others that one desires for one’s
own. The various Moslem sects disgusted and at times angered him by their
intolerance and violent abuse of all who disagreed with their own narrow views.
When he heard of Christianity, he wrote to the Jesuit Mission, at the Portu¬
guese settlement of Goa, asking them to send back with the ambassador who
bore his letter “two of your learned men, who should bring with them the books
of the law, and above all the Gospels, because I truly and earnestly desire to
understand their perfection; and with great urgency I again demand that they
should come with my ambassador aforesaid, and bring their books. From their
coming I shall obtain the utmost consolation; they will be dear to me, and I
shall receive them with every possible honour. As soon as I shall have become
well instructed in the law, and shall have comprehended its perfection, they
will be able, if willing, to return at their pleasure, and I shall send them back
with great honours, and appropriate rewards.” 4
After a good deal of discussion, three Jesuit fathers were selected in response
to this invitation, Ridolfo Aquaviva, a younger son of the Duke of Atri, one of
the most influential nobles of the Kingdom of Naples, Antonio Monserrate, a
Spaniard who had shown extraordinary courage and devotion during an out¬
break of the plague in Lisbon, and Francesco Enriquez, a converted Mahome¬
tan. Immediately on their arrival, Akbar, dressed in Portuguese costume as a
courtesy to them, had them brought into his presence, and, so great was his
eagerness to learn of Christianity, kept them talking until two o’clock in the
morning. Then, seeing their weariness, he dismissed them, but renewed the
audience the next day, at which time he accepted from them the gift of a mag¬
nificently bound copy of the Bible. He received the Bible with the ^Bost
reverence, a reverence which he invariably showed toward the objects of devo¬
tion of any religion, an instinctive courtesy which some of his biographers have
misunderstood, and which has led them to accuse him of hypocrisy. He in his
turn, offered the fathers a large sum of money, which they refused, accepting
only enough for bare subsistence. They were given permission to seek converts,
to preach publicly, and were invited to the weekly discussions in the House of
Worship. Unfortunately, as has happened with other missionaries, their zeal
and courage were more to be commended than their tact or their tolerance, and
Akbar had to intervene to save them from bodily harm.
He was much disappointed to find the Christians as fiercely intolerant as the
pdahometans. Nevertheless, he invited the Jesuits to live in the palace, and
would often spend half the night in discussing Christianity with them. He found
so much with which he could agree that for a time they had high hopes of con¬
verting him. These were increased by his putting the education of his second
4 Vincent Smith, Akbar, p. 169. Quoted as translated from the Italian of Bartoli.
38 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
son, Murad, in their charge, and by his personal affection for them. He often
“conversed with them without ceremony, and would pace up and down with
his arm around Aquaviva’s shoulder”. The doctrines of the Virgin Birth and
of the Trinity were stumbling blocks. Akbar was undoubtedly attracted to
Christianity, but he was no less attracted to other religions. A month after the
arrival of the Jesuits, Akbar began the Zoroastrian custom of prostrating him¬
self publicly before the rising sun. Binyon says that it would seem that Akbar,
“in his restless seeking for a faith that should satisfy his inner nature, never
contented himself with abstract inquiries, but, as if determined to put on the
whole habit of a creed, adopted with each its outward ceremony and ritual, and
used its symbols, all apparently with a like sincerity of approach”.
The Jesuits took Akbar roundly to task for certain practices which he per¬
mitted in his kingdom, gladiatorial shows and the custom of suttee among them.
Far from resenting this, Akbar refused thereafter to attend a suttee , and later
definitely prohibited the practice, to the great anger of the Brahmins and some
of his other Hindu subjects. His determination to break up the custom came
within an ace of costing him his life. A cousin of the Rajah of Amber died, and
his young widow, a daughter of the Rajah of Malwaf, refused to become suttee.
Her step-son, backed by the Brahmin family priest, decided to force her to do
so, in violation of the imperial edict. At the last moment the Emperor, prob¬
ably through one of the young Rajputnis in his harem, heard what was hap¬
pening. Instantly mounting the swiftest horse in his stable, without waiting
for his escort, he galloped alone at top speed to the scene of the suttee. The
young widow had already taken her place on the funeral pyre, and the flames
had almost reached the long bridal garment she was wearing, when Akbar
dashed up at a furious pace, charged through the circle of chanting priests and
armed Rajputs, and himself lifted the princess from the pyre. The infuriated
Rajputs drew their swords, and for a moment the Emperor’s life was in grave
danger. Then two of his devoted Rajput officers came up and the crisis passed.
The princess was safely placed under the protection of her own family. 5
The Jesuit mission had arrived in February, 1580. Some months before,
Akbar had taken a step of great importance. Under the Moslem law, great
power was vested in the Ulema, the assemblage of “doctors learned in the law”.
The administration of justice was in their hands, and while their power remained
unbroken it was useless for Akbar to attempt to carry out his policy of universal
religious toleration, which appeared to their bigoted minds as sacrilege and a
direct violation of the teachings of the Prophet. They further had the right
under the Moslem law to issue a fetva , or religious decree, declaring the Emperor’s
policy of tolerance to be contrary to the Koran, a decree which would have had
the result of absolving all Moslems from the duty of obedience to the Emperor.
It was the old story of a clash between a powerful priestcraft and a strong ruler.
Compromise never appealed to Akbar. He forced the issue by having his friend,
the Shaikh Mubarak, a Sufi mystic, and father of his two closest friends and
advisors, Feizi and Abul Fazl, prepare and circulate a document proclaiming
*Abul Fazl, Akbarnama, iii, p. 395.
THE EMPEROR AKBAR
39
Akbar a Sultan-i-Adil, or Just Ruler, which the Ulema dared not refuse to sign.
The decrees of a Sultan-i-Adil, under the law of Islam, took precedence over
any Ulema, and reduced the latter to impotence. The effect of the proclamation
was to make Akbar virtual Pope as well as King, and to set him free to carry
out the dream that had dominated his policy from the first,—the establishment
throughout India of religious equality for all faiths.
One of his first steps was to throw open the discussions in the House of Wor¬
ship to all faiths. Akbar was convinced, as are students of Theosophy to-day,
that there is truth at the heart of all of the nobler religions, and he set himself to
find it. Hindus, Jains, Sikhs, Parsees, and the Jesuits when they arrived, were
all invited to the discussions, and, in addition, Akbar spent many hours in
personal conversation with the most eminent representatives of the different
faiths. A learned Brahmin, who presumably feared pollution if he entered the
abode of an unbeliever, but who was unwilling to refuse a sincere inquirer, was
drawn up in a basket by a rope outside the palace walls until he was opposite
Akbar’s window, and “spent many nights instructing the Emperor in the esoteric
doctrines of the Upanishads”. Curiously enough, there is no record of his
having been in touch at any time with Buddhism. He was deeply impressed by
the symbolism of the Zoroastrians, and established the sacred fire in his palace,
where his friend Abul Fazl was charged with the duty of seeing that it never
went out. The sun, as the symbol of the Divine, made a particular appeal to
him. In the evening when the lamps were lighted, the whole court was required
to rise in reverence at the coming of the light, “in commemoration of the sunrise”,
Akbar said. Those who would criticize him for this, might well be asked to find a
better symbol for the Divine. One of his historians describes him as “a Sufi
mystic at heart and a Zoroastrian by practice”. He also adopted certain Brah-
minical customs and wore the sacred thread at times. For a week at the new
year, he wore a robe of a different colour each day, the colour corresponding to
that of the sacred planet for that day of the week. The Jain influence resulted
in edicts governing and restricting the slaughter of animals. Akbar himself in
the last years of his life abstained almost wholly from meat.
Akbar always attended the discussions in the House of Worship, which some¬
times ran to appalling length, beginning on Thursday evenings and occasionally
continuing until noon on Friday. It is not altogether surprising that tempers
were frequently rasped. The meetings were held regularly for a number of
years. Then, perhaps because they had served their turn, or perhap^R dis¬
couragement at the intolerance and closed minds of those who debated there,
Akbar discontinued them.
The debates had been held in a special building in the new capital which
Akbar had built, Fathpur Sikri, “City of Victory”. All trace of that building
has disappeared, and there is reason to believe that it was pulled down by order
of Akbar himself. Fathpur Sikri, in Akbar’s mind, seems to have been a symbol
of his great dream of unity, even its architecture being a beautiful and har¬
monious mingling of the Hindu and the Moslem. It was over the entrance to
the great Mosque there that the Emperor, after an inscription recounting his
4 o THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
victories, had inscribed in conclusion the famous words: “Said Jesus, on whom
be peace: ‘The world is a bridge. Pass over it. Do not build on it ’ . This was
added only a few years before his death, after he had already abandoned the city,
which still stands empty and deserted.
In 1581, Akbar promulgated the Din-i-Ilahi, “Divine Faith”, which some
historians call a new religion, but which was actually a new religious and philo¬
sophical Order. The name, “Divine Faith”, seems very like “Divine Wisdom .
It would be interesting to know exactly what the difference in meaning is be¬
tween “Din”, translated as “Faith”, and the Greek word “Sophia”, Wisdom.®
A part at least of Akbar’s motive in promulgating it, was to supply a bond of
union for the different races of his Empire. “The Emperor did not promulgate
the new faith in the spirit of a missionary, zealous for obtaining new recruits.
His object was not proselytization, but a new synthesis of the warring creeds.
He approached the whole question in what we might call a theosophical spirit,
and inculcated no rigid formulae.” * * * * 7 The Din-i-Ilahi upheld no dogmas and
recognized no prophets. The only authority it did recognize was that of each
man’s own soul. Elphinstone says:
It seems to have been pure deism; in addition to which some ceremonies were per¬
mitted in consideration of human infirmity. It maintained that we ought to reverence
God according to the knowledge of him derived from our own reason, by which his unity
and benevolence are sufficiently established; that we ought to serve him and seek for our
future happiness by subduing our bad passions, and practising such virtues as are bene¬
ficial to mankind; but that we should not adopt a creed or practise a ritual on the au¬
thority of any man> as all were liable to error like ourselves. If it were absolutely
necessary for men to have some visible object of adoration, by means of which they
might raise their soul to the Divinity, Akbar recommended that the sun, the planets,
or fire should be the symbols. He had no priests, no public worship. 8
The Din-i-Ilahi was “for the few”. It is probable that at no time were there
more than a few thousand members at the most. The names of only eighteen
have been preserved, including but one Hindu, Rajah Birbal. Refusal to join
made no difference in Akbar’s confidence and friendship. It was a matter for
each man’s conscience. The Din-i-Ilahi, as we have said, had no creed. Its
spirit is expressed in the following verses written by Abul Fazl, and inscribed by
the Emperor’s order over the gate of a building dedicated to it:
O God, in every temple I see people that seek Thee,
And in every language I hear spoken, people praise Thee I
Polytheism and Islam feel after Thee,
Each religion says, “Thou art one without equal”.
If it be a mosque, people murmur holy prayer,
And if it be a Christian Church, people ring the bell from love to Thee,
Sometimes I frequent the Christian cloister and sometimes the mosque,
But it is Thou whom I search from temple to temple.
8 Din, although developed from different roots, means religion, faith, in both Persian and Arabic. In Arabic its
basal meaning is ‘‘submission to Divine judgment". In Persian it developed from "faith by (inward?) sight".
The Persian meanings are given as "religion, wisdom, inner being, spiritual ego, individuality". Ilahi is Arabic.
Akbar was, of course, at home in both languages.
7 Prasad. A Short History of Moslim Rule in India, p. 371.
• History of India, p. 324.
THE EMPEROR AKBAR
4 i
Thy elect have no dealings with either heresy or orthodoxy; for neither of them stands
behind the screen of Thy truth.
Heresy to the heretic, and religion to the orthodox,
But the dust of the rose petal belongs to the heart of the perfume-seller.
“Four degrees of sacrifice” are mentioned. They consisted of the readiness
to sacrifice property, life, reputation, and religion.
While the Din-i-Ilahi had no dogmas, many regulations have been ascribed
to it, which have been a source of much misunderstanding both of Akbar and
of the “Divine Faith”. This is in large measure due to the scantiness of our
knowledge. Apart from a few letters from Jesuits, there are only two main
sources of information. First and by far the most important are the writings
of Akbar’s friend, confidant, and panegyrist, Abul Fazl. Writing unfortunately
in a style of fulsome praise, distasteful to Western ears, Abul Fazl gives a val¬
uable but brief account of the Emperor’s faith, and says that he is going to write
a separate volume dealing with that and with Akbar’s methods; but Abul Fazl
was murdered before it saw the light. The other source is Badaoni, a bigoted,
narrow-minded, orthodox Mahometan, who believed Akbar to be engaged in
undermining the true faith, and who was bitterly jealous of the influence of the
Hindus with the Emperor, and of the fact that all the offices at court had been
thrown open to them. His work contains scores of pages of the most violent
denunciation. It is full of hearsay and of statements that carry their own refu¬
tation on their face. Nevertheless, in the absence of other sources of informa¬
tion, many of his assertions have been accepted as facts by some historians, and
have affected unfavourably their view of Akbar.
The official account of the Din-i-Ilahi is given very briefly by Abul Fazl in
Ain 77 of the Ain- 4 -Akbari. He says that a people seeking guidance to truth
will naturally look to their king, for a king possesses, independent of men, “a ray
of divine wisdom”. The king is the spiritual guide of the nation, “and sees in
the performance of this duty a means of pleasing God. He has now opened the
gate that leads to the right path, and satisfies the thirst of all that wander about
panting for truth. But whether he checks men in their desire to become dis¬
ciples, or admits them at other times, he guides them in each case to the realms
of bliss. Many sincere inquirers, from the mere light of his wisdom, or his hol^
breath, obtain a degree of awakening which other spiritual doctors could nW
produce by repeated fasting and prayers for forty days.”
The ceremony of initiation was performed by Akbar in this manner:
When a novice bears on his forehead the sign of earnestness of purpose, and he be daily
inquiring more and more, His Majesty accepts him, and admits him on a Sunday, when
the world-illuminating sun is in its highest splendour. Notwithstanding every strict¬
ness and reluctance shown by His Majesty in admitting novices, there are many thou¬
sands, men of all classes, who have cast over their shoulders the mantle of belief, and look
upon their conversion to the New Faith as the means of obtaining every blessing.
At the above-mentioned time of everlasting auspiciousness, the novice with his turban
in his hands, puts his head on the feet of His Majesty. This is symbolical, and expresses
tha^the novice, guided by good fortune and the assistance of his good star, has cast from
hisfead conceit and selfishness, the root of so many evils, offers his heart in worship, and
42
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
now comes to inquire as to the means of obtaining everlasting life. His Majesty, the
chosen one of God, then stretches out the hand of favour, raises up the suppliant, and
replaces the turban on his head, meaning by these symbolical actions that he has raised
up a man of pure intentions, who from seeming existence has now entered into real life.
His Majesty then gives the novice the Shast y 9 upon which is engraved “the Great Name”,
and His Majesty's symbolical motto, Allahu Akbar. This teaches the novice the truth
that “the pure Shast and the pure sight never err".
The inquiry as to “the means of obtaining everlasting life”—the inquiry of
the young man in the Gospels—is interesting as showing the perception of a truth
the world has lost—that everlasting life must be won by a man’s own effort.
Abul Fazl gives a description of certain ordinances to be observed by mem¬
bers of the Order. They are entirely outer and trivial. Members are to greet
each other with Allahu Akbar , God is great, and the response, Jalla Jalaluhu ,
May His glory shine forth. They are to give feasts at certain times, to abstain
as far as possible from meat, never to eat anything which they themselves have
slain, not to use the same vessels as butchers, etc., etc. There are very few of
these rules. A later passage gives a special rule governing the funerals of “dar-
saniyyah disciples” 10 which concludes: “But this order is based on a fundamental
rule which His Majesty indicated, but which I cannot here mention.” * 11
Badaoni, who had apparently quarreled with Akbar, and had become the
leader of the orthodox Mahometan party which bitterly opposed the Emperor,
pictures him as persecuting the Mahometans, insulting their faith, promulgating
innumerable oppressive and silly regulations, and setting himself up as divine.
Many of his statements are obviously malicious and rather stupid slander, and
most of the pretended regulations which he gives are puerile. He states, for
example, that the Emperor ordered dogs and swine to be kept in the harem
“and regarded the going to look at them every morning as a religious service”. 12
Whatever else Akbar was, he was not childish. His worst detractors grant
him an extraordinarily keen intellect and a sound judgment. Yet in spite of
its obvious unreliability, Badaoni’s picture has led Vincent Smith and some
other historians to the conclusion that “the whole scheme [of the Din-i-Ilahi]
was the outcome of ridiculous vanity”, “a monument to Akbar’s folly”, and
have accused him of persecuting the Mahometans.
Madame Blavatsky evidently did not share that view or she would not have
described Akbar in the Theosophical Glossary as the most tolerant and enlight¬
ened ruler that India or any other Mahometan country has ever had. The
only evidence in support of Badaoni’s tirade is contained in a few of the letters
from the Jesuits. Prasad says that they got their information from the same
bitterly prejudiced source, the “orthodox” party which had declared war on the
Emperor. It is easy to understand how the bigoted adherents of the religion
that had been dominant to the extent of persecuting all others, should regard
tolerance and equality as an infringement of their rights and an insult to their
faith. For Akbar to persecute the adherents of any religion, let alone the one
• "Shast means aim : secondly, anything round, either a ring or a thread." Blochmann.
10 From darsan, to have seen.
11 Blochmann, Ain-i-Akbar i, i, p. 207.
11 Badaoni, p. 314.
THE EMPEROR AKBAR
43
in which he was bom, would have been to go against his entire character, his
firmly held opinions and his life-long work. His own words, just after he had
abolished the tax on Hindu pilgrims, show the principle to which he steadfastly
adhered in all his actions. “Although”, he said, “the tax fell on a vain super¬
stition, yet as all modes of worship are designed for one great Being, it is wrong
to throw an obstacle in the way of the devout, and to cut them off from their
mode of intercourse with their Maker.” 13 Members of The Theosophical Society,
which endured for years the most violent abuse based on complete misappre¬
hensions of its character and purposes, ought to have no difficulty in under¬
standing the bitter contemporary attacks on the Din-i-Ilahi. They might ask
themselves what posterity would think of The Theosophical Society, if its sole
source of information were an account written by the member of their family
most vehemently opposed to their interest in Theosophy.
Badaoni’s slanders we can dismiss. The triviality of the regulations published
by Abul Fazl is, at first glance, harder to understand. There is, however, a
simple possible explanation. We have already referred to the special order
about funerals which closes with the statement that it is based on “a funda¬
mental rule which His Majesty indicated but which I cannot here mention”.
This is a plain statement that a part at least of the Din-i-Ilahi was secret, an
obvious possibility which seems to have been entirely overlooked by historians.
We know that there was a ritual of initiation, and that Akbar accepted some
candidates and refused others. It is hard to see why anyone should have been
refused admission to an Order with only the beliefs and requirements that have
been made public. On the other hand, in all ages and religions there have been
those who, having really attained to some knowledge of truth, have realized
that it could not safely be given to the multitude. This is not a popular doctrine
to-day, but the truth rarely is popular. Charles Johnston, in one of his articles,
implies that the failure of Greece was due in part to the fact that Plato violated
an age-old rule, in giving to the unprepared masses, truths that should only
have been imparted to those pledged to secrecy and to a strict moral discipline.
That Akbar attained to a number of theosophical truths we know. He may
well have grasped that one, and hence have taken care to see that others were
not unwisely revealed.
The Din-i-Ilahi kept its secrets inviolate, as no doubt Akbar kept his. W^
do, however, know some of his beliefs. He believed in one Supreme Spirit, in
the unity of the Universe, and hence that all things that are, partake to some
degree of the Divine nature. He believed in reincarnation and that the soul
comes from the Supreme, and, after many ages, attaining to complete purifica¬
tion, gains re-union with the Divine. He was a mystic, and was convinced, of
his own knowledge and experience, that it is possible for the soul here and now,
in incarnation, to attain to communion and some measure of union with God.
We have already spoken of two of these experiences. He himself refers briefly
to others. There is also a Hindu tradition that in 1573, he beheld a “marvellous
vision” at the Brindaban temples, the reputed home of Krishna.
44
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Some of Akbar’s own statements, quoted by Abul Fazl in “Happy Sayings
of His Majesty”, are illuminating:
“The smallest details are mirrors capable of reflecting a comprehensive outline.
“True greatness, in spiritual and worldly matters, does not shrink from the minutiae
of business but regards their performance as an act of Divine worship.”
“There is no need to discuss the point that a vacuum in nature is impossible. God is
omnipresent.”
“There exists a bond between the Creator and the creature which is not expressible in
language.”
“That which is without form cannot be seen whether in sleeping or waking, but it is
apprehensible by force of imagination. To behold God in vision is, in fact, to be under¬
stood in this sense.”
“Each person according to his condition gives the Supreme Being a name, but in
reality to name the Unknowable is vain.”
“Who can sever the attachment of the rational soul to the Supreme Being?”
“Although I am the Master of so vast a kingdom, and all the appliances of government
are at my hand, yet since true greatness consists in doing the will of God, my mind is
not at ease in this diversity of sects and creeds; and apart from this outward pomp of
circumstances, with what satisfaction, in my despondency, can I undertake the sway of
empire? I await the coming of some discreet man of principle who will resolve the diffi¬
culties of my conscience.”
Even in those distant days, Akbar was evidently longing for the coming of a
“God-instructed man”.
One statement of Badaoni’s which, being his, may or may not be true, is
interesting. He says that Akbar “gave habitation to the Yogis, visiting the
math almost unattended, and holding scientific and religious conversations with
them. They initiated him into all their knowledge and practices, so that he
sometimes showed gold which he pretended was of his own making.” 14
“Seek and ye shall find” has been true in all ages. Akbar sought ardently
and, as we have tried to show, unquestionably attained to knowledge of certain
theosophic truths. The heart of the theosophic doctrine is that ch£laship, the
passionate, complete devotion to one’s Master, whoever that Master may be,
is a present possibility and fact. Akbar spoke much of discipleship. He called
a group in the Din-i-Ilahi “ch£las”. We do not know what he meant by it, or
whether he himself found his own Master and gained the intimate, personal
relationship that is involved in ch£laship. That he served the Lodge seems clear,
but we have no way of telling whether or not he did so consciously. Unfor¬
tunately, we know nothing of his inner life during his last ten years. His friend,
historian, and co-worker in the Din-i-Ilahi, Abul Fazl, was murdered by Akbar’s
own son in 1602. Akbar himself died in 1605. The “Divine Faith” and what¬
ever of truth it may have held, passed with him to the other world.
_. J. F. B. Mitchell.
14 Wilson’* translation, Collected Works, ii, p. 384. Compare also Lowe’s translation, Badaoni, ii, p. 334.
WITHOUT CENSOR
XI.
HE parallel between the military life, the military order, and the spiritual
hierarchy, or the life and order of the spiritual world, raised above the
mere consideration of the similarity of the qualities necessary to excel
in each, and expanded to include the strategy and tactics of the inner spiritual
warfare—the conscious and deliberate use and ordering of those qualities of
heart and mind and will, in which the individual has to some degree attained,
to further the progress of his inner campaign and advance—all this, from that
midnight in the quiet room at First Army Headquarters when I sensed some¬
thing of the ordered direction of large units in actual war, became for me more
and more a subject of frequent thought, and has been so in the years that
have intervened. Yet, always, consideration of the strategy and tactics of the
inner life, the right handling for constructive purposes of attributes of character
already formed, or partially formed, brings one back again to those fundamentals
of character which are the basis, the foundation setting for the individual
soldier. It is not possible to consider either aspect of the inner warfare sepa¬
rately; they are always inter-related, interwoven. What a man is, what he has
made himself with the help of his superiors in that inner world, what he con¬
tinues to be, determines the extent to which he is able consciously to make use
of this inner strategy and tactics, in order to further his spiritual advance.
Whatever military parallels one uses in order to emphasize similarity, points of
likeness between the inner warfare and the outer, the need of definite and
permanent attainment in certain inner ways, of having tried troops to use, is
paramount and essential. My thinking along these lines received a powerful
stimulus at about that time from a letter which I received from my friend in
the Movement in New York, in which he said: “We have been reading aloud
The Principles of War , by General Foch. . . . Just because Foch really deals
with principles and has thought deeply, his book might easily be paraphrased
as a treatise on ‘the spiritual combat’. Expressed in terms of force instea^( 4 t
in terms of consciousness, it appeals more directly to the modem mind than
such books as that by Scupoli. It is really a profound book. But you, poor
man, have no chance for luxuries such as that,—though, in compensation, you
witness what Foch wrote about, and can at all times translate and re-translate
from one set of terms to the other,—the battle of the soul to that of the Allies,
and vice versa.” There was no opportunity, then, for reading that book; in¬
deed, my chances at that time for any reading at all were few and far between.
But what that letter meant, beyond peradventure, was that I was on the right
k in the line of thinking which had opened out for me, and that I must
ue it, brood over it, until I had so made the principles involved a definite
45
46
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
part of my being, that they would manifest themselves in outer life and living,
and so, perhaps, would come to mean something to others.
Much has been said in regard to the initial necessity for implicit and instant
obedience; emphasis has been laid upon the fact that it is the fundamental
basis of all things, whether in the case of the man who enlists as a soldier, or
in that of the aspirant for ch£laship at the beginning of the Way. I had received
very early an object lesson in this respect at the Officers Training Camp at
Plattsburgh, when, as related in an earlier article, vociferous hand-clapping at
a mass-meeting of the candidates for commissions had been rudely interrupted
by the Regular Army, with the explanation that in the Army it was not cus¬
tomary to evince either approbation or disapprobation, and with the command
that thereafter it would not be done. Why not? That is easy to see. If you
are to have among soldiers the quality of obedience, that basis of the military
life, immediate, unquestioning, you cannot have men expressing themselves
as to whether or not they like the thing which they have been commanded to
do. Nor, when a man has started on the road to chelaship, can there be obedi¬
ence on his part to the laws of the spiritual world, expressed for him through
the suggestions or orders of those who are his superiors in that world, if he
allows his lower nature continually to approve or to disapprove of the advice
which he has received; if he permits it to chatter to him that this is good, that
the other cannot be right and that there must be a mistake somewhere. But
for the aspirant, as well as for the soldier, there is an additional and
highly important reason for absolute and unquestioning obedience, for it is
only through such obedience that there will come to either that quality of
understanding obedience which sees, in part at any rate, the reason and the
purpose which lie behind an order; which glimpses something, at least, of its
necessity and meaning; which brings increased vision, greater trustworthiness
and the possibility of an enlarged sphere of effort.
Both receive their orders in much the same way. To the aspirant they come,
based on spiritual and universal law, down through the hierarchy, through
those in advance of him in all ways of inner progress, until, through his im¬
mediate superior he is told those things which have a bearing on his inner prob¬
lems of the moment, and is thus helped to meet the situation as it exists on his
front. For the soldier in the battle line, orders originate with the Army High
Command, which knows the larger plan of the whole. Down through army
corps, through division, through brigade they come, constantly adapted at
each stage to cover the narrowing exigencies of the local situation, until finally
they reach his regiment. Again, the orders are contracted in scope and are
modified to conform to the conditions which obtain in that regimental sector.
They go from regimental headquarters to the battalion, then to the company
commander, who, finally, makes the appropriate dispositions of his platoons
to conform to the order which he receives, and which by this time contains
little, if any, suggestion of the larger purpose and mission at stake, which had
concerned the Army High Command. By the time that the individual soldier
in the line has received his instructions from his platoon commander, they
WITHOUT CENSOR
47
have to do only with the immediate circumstances and surroundings in which
he finds himself, with how he is to handle himself, in conjunction with those
close to him, during the next few hours or days. That, at the moment, is all
that he needs to know, as it is all, in similar circumstances, that the aspirant
for ch£laship at a like moment requires. It would be impossible for either of
them to comprehend at the moment the larger issues involved, to understand
anything of the greater plan and purpose in which they are playing their part.
If a somewhat wider range of vision, partial and incomplete as it would be,
were possible for either of them at the point at which they find themselves,
it would only tend to blur and to obscure their understanding of the scope of
their immediate duties, and to take the edge off the quality of their present
effort. To do what is right, to the uttermost of their ability, in the surround¬
ings in which they are placed, asking for such help from above as they may
need, is the present clearly defined duty of both; a united effort of heart and
mind and will. But, when the immediate duty is over, when their obedience
of the moment is complete, then it is possible for them to make effective use in
retrospect of their powers of observation, to try to trace cause and effect, to see
reasons, to understand purposes, to learn from experience, so that there may be,
in their next test of obedience, an admixture of intelligent co-operation and
understanding. In this way the quality of their obedience improves, and their
ability to serve increases, until the point is reached at which they are able to
impart to others not only some knowledge of how to obey, but also something
of the purpose and the meaning behind and beyond obedience itself; and then
their promotion comes. If, however, either the aspirant or the soldier fails
to obey at his particular point of the battle line, he jeopardizes far more than
his own personal situation. If he fails to obey through stupidity, it is bad
enough, but not hopeless; but if it is through a feeling of disapprobation, if
it is because he does not like that which he has been told to do, his personal
situation is desperate indeed. In each case he has endangered, through a pos¬
sible miscarriage at the point at which he is responsible, the success of the
entire plan of the High Command.
The infrequency with which praise is awarded in the Army was so string,
that it seemed inevitable that, back of this disinclination to commend^there
must lie some principle to which a parallel could be found in the life and order
of the spiritual world. It is true that decorations were awarded for valour
and for distinguished service, that meritorious performance was commended
in citations and in orders. It seemed to me, however, that always in such
cases it was the purpose, not to reward the individual in question, but to re¬
ward the act itself, which of necessity must be far beyond the ordinary line of
duty. Attention was directed to exceptional performance in order to stimulate
others to similar acts, and so to raise the general level of the morale of the
Army as a whole. It was almost as if the harm which might be done to the
individual in question was deliberately risked, for the greater good of the larger
lumber. That harm might be done by praise and approbation was clearly
recognized, for ordinary, and even extraordinary performance of duty passed
48 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
usually without comment. It was a commonplace that the best thing that
could happen was to hear nothing at all from one’s superiors; that meant in¬
evitably that one was doing one’s job all right; if one was not, one was perfectly
certain to hear about it. The reason, the underlying principle, in this matter
of withholding commendation, is not hard to find, and it is valid in the inner
life as well. Most men simply cannot stand praise, just as the great majority
cannot stand up under prosperity, and for the same reasons. Praise unloosens
vanity, and, after a little, after the recipient has had time to think about the
commendation which he has received and to become thoroughly complacent,
up surge self-reference and self-will and self-love, and before very long the
fact that a man is working for a Cause—whether military or spiritual—is lost
sight of, and lower nature is in complete command of the situation. A decora¬
tion for valour might well change the whole nature of the man who has received
it; that for which he has been rewarded, formerly no more than the thing at
hand to do, has become for him instead a great deed, something magnified
out of all due proportion, and he himself has become in his own eyes a figure
of supreme importance. For the aspirant for chelaship, the faintest stirring of
a desire for commendation might well be the warning signal that vanity was
at work, and that careful self-examination was an immediate necessity, in order
to arrive at a thorough understanding of the reactions of his lower nature, and
to prevent any outward expression in word or deed of those latent concomitants
of vanity, self-will and self-love. The Army, and that life which has as its
motive spiritual growth and attainment, are run on the same principle,—with
this difference, that one who is really dedicated to the inner life does not want
praise. The Cause comes first. If praise be awarded, it should serve merely
as sign and signal that the particular effort which called it forth has been, for
once in a way, rightly made; that the results are, for a wonder, satisfactory;
that, perhaps, the lesson which that particular incident was designed to teach
has been sufficiently well learned to make it possible to move forward and to
learn the next. Praise, a signal to advance, not to rest content. For only as we
advance, only as we attack, can the plan of the High Command go through.
It has been pointed out that the strategy and tactics of the Allied Armies
in the closing days of the war, in operations against an enemy who was at last
on the defensive, called for the driving of salients into the enemy line, which
would have the effect of exposing his flanks, and thus of rendering him so vulner¬
able that he would be forced to retire at those points, and thus constantly to
give ground. Frontal attacks at strong points of resistance, in the effort to
demolish them first, were not contemplated. Indeed, throughout all the Ameri¬
can operations of the summer, the principle had been constantly reiterated of
always attacking strong points by envelopment, and never directly; of “squeez¬
ing-out” a position by passing it on both flanks, and thus forcing its defenders
to retire in order to save themselves, after which the position was mopped up
from the rear by the attacking forces and the gain consolidated. The reasons
for this were, of course, that the waste of time, of life and of effort in a frontal
attack was out of all proportion to the success gained, which could usually
WITHOUT CENSOR
49
be better secured by the other method. There is a close parallel here with a
familiar inner problem. How often we persist in the frontal attack, resolved
to overcome some particular fault, in order that we may go forward all along
the line, until, through our sheer obstinacy and opinionatedness as to the neces¬
sity of gaining this objective first , before further progress is possible, our entire
inner advance is held up. Our inner enemy may be on the defensive, and we
may be full of the spirit of the attack, but we are not using our intelligence
when this happens, we are not utilizing the more aggressive qualities within us,
nor handling them as the commander of an army corps marshals his divisions
in an offensive, using one to reinforce the position of another.
The commander of an army corps sees, perhaps, in the centre of his corps
front, a strong enemy resistance point which is beginning to hold back the
advance of his entire line of attack of three divisions. He knows that, if he
concentrates upon a frontal attack at this point, not only will his line on both
sides be forced to check still further until success is gained, but that the enemy,
at the first sign of that check, will counter-attack in force, and will throw him
from the offensive to the defensive. He presses the attack, therefore, with his
two flank divisions, ordering them to go as far forward on each side of that
central enemy resistance point as they can, exploiting his superiority on each
flank in an enveloping attack; with the result that the enemy, within that
position, seeing that he is being passed on both sides by the advancing troops,
and that he is in imminent danger of being surrounded and captured, retires
without delay. Then the centre attacking division at once moves forward,
the attacking line becomes uniform again in advanced territory, and the of¬
fensive proceeds. What that army corps commander accomplished by this
operation, by pushing his advantage at the points at which he had superiority,
was to pull up into line, with his most advanced elements, the forces at his
disposal which were being checked and which were most backward. That,
too, is exactly what we can do in our inner warfare, if only we do not persist
in a frontal attack against some besetting sin or weakness,—which, too oft^,
degenerates into merely sitting down in front of it, obsessed with the idea tnat
we cannot make progress elsewhere until this resistance point of our inner
enemy has first been overcome. Suppose, for instance, that a man is impatient.
Instead of concentrating upon trying to conquer impatience, let him cultivate
sympathy and understanding. Gradually, as he acquires these qualities, as
he forges forward at these points, passing the old resistance point of the enemy,
he will find that impatience is no longer on the front of his attack. Suppose
that he is afraid. Concentration upon freeing his entire nature from the thought
of self, upon putting first the thought of others, or of a Cause, will drive out
%ar He may already feel sympathy and understanding, he may already
desire courage, he may already long to be free of self, to be truly selfless. If so,
he is already bringing more positive forces into being within himself. There¬
fore, as he presses forward on all sides in the effort to strengthen further those
qualities which are the opposites of his faults, his hatred of impatience, his
loathing of fear follow up as the old enemy gives ground, in the same way
5 ©
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
that the centre division does in the attack of the army corps commander,
helping him to pull all his forces forward to a unified line from which his further
inner advance may proceed. The dangers and the effort inherent in this kind
of an attack, in our inner warfare, are nothing in comparison with those which
we run in our persistence in a frontal effort, for once our inner enemy has held
us up, once he sees that our forward movement has ceased, he will counter¬
attack on all sides without delay. Old temptations will arise then, old weak¬
nesses will recur, and we shall be driven back; for we cannot remain stationary,
and the ground that we thus lose we shall have to win again.
On no account, of course, must we allow our enemy to break through at our
weak points: that would be fatal. Whenever we are attacked at those points—im¬
patience, timidity, what not—we must resist to the death, both directly, and by
special effort to dominate by means of the opposite virtue.
As the Meuse-Argonne operation progressed, the pressure upon the Message
Centre increased, until it was functioning upon a permanently higher level
of activity. It handled at that time as many as three thousand messages and
despatches a day, although, of course, many of these were routed together,
and went out by the same courier. The work that the motor-cycle drivers
did was superb; their efforts were too little known, the part that they played
in the War was too little understood, not nearly enough has been said or written
about them. Often a rider would fall behind his schedule, and then we would
try to pick up his location, so as to send another rider after him if necessary,
in case he had been knocked out, for the despatches could not be delayed; we
would telephone from point to point along his known route, over the military
wires, in the effort to check up his arrivals and departures, and so to narrow
down his probable position. Usually the delay was caused by the rider running
into heavy shelling on the forward roads; when this happened, he would take
refuge with his machine in some shell crater, and would remain there until
the shelling was over, which might be a matter of twenty minutes or of two
hours. Indeed, whenever there was heavy artillery fire in the forward areas,
we knew that our service would be delayed, and when, in these circumstances,
a Corps Message Centre would ring up to complain that our courier had not
arrived, and to ask when he might be expected, we would reply that it would
be just as soon as their Corps Artillery got on the job and put down the Ger¬
man batteries. It would never do, in the Army (beware of this in spiritual
warfare!), to allow the suspicion to arise that delay had originated through any
fault of one’s own; the thing to do was to “pass the buck” like lightning
to someone else, in this case the Corps Artillery. Sometimes a courier would
be delayed by temporary illness. The constant pounding on a motor-cycle
over roads that were full of holes and pits gradually came to have serious and
chronic effects upon the internal organs of the riders, producing constant dis¬
comfort and often real physical anguish. Often, when the activity was at its
height, I have seen one of my riders lifted off his machine when he came in,
his face twisted with pain, unable to stand, and I have had to tell him, as he
stood there supported by two mechanics, that I was sorry, but that he would
WITHOUT CENSOR
5i
have to go out again in twenty minutes, as there was no one else who could be
used. Invariably he would smile and reply, “All right, Captain”. He would
lie down, be dosed with strong, hot coffee, and at the end of twenty minutes
be lifted on to his machine again and, with his jaw set, be off. They were a
splendid lot, and their individual courage and tenacity had far more to do with
the successful functioning of the First Army Staff, and indeed of the First
Army itself, than was ever generally realized or appreciated.
About half-way through the Meuse-Argonne offensive, I made a survey of
the transport under my command, and realized that, if my rolling-stock continued
to depreciate at the rate it was doing, at the end of two weeks more the Message
Centre would not be able to function properly. Something had to be done.
Of course, I should be held responsible; but that was not the point; the main
thing was, we simply must not break down. In order, therefore, to forestall
any such contingency, and to place myself officially on record as having fore¬
seen this danger, I addressed a letter, according to military procedure, to the
Commanding General First Army, in which I outlined the situation in detail,
drew my conclusions, and asked for certain specified additional transportation.
The Army Commander never saw the letter, of course; it was endorsed over
to the Colonel in charge of G-4, the Supply Section of the General Staff, whom
I had never met, for his information and action. This letter was too much
for the Colonel, who was driven to death and hard pressed, and he went com¬
pletely up in the air, and dictated in reply a full-page endorsement consisting
of five paragraphs, the gist of which was, who in blazes is this Captain, and
why in blazes does he think that he should be given any new transportation,
when there are such things as spare parts. I was dumbfounded, and thoroughly
discouraged. I had to have that transportation, and, besides, it was the first
serious trouble I had ever had with a superior, and I felt badly about that.
But, after I had reread the letter several times, I thought that I saw the light.
There were no such things as spare parts. A wise and beneficent Government
at home, although it had sent to France any amount of motor transport, had
never had the foresight to send consignments of spare parts, and, when motor
transport broke down, the only way in general in which it could be repaired
was to strip other motor transport, taken from active service, of th^fcrts
needed. There was, obviously, a limit to the extent to which this sy^Pn of
repairing would work. But the mention of spare parts was a weak spot in this
reply, and it made a point of departure for a further effort; I was bound to
have that transportation. Plunged, however, in deep gloom, I went to General
Drum’s office, only to find that he was absent that day, up at the front lines.
The Deputy Chief of Staff was in charge, a Colonel, whom, fortunately, I had
once known in civil life before the War, and with whom I had recently had
several friendly passages. I showed him the correspondence, outlined my
situation again, and asked him what, in the circumstances, I should do next.
To my immense relief, he laughed immoderately when he had read the endorse-
^pent of the Colonel in charge of G-4, and said to me, “Don’t you pay any
attention to him. He is tired out from trying to make bricks without straw.
52
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
I know that you need more motor transport. You leave the correspondence
with me, and I will see what I can do.” I departed with a feeling of greater
cheer, which turned to distinct elation a few days later, when I received all of
the additional transportation for which I had asked.
Always, not only in the Seventy-seventh Division, but at First Army Corps
Headquarters, and in my work at Headquarters First Army, I was fortunate
in having the backing of someone higher up to bolster my lack of rank, and I
was always, as it were, clothed with a mantle of delegated authority, and able
to speak either as representing my Colonel, or as a direct subordinate of the
Army Chief of Staff. It worked very well as far as attaining results was con¬
cerned, as my superiors were always generous in their support.
There is, I think, another parallel here between the way in which things are
actually handled in the Army in wartime, and the manner in which the spiritual
hierarchy utilizes those far down the line in their grades of rank and of attain¬
ment, in furthering that inner and unseen warfare which it is carrying on. I
had entered the Army, an entirely new field, straight from civil life. I had no
previous military experience or background whatever. All that I did have
was a very real desire to serve, and to serve as efficiently and as loyally as I
could. Probably my superiors, in succession, had recognized this. Possibly
they had realized also that there were potentialities of performance in me
which might be further developed, which did not warrant increase in rank
while this attempt at development was in progress, but which could in the
meanwhile be utilized for practical purposes under skilled direction. So, in
successive instances, I was clothed with an authority delegated from above,
beyond that of my actual rank, and was told to go ahead, while watchful eyes
were kept upon my progress. Certainly that is exactly what happens in the
inner life, in the life and order of the spiritual world, when there is real devotion
and self-giving, when there is a real desire truly to serve, when trial has been
made and a certain degree of trustworthiness has been proved. At that low
level of the spiral of spiritual ascent, one can of oneself do nothing. But if
such qualities are present, it is possible for those superior in rank in the hier¬
archy, to use such an aspirant to further in the world the purposes of the Lodge
itself. Under direction, undeveloped inner abilities are utilized, growing per¬
ception and discrimination are increased, devotion and understanding are
strengthened. The status of the individual, his rank in the hierarchy, do
not change; he must be tested, perhaps for long years, before promotion can
come. But he is given, in advance of his qualifications for actually holding
that rank, opportunities for work which properly belong to a higher grade
than he has yet proved himself capable of functioning in consistently and
permanently,—work, not of his own choosing, but of theirs; work pre-eminently
adapted to further his inner growth and his development; work which he can
do effectively at the point at which he finds himself, by virtue of an authority
delegated to him from above.
It should be easy to see from this narrative that my work at the Message
Centre had now become almost entirely of a confining and administrative
WITHOUT CENSOR
53
nature, requiring constant application and watchfulness. I rarely left Souilly,
my peregrinations consisting of only three or four motor trips upon occasions
when I had to go personally; usually I sent one of my subordinates, as I felt
that, to be most effective, I must keep myself uninterruptedly in a position in
which I could maintain my perspective, not only of details, but of the whole
picture. I was usually able to secure enough sleep, for my organization had
become efficient, and the officer whose turn it was for night duty was almost
always able to carry on alone until morning without help or consultation.
My faithful striker always awakened me early, shut my window, and lit the
smoky stove in my room, for that autumn it rained constantly and the air was
unbelievably chill and penetrating. He then retired outside, to clean and
polish my leathers. His retirement was the signal for me to cover my head
with the blankets, until the smoke from the stove had penetrated sufficiently
within my covering to make me cough. I then shouted, and my striker returned,
and opened the window again to let out the smoke. By this simple method,
enough heat was finally retained in the room to make it possible to wash and
dress without one’s fingers becoming absolutely numb. If any extended lull in
official duties occurred during the day, I took a short walk, my favourite ob¬
jectives being the aviation field, where it was possible to converse with the
fliers, and the hospital, where I got to know some of the sick and wounded,
and made friends with several of the doctors. It was not much in the way of
variety, but it was all that offered.
No official Tables of Organization for a Message Centre at the headquarters
of a field army were in existence, as it was an entirely new affair as far as our
Army was concerned. The First Army Message Centre had evolved, over a
comparatively short period of time, to the going concern which it then was. As
I had probably had as much to do with that evolution as anyone else, I was
told to draw up tentative general Tables of Organization, and to submit them
in the form of a report, with suggestions and recommendations based upon
experience. I spent much time over this monumental work, adding to its
theoretical paper strength everything which I needed myself at the moment
to round out my own picture, and duly turned it in. I never heard anything^
more about it, and I imagine that, if it is still in existence, it is probably lying^
in the basement of some building in the War Department at Washington,
safely buried. When the Headquarters of the Second American Army was
organized, however, I was able to labour somewhat more effectively, for the
officer who was to be in charge there was sent over to Souilly to study my
organization; he spent a couple of days with us, if I remember correctly, and
I heard later on that the Second Army Message Centre was modelled directly
on ours.
Some weeks after the event I heard that General Craig, when he had become
Chief of Staff of our Third Army, had asked for me to go with him to Germany
to take charge of his Army Message Centre, but that General Drum had refused
to let^ne go. That refusal was a direct interposition of divine providence.
Without it, I should have spent the winter and the following spring on the
54
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Rhine, and I should never have been able to return to the United States as
soon as I did. But it was satisfactory to know that I had been wanted.
Often at Souilly, when I was returning from mess after dark to my evening s
work, I would stop at the village church for the service which was held there
two or three nights each week. The church was a large one, and the congre¬
gation, always small, seemed tiny in that edifice and in the semi-total dark¬
ness, for the only illumination came from two or three candles at the foot of the
chancel steps, the light from which was not sufficiently bright to cast any
beam upon the ground outside, especially as the windows were high up on the
church walls. A few American soldiers were usually there, a few French, either
wounded or en permission , and invariably each man sat alone, where it was
darkest, a little way back in the pews. The remainder of the congregation
was composed entirely of women and children. The rays from the candles,
feeble as they were, reached to the Cross upon the altar and illumined it; some¬
times, it seemed to me, that Cross shone with a special effulgence, with a dis¬
tinct radiance of its own, towering above that small gathering, as the Figure
hanging there looked down in compassion. The organ—a parlour-organ we
should have called it at home—had been moved to the floor of the church at
the foot of the chancel steps, and the women and children grouped themselves
around it on little chairs. When the service and the singing were over, the
curd came down, and stood on the bottom step and preached. No, he just
talked; talked heart to heart with them, as he stood in the midst of his little
flock. He was tall and thin, with a crown of white hair; always he made me
think of Cardinal Mercier. Perhaps it was because he was doing, in his small
way, the same thing that the great Cardinal was then doing. He was holding
things together. He talked quite simply of the necessity for fortitude and
for endurance, perhaps for still a long time to come; of continued sacrifice,
reminding them that the spirit in which they made their own denials had its
part in reinforcing the spirit of France; of the absolute certainty of ultimate
victory, of the need for final perseverance, of enduring to the end. All in the
simplest possible words, in terms that they could all easily understand. As
he stood there, pausing in his talk, his hand on the head of a child, other
children sitting on the step at his very feet, the silence unbroken save for some
woman’s sobs, there came to me, again and again, a further realization of the
deathless spirit of France. No enemy from without can ever break that spirit.
Her own enemies, from within, may perhaps warp it, but never for long, for it
comes direct from the spiritual world, a living force that is tempered and true. It
is rooted and grounded in Reality itself. It is based upon a love and a devotion
that are divine in their essence, upon a faith that knows that to it there will
be granted more than it is possible to ask or to desire.
(To be continued)
Centurion.
PRAYER-WHEELS OR POWER?
D O theosophists believe in prayer? In reply, said Madame Blavatsky
in The Key to Theosophy , . . not in prayer taught in so many
words and repeated externally, if by prayer you mean the outward
petition to an unknown God as the addressee.” Through the years since the
book was published, such newcomers to the Society as cherished a long-standing
aversion to prayer, have had a triumphant conviction that a Daniel had come
to judgment and that their scepticism was thereby justified. The subsequent
portions of the chapter were easily passed over—too enigmatic, too occult,
perhaps, to hold the attention. But what, for instance, is the “will-prayer”
referred to later? If it is, as stated, an internal command, whom do we com¬
mand? How is it done? What is its purpose? What effect does it have?
Prayer is a subject which can be discussed, except by those who are far-
advanced on the path, only at the risk of finding oneself, without warning, where
angels fear to tread. The purpose of the present article, however, is not to
discuss but simply to bring together—without apology for almost continual
quotation—certain long-ago writings from a school of thought other than
Theosophy, on the chance that their rather surprising relationship to the chap¬
ter in the Key } and the hints they afford, may prove of use to someone. Those
who are familiar with manuals on the subject will doubtless recall the enumera¬
tion they give of the various purposes of prayer: the prayer of petition (for
oneself or for others, both living and dead); the prayer of thanksgiving, the
prayer of praise, and so on. It is a vast subject, with many aspects and many
possible angles of approach; and to bring it within the scope of an article, the
quotations here brought together have been chosen chiefly for their bearing
on the rather limited aspect of the effect of prayer on the one who prays.
Discussing the widespread scepticism toward prayer to-day, a modem writer,
E. Herman, in the book Creative Prayer , blames in large measure the extemal-
ism with which most public praying is done—perfunctorily in some gatherings,
emotionally in others, with a conventional religiosity which tragically preju¬
dices those who confuse it with real religion.
To put it bluntly, for the average person of to-day, the term “spiritual” is equivalent
to unpractical, if not illusory. Throughout the Church there are sincere, earnest, thought¬
ful people, sensitive to the finest issues and honestly striving to serve God, who 1 ook upon
much praying with undisguised suspicion, as based upon a crude and childish cdraption
of God. . . . For generations we have, to all practical intents and purposes, regarded
prayer in a deplorably mechanical way, as a process of importunate pleading and beg¬
ging. I am not referring to our deliberate theories of prayer—the best mind of the
Church in all ages has held a noble theory of prayer—but to our practice. As a matter
of fact, we have proceeded as if prayer consisted in asking for various temporal and
spiritual blessings with reiterative intensity, implying that, provided we asked earnestly
enough and persistently enough, God would surely respond to our cry. . . . Prayer has
55
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
56
become to hundreds of men and women who have outgrown the traditional conception
of God either a mere pious sentiment or an outworn superstition. We suffer in fact from
arrested development in prayer.
One might go further and say that a large majority of people have no idea
what prayer is—could not know, for they never have lived in that part of their
natures, never have used the faculties which make real prayer a possibility.
Yet they do not hesitate to scoff. For information regarding any subject, the
modem world always seeks a “specialist”, and specialists in prayer are the
product, not of our modem age, but of a different spirit, a different attitude
toward life. Several centuries ago, there were many of them, and they used a
terminology which often compels us to do a certain amount of translating; yet
frequently it is but a step from one to the other. When we read in the Key ,
“Grant us our postulate that God is a universally diffused, infinite principle, and
how can man alone escape from being soaked through by, and in, the Deity?”
—there is no great distance between that and the statement from John of the
Cross, “There are three ways in which God is present in the soul. The first is
his presence in essence, not in holy souls only, but in wretched and sinful souls
as well, and also in all created things; for it is by this presence that he gives life
and being, and were it withdrawn, at once all things would return to nothing.
This presence never fails in the soul. ...”
In the realm of prayer, Teresa of Avila, the 16th century Spanish nun, canon¬
ized by the Church, went farther, perhaps, than anyone else in the western
world whose experience has been recorded. Her analyses of her experience,
notably in her Autobiography and the book known as The Interior Castle; also,
in a different way, her chapters on the Lord’s Prayer in The Way of Perfection ,—
throw invaluable light both on what prayer is and on what it is not, and above
all, on how it is to be done. On one point she was in entire accord with the
Key, and her statement of it might well be placed in large letters before every
church congregation:
If it is prayer at all, the mind must take part in it. ... If a person neither considers
to Whom he is addressing himself, what he asks, nor what he is who ventures to speak
to God, although his lips may utter many words, I do not call it prayer. The custom of
speaking to God Almighty as freely as with a slave—caring nothing whether the words
are suitable or not, but simply saying the first thing that comes to mind from being
learnt by rote by frequent repetition—cannot be called prayer: God grant that no
Christian may address Him in this manner.
As for what does constitute prayer, The Scale of Perfection , the 14th century
manual by Walter Hilton, expresses it:
When thy desire and mind is gotten up, and as it were set free from all fleshly thoughts
and affections, and is much lifted up by spiritual power unto spiritual favour and delight
in Him and of His spiritual presence; hold thou therein much of thy time of prayer, so
that thou have no great mind of earthly things, or if they come into thy mind that they
do but trouble or affect thee little. If thou canst pray thus, thou prayest well, for prayer
is nothing else but an ascending or getting up of the desire of the heart into God by
withdrawing of it from all earthly thoughts. Therefore it is likened to a fire which, of
its own nature, leaveth the lowness of the earth and always mounteth up into the air,
PRAYER-WHEELS OR POWER?
57
even so desire in prayer, when it is touched and kindled of the spiritual fire, which is God,
is ever aspiring up to Him that it came from.
A radiant outgoing to infinite Being is an expression given it in theosophical
writings.
All of the early mystical writers agree on a certain classification: first vocal
prayer (any that is spoken); higher than that, mental prayer (expressed only in
the mind or the heart), then several degrees, each more interior, more elevated,
more close to Reality than the one preceding. Vocal prayer, though lowest in
the scale, has its value, serving as a crutch, so to speak, in certain circum¬
stances, and also being a necessity for beginners, not yet accustomed to dwell
with spiritual things. Hilton, discussing several kinds of vocal prayer and the
need for it, writes:
He that cannot run easily and lightly by spiritual prayer, his feet of knowledge and
love being feeble and sick by reason of sin, hath need of a firm staff to hold by, which
staff is set forms of vocal prayer ordained by God and Holy Church for the help of men's
souls; by which the soul of a fleshly man that is alway falling downward into worldly
thoughts and sensual affections shall be lifted up above them, and holden up as by a
staff, and fed with the sweet words of those prayers as a child with milk, and guarded
and held up by them that he fall not into errors or fancies through his vain imaginations.
Likewise vocal, but a very different type of prayer, is the expression of deep
feeling, a sudden outpouring, as when “he crieth with desire of heart and speech
of mouth to our Lord for succour and for help”, or “at other times there appears
to him to be so much goodness and grace and mercy in God that it delighteth
him with great affection of heart to love Him, and thank Him”.
“The third sort of prayer”, says the same writer, “is only in the heart with¬
out speech, with great rest and quietness both of soul and body. A pure heart
it behoveth him to have that shall pray after this manner; for such only attain
to it who by long travail both of body and soul, or else by such sharp touches
or motions of love, as I have before mentioned, have arrived to rest of spirit,
so that his affections are turned into spiritual savour and relish, that he is able
to pray continually in his heart.” There is scarcely a phrase in this passage
which might not well be italicized. It gives in a few words what probably was
the fruit of a lifetime of experience in praying.
For the stages above this, no certain rule can be set, “for they are th^ee
gift of the Lord, according to divers dispositions of chosen souls”. These ri^Jier
stages, which of course are the ones which St. Teresa analysed most fully, Hilton
calls meditation, and this is the point where the subject becomes a vital one to
many students of Theosophy, for it is safe to assume that practically all serious
students of Theosophy are interested in the subject of meditation, have experi¬
mented with it to some extent, perhaps for many years, and have found it, in
many cases, baffling and discouraging. The testimony of these mediaeval
writers would seem to be that prayer of the right sort is a necessary preliminary
to successful meditation, one of the lower steps in a ladder. St. Teresa makes
the statement in her Autobiography: “It is necessary to remark (and I speak
of this fact, because I know the truth of it by experience), that a soul which
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
58
begins to walk in this way of mental prayer, with a firm determination not to
make much account whether she receive many consolations or none at all [that
is, whether she perceive results or no] such a soul has already passed over the
greater part of the road, and she need have no fear of going back again, what¬
ever obstacles she may meet with, for the building is placed on a solid founda¬
tion.” In the same volume, referring to certain of the high degrees of medi¬
tation and contemplation to which she attained, she says that they came “almost
always after a long exercise of mental prayer”. The general testimony is that
one degree grows out of another: prayer, meditation, contemplation. Those
who attained greatly, often did so only after years of hard labour in the lower
degrees, and even those far advanced returned to them at times, as a means of
starting the springs to flowing. The raw recruit cannot become a soldier ex¬
cept by long drill. To try to dispense with the lower degrees and begin midway,
would seem to be courting difficulty.
It goes almost without saying that Madame Blavatsky was not condemning
real prayer in the sentence already quoted. She came to attack shams, to
expose falsity, to sweep away the outworn and lifeless. She condemned empty,
perfunctory lip-prayer and laid herself open to misunderstanding, just as she
incurred the charge of atheism by her attack on an outgrown and lifeless con¬
ception of God. “We reject the idea of a personal, or extra-cosmic and anthro¬
pomorphic God, who is but the gigantic shadow of man, and not even of man
at his best. The God of theology, we say—and prove it—is a bundle of contra¬
dictions and a logical impossibility.” Instead, “we believe in a Universal Divine
Principle, the root of All, from which all proceeds, and within which all shall be
absorbed at the end of the great cycle of Being.” Here as always, in sweeping
away the old, she replaced it with a bigger, nobler concept, vibrant with life.
It will be remembered that the Key, after questioning whether there is any
other kind of prayer than words or petitions, replies: “Most decidedly; we call
it will-prayer , and it is rather an internal command than a petition.”
This sentence, puzzling and perhaps misleading to many, finds an unexpected
commentator in the unknown author of the mediaeval treatise, The Divine
Cloud or The Cloud of Unknowing. His system, already outlined in an earlier
Quarterly, required long training and discipline, until, through complete
withdrawal from the sense of selfhood and intense concentration on the simple
Be-ness of the Deity, one learned to pray “in the silence of pure spirit”,—a
degree of “innemess” that is difficult for the lower mind to do more than dimly
sense. None but the trained disciple could have practised either this type of
prayer, or that which seems to correspond to the will-prayer of the Key. The
latter type the author outlines, explaining that it must be reduced to the fewest
words possible, preferably one-syllable words—and uses a quaint analogy to
make clear the reason:
A man or a woman, being made afraid of some sudden chance of fire, or of the killing
of a man, or of any other vehement accident, is driven, by reason of the suddenness of
the thing, and of his necessity, to cry or to pray for help. And how doth he cry? For¬
sooth, not in many words, nor yet in one word of two syllables. And why? Because he
PRAYER-WHEELS OR POWER?
59
thinketh it overlong to tarry about the declaring of his necessity, and of the agony of
his spirit; and therefore he bursteth out vehemently and crieth out with some one word, and
that of one syllable, as is this word “Fire!” or else this word “Help!” or such like. Now,
like as this little word “Fire!” pierceth the ears of the hearers sooner, and stirreth their
affection more effectually than a longer discourse doth, even so doth a short word of one
syllable sound in the ears of Almighty God; not only when it is spoken or thought, but
also when it is inwardly meant in the deepness of spirit.
Why, he asks, should this prayer of one syllable have such efficacy? “For¬
sooth, because it is prayed with a full spirit, to wit, in the height and depth, in
the length and breadth of his spirit that prayeth.”
And remembering that we pray either to acquire a good or to rid ourselves of
an evil,—then since “all good things are comprehended in God, and all evils
in sin . . . let us when we mind intentively to pray for the removing of evil,
either say or think or mean only this little word ‘sin’, and no more. And like¬
wise, if w r e mean intentively to pray for the obtaining of good things, let us cry
either with word or with thought, or else with desire, only this short word ‘God’
and no more; for in God are all good things, both as in their cause, as also in
their essence or being.”
If some other word be preferred, well and good, but whatever the word chosen,
it should be dwelt upon until one’s spirit is filled with its meaning—not thinking
of this or that special kind of “sin”, but “Thou must have such an estimate of
sin, that thou feel it to be a lump thou wotest not what; but surely none other
thing than thine own self. And feeling it so, cry out upon it only, and say,
‘Sin, sin, sin, out, out, out’. Now, like as thou hast done with this word ‘sin’,
even so do with this word ‘God’.”
To modem ears it sounds strange, cold perhaps, and lacking the fire which
the author evidently felt; but within it is at least a clue to the rationale of will-
prayer. The written word is cold as a medium of expression for living inner
experience, unless the reader intend upon and enter into the idea until it be¬
comes a living thing for him as well. Hilton is speaking in an age of faith, to
those who had given themselves to a life of prayer and had had long exigence,
and his urgent message is that to crown their effort, to make their prajlr “rise
suddenly unto God”, they must throw into it all the force of every atom of their
being. There is a footnote in The Secret Doctrine which has bearing on this
method: “The words ‘whosoever shall say to this mountain be thou removed
and cast into the sea, and shall not doubt , that thing will come to pass’, are no
vain words. Only the word ‘faith’ ought to be translated by will. Faith with¬
out Will is like the wind-mill without wind —barren of results” (Vol. II, p. 59,
Ed. 1888). It will be remembered, too, that the opening sentences of the Lord’s
Prayer—“Thy Kingdom come”, and so on—are phrased as commands, and
obviously involve will .
Will-power becomes a living power as a result of prayer, says the Key, a state¬
ment at once suggestive of those enigmatical sentences in The Secret Doctrine
about Kriy&shakti, the mysterious power of thought enabling it to produce
external, perceptible, phenomenal results by its own inherent energy (a mys-
6o
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
terious and divine power latent in the will of every man),—which, coupled with
IchchMshakti, the power of the will, works miracles.
Real prayer is a mystery, the Key continues, “an occult process by which
finite and conditioned thoughts and desires, unable to be assimilated by the
absolute spirit which is unconditioned, are translated into spiritual wills and the
will; such process being called ‘spiritual transmutation’.” Then those lines,
perhaps the most important in the whole chapter: “The intensity of our ardent
aspirations changes prayer into the ‘philosopher’s stone’, or that which trans¬
mutes lead into pure gold. The only homogeneous essence, our ‘will-prayer’,
becomes the active or creative force, producing effects according to our desire.”
Here lies the essential difference between prayer as usually practised and
prayer in accordance with Theosophy: the fact that, according to the latter,
prayer creates, and the fact (made clear in many theosophical writings) that it
reacts on ourselves, that it is ourselves we are creating. The great mystics
experienced this, discovered it, for themselves. By praying greatly, they came
to love greatly, and in loving, they grew into conformity of will with the Beloved,
and then gradually into conformity of their entire being. They were made over,
were bom anew, as a result of the creative power of prayer. In the process,
they developed occult faculties, acquired in some cases certain of the powers of
the ch£la, and learned by experience some of the most esoteric teachings of
Theosophy. They did this simply and naturally without a planned advance,
just as an explorer presses forward into unknown country. Theosophy teaches
that it may be done, can be done, by planned effort, with the sure knowledge
that if certain steps be taken, certain results will follow.
This creative aspect of prayer, has not been glimpsed by the world at large,
or by the average man who prays, yet actually it involves little more in the be¬
ginning than a matter of emphasis, a difference in centre of gravity: the dif¬
ference between obtaining and being or becoming. In some respects, the dis¬
tinction is rather elusive, and it may be made clearer by an illustration,—that
of a young woman who had been reduced to despair by a serious estrangement.
Having tried every outer means to undo the past, and being devout both by
nature and training, she turned to prayer as the only remedy left. She would
pray with all her might for a year, that the break be mended. The year passed
—without visible result. With hope and faith alike gone, and feeling that she
had done her full part, she declared she was “through with religion for life”.
To those who knew her, it was an illuminating experience. She was headstrong,
selfish and indolent. Had the high gods granted her prayer, a repetition of her
difficulties in no long time would have been inevitable. Yet her instinct was
right and true. Continued prayer, with the right emphasis—not on obtaining
an outer thing, but on creating, on becoming —would have rid her of the defects
which caused the trouble and could equally have developed qualities with which
to win and hold those she loved.
As so often happens, a difference which seems trifling in its beginnings leads
to final results which are poles apart. Madame Blavatsky in the Key , just as
she says little of the preparatory stages, merely hints at the way that lies ahead,
PRAYER-WHEELS OR POWER?
61
leaving it for the seeker to discover for himself. Quoting the biblical verse,
“Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name [that of the Christos] that will I do,”
she writes,—
If we accept it [the quotation] esoterically, A with the full knowledge of the meaning
of the term Christos, which to us represents Atma-Buddhi-Manas, the Self, it comes
to this: the only God we must recognize and pray to, or rather act in unison with, is that
Spirit of God of which our body is the temple, and in which it dwelleth. . . . We believe
in “communion” and simultaneous action in unison with our “Father in secret”; and,
in rare moments of ecstatic bliss, in the mingling of our higher soul with the universal
essence, attracted as it is towards its origin and centre; a state called during life Samadhi,
and after death, Nirvana.
It is really this concept of prayer in its larger sense (prayer-meditation-
contemplation as a creative process) which gives the other main tenets of
Theosophy their practical significance and makes them more than a splendid
theory. In the light of this concept, the teaching of the fundamental Unity
of all things takes on vital significance as making possible the at-one-ment
of the individual with the Divine above and about him. In its light, the
doctrine of Karma shows that our circumstances are merely the field in which
we work; that they point the way; that they are self-made, the effect of past
right- or wrong-creation, and that the only way to change them essentially is by
this process of re-creating ourselves, and thereby producing a new chain of
effects. In its light, the doctrine of Reincarnation affords time, through life
after life, in which to carry forward the work. And finally this concept coupled
with the teaching of the “Father in secret” (as the Key calls it), the Master
as he is referred to elsewhere, supplies the Instructor, the Guide, the Way by
which man shall advance, in ever-growing consciousness, through a future that
knows no end,—shall win immortality.
P.
m
Death to ourselves is the teaching wrapped in the mystery of the Nativity. Could
we but understand this as the Saints have understood it , with what ardour we should
plunge ourselves into that death to nature , which brings forth the Soul into divine
life !— Anon.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
T HE Recorder had explained to his friends as they assembled, that, a
few days before, he had met one of the younger members who had asked
him questions which he, the Recorder, believed would be of general
interest, and that consequently he had invited his questioner to their meeting
that afternoon. The younger member arrived promptly, and after a word or
two from the Recorder, began, by general request, to state his difficulties.
“It is good of you”, he began, “to let me discuss my problems with you. I
am always afraid that I may be making mountains out of mole-hills, but the
truth is that I find myself in a state of muddle, trying to reconcile the views
of older students of Theosophy, whose absolute rightness it seems almost dis¬
loyal to question, with the views of other friends, who are not interested in
Theosophy, but who think idealistically, and who are unselfish and sincere in
their aims.”
“Forgive me if I interrupt you so soon”, said the Philosopher, “but please
at once get rid of the idea that it can be disloyal to question the rightness of
any student of Theosophy from H.P.B. and Judge, down to its exponents of
to-day. Absolute rightness does not exist in this world, and even if it did, it
is a fundamental principle of Theosophy that another person’s perception of
Truth can at best serve us as a working hypothesis, until we have tested it,
not only intellectually, but in the laboratory of life itself, that is, in the light
of universal experience, and, above all, by setting it to work, by trying it out,
in our daily contact with the world. It is the lazy man who persuades himself
that he ‘knows’ something merely because he has heard it stated ‘authori¬
tatively’, and because, off-hand, he sees no reason why it shouldn’t be true.”
“May I also suggest”, added the Historian, “that it takes two to tell the
truth: one to speak it, and the other to hear it. A dozen Adepts, one after the
other, might expound the same truth to a man, each in a different way—and
he might completely misunderstand their meaning, and pass on that misunder¬
standing to others as the ultimate expression of Wisdom. Particularly is this
likely to happen when theosophical principles are in question, because most
minds are wooden in their interpretation and application of principles of any
kind; in addition to which my own experience is that, in the most ordinary
matters, real understanding of our thought, wishes, and even of what we imagine
to be our explicit directions, is astonishingly rare; and of course we misunder¬
stand others at least as much as they misunderstand us.”
“I see all that”, said our friend, with a perhaps justifiable shade of impatience.
“None the less it is difficult to shake off the feeling that someone w'ho has studied
Theosophy for more years than I have lived, must have a better grasp of the
subject than I have, and that to question his interpretation would be pre¬
sumptuous.”
62
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
63
“Stop, think, look, listen!” exclaimed the Philosopher, laughing. “You have
been to college; you have listened to lectures. You would indeed have been
foolish to imagine that you knew more about chemistry or botany or anatomy
than your old Professor; but all he could do or could attempt to do was to
give you the result of his own study and experience, while insisting that, by
repeating the experiments or dissections he described, you must verify for
yourself the truth of his instruction. Nothing would have pleased him better,
after you had done that, than intelligent questioning of his results.”
“But Theosophy is not only a science; it is an art, a philosophy,—an inter¬
pretation and explanation of life and its causes, seen and unseen!”
This pleased the Philosopher. “True”, he said; “but once more return to
your experience at college. There were teachers and teachers, some good, some
bad; and you realize now that the best were not those who taught you most,
by rote, at the moment, but those who filled you with love of their subject
and an ardent and lasting desire to learn more, always more, about it. What¬
ever your reaction at the time, looking back on your experience you probably
see that while one Professor was using his lectures on literature as an oppor¬
tunity to advocate Communism, or to ventilate his hatred of religion, another
devoted his energies to belittling the Victorians in favour of the Elizabethans
or perhaps of ultra-modems, while a third was a mere grammarian. You were
fortunate if you encountered one who dealt primarily with underlying principles,
and who tried to give you the intellectual background, and especially the appre¬
ciation of content, form, atmosphere, which would make you a discriminating
lover of literature for the rest of your life.
“Apply that to those who expound Theosophy. Think of the materialistic
interpretations of Mrs. Besant, the psychic perversions and perversities of Lead-
beater, the pontifical attitude of so many others. R&manathan came from
the East as an exponent of Theosophy, and, in a New York drawing-room, to
a group of students, suddenly announced: ‘Now I will tell you all about God’!
Not a flicker of a smile: he imagined he was being kind and generous in thus
opening the flood-gates of his wisdom. That was many years ago, and I doubt
if anyone would be so crudely dogmatic and untheosophical to-day; but human
nature still remains the same, and the upshot of it all is that, as Judge so rilen
warned us, we must use discrimination always, and must never be sadmed
with any statement about Theosophy until reason and intuition and experience
combine to convince us of its truth.”
“Does that mean that we should think things out for ourselves, without the
aid of others? Was I wrong, perhaps, in asking for this opportunity to submit
my problems to you, who are older students?”
“It certainly does not! Think again: is a practising physician, puzzled by
the symptoms of a patient, wrong to seek whatever light he can gain by con¬
sultation with his elders? On the other hand, if he were blindly to accept some
proffered opinion, without thought, without reference to his own experience
mr to his first-hand knowledge of the case; if he were to wash his hands of responsi¬
bility because an opinion was backed by a great reputation,—he would not be
64
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
acting theosophicaUy, even though the ethics of his profession, outwardly at
least, were to justify such an attitude. . . . But, may I ask, what is your
specific problem ? ’ *
“I have more than one”, was the reply. “My first is the question of social
responsibility. Granted that the universe exists for purposes of the soul, and
that making people’s bodies comfortable may not help their souls,—does that
exonerate us from responsibility in trying to better the appalling conditions
which exist around us at any point at which we come into contact with them."”
The questioner seemed to turn to the Student rather than to the Philosopher
for reply; so the former, keenly interested, did not hesitate. “There is confusion
of thought in your statement”, he said. “Who are ‘us’; who are ‘we’? Get
rid of that indefinite ‘we’; make it ‘I’ and then ‘he’,—and you will almost have
solved your problem. ‘The duty of another is full of danger’; your duty may
be entirely different from the duty of your neighbour, even though his educa¬
tion, circumstances and age may be very like your own.
“A man’s natural duty, or path through life, is laid out for him, prior to in¬
carnation, by Karma, or the Divine Law, and throughout incarnation his higher
self tries to keep him to that path, while his lower nature frequently incites him
to depart from it. It would be legitimate, I think, to say that every man has a
vocation, using that term in the religious, not in the secular sense,—using it as
covering ‘my duty towards God and my duty towards my Neighbour’ as defined
in the Catechism, with emphasis on the oft-quoted conclusion: ‘And to do my
duty in that state of life unto which it shall please God to call me.’ Very few,
of course, think of life in those terms. The fact remains that if we omit from our
calculations the divine plan and purpose, not only for the world, but for every
individual in it, we can never so much as formulate the problem of individual
duty, nor understand why two men may rightly follow totally different paths,
nor realize that a man’s divinely appointed path is determined far more by the
sort of experience he needs for his development than by what he may be able
to accomplish outwardly. In other words: God can get along quite well with¬
out my contribution, if only for the reason that I cannot as yet appreciably
contribute; but, because I am his child, my education, in the most comprehen¬
sive sense, concerns him vitally.
“Necessarily, in direct though restricted reply to your question, it must be
inherent in every man’s vocation to do what he can to relieve the distress with
which he comes into contact,—not only bodily distress, please note, but, if he
be able, the far more ‘appalling’ distress of heart and mind which our present
civilization engenders: that bitterness which lack of faith and understanding
leaves in the natural and inevitable wounds caused by death and disaster. ‘To
visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction’, and to give comfort where
we can, subject to our fundamental vocation, must always be included as part
of the Divine Will for us.”
“What do you mean by: ‘subject to our fundamental vocation’?”
“I mean that if a man’s real vocation be that of a soldier, or a woman’s, that
of wife and mother, it would be wrong for either of them to neglect their very
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
65
exacting primary duties by seeking or creating opportunities, outside their
immediate environment, to change conditions in the world around them. They
should leave wholesale reform, if there be such a thing, to those whose special
vocation that is.”
“Will you please illustrate just what you mean by ‘vocation’,—actual ex¬
amples? They would help me, I think, to understand.”
“A man may be ‘called’ to be a soldier, like Kitchener or Foch, both of whom
were keenly aware that that was their vocation; or he may be ‘called’ to be a
monk, like St. Francis or St. Benedict; a statesman, like Sully; an artist, like
Rembrandt (you will remember that, the son of a miller, he began his career as
an etcher and painter at the age of twelve); a philanthropist, like that Earl of
Shaftesbury who devoted his life to the better treatment of lunatics and of all
who were down-trodden and oppressed; or it may be his vocation—none the
less real, none the less God’s call to him, and therefore just as important a part
of the divine economy—humbly to follow in the footsteps of his forebears as a
tiller of the soil.
“Similarly, it may be the vocation of a woman to serve as a wife and mother,
while her sister may be ‘called’ to become a nun, ‘contemplative’ or ‘active’ as
the case may be. Another woman’s vocation may be in^ the sphere of art or
literature,—even of science, as we see in the case of Madame Curie, whose mar¬
riage appears to have been a scientific partnership more than anything else.”
“What, then, should be my attitude toward an acquaintance, perhaps younger
than I am, who feels drawn toward social reform? Should I do what I can to
encourage or discourage him?”
“Let me ask you a question: I once heard of a girl whose mother was a
chronic invalid and bed-ridden. The girl decided that she had a vocation for
nursing, but that to give her vocation free scope (perhaps get away from the
boredom of nursing her mother), she must become a trained nurse in some
hospital. Was that girl’s decision right or wrong? And why?”
“Did the girl have to contribute to the support of her mother?”
“No.”
“I should suppose, in that case, that her first duty would be to her motheijfl
“Exactly; which helps to make it clear that we must not confuse vocatiw
with inclination. To abandon duty in order to follow inclination, is to indulge
selfishness. So, in the case of your acquaintance who feels drawn toward social
reform, the first question is, whether he is free to follow his inclination. I have
met plenty of young men in the Latin Quarter of Paris, studying art, who were
confident they had the vocation of a Rembrandt, but who ought to have been
helping in the family grocery or drug store in some small town in the Middle
West, instead of eating up the family savings in Paris,—only to end as pavement
artists or taxi drivers. However, assuming independent means and no home
duties, a young man is surely at liberty to devote himself to social reform in
any way he prefers, if he believes that to be his vocation, and I do not see why
yoJfcould either encourage or discourage him, unless he should seriously con-
sulfyou. In that case, as a student of Theosophy, you might well help him to
*
1
66
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
clarify his own aims, which, in all probability, are hazy: the result of emotion
unchecked by reason,—a well-meaning but uninformed desire to be ‘useful.
Help him to define his aims, and then to gauge the means by which he hopes to
attain them. Without any thought of turning him into a Theosophist, see if
you can interest him in a study of the underlying instead of the superficial
causes of human suffering.”
“The case I have actually in mind”, said the younger student, “is that of an
acquaintance who is obliged to earn his own living, and who is thinking of
doing so by means of his interest in social welfare.”
‘‘He had better imitate St. Paul, and earn his living as a tent-maker”, the
Student answered. ‘‘If St. Paul had accepted a salary from the group in Jeru¬
salem, he would have sold half his freedom. A vocation is not necessarily the
activity by means of which a man earns his living. He may be a doctor, or Wall
Street broker, or a mechanic, with discipleship, in the theosophic sense, as his
vocation. In that case he would use his outer activities as opportunities for
inner discipline and creative work, while his spare time would be devoted to
his major purpose. As always, it is the motive that counts, and motives range
all the way from selfishness to the most complete self-giving. Think of the
different motives that may actuate a school-teacher: to inculcate a creed, to
earn an honest living, to support an aged mother, to earn a living while striving
to raise the level of education either for humanitarian or for spiritual ends.”
‘‘A friend of mine is in trouble because his father, who is an officer in the army,
is intensely anxious that his son shall follow in his footsteps, while the son hates
the idea and longs to become an architect.”
‘‘Most architects nowadays are starving, and the father may know it! But
I realize, of course, that that is no answer to your question. Parents often are
unwise in their desire that the children they love should do as they have done.
This is as true of parents who are students of Theosophy as of any others, though
it ought not to be. It is only natural, however, that a father, or mother, who
has found the solution of life’s problems, and the compensation for life’s suffer¬
ings, in the pursuit of discipleship, should long for the same blessing for a be¬
loved child,—only natural and right; but experience has fully demonstrated
that not one person in a million is ‘called’ to that high and splendid effort, and
no greater mistake can be made than to attempt to push young people in that
direction. It is another matter if they declare their desire for such a life, and
appeal to their parents to support their resolution; but, ordinarily, it is the
duty of parents to help their children to find their true vocation, whatever that
may be, and then to help them to recognize its higher levels and to work for
their attainment.”
At this stage the Engineer stepped into the arena. ‘‘It comes to this,” he said.
“First, what is your own vocation? The answer is: that is for you to decide;
you must thrash that out with your God; you may profitably consult others,
but you alone, in the last analysis, can hear and follow. Second, do not con¬
fuse yourself by thinking of ‘the young people of your age’. No two of them
are alike, or can possibly have quite the same vocation. Deal with them one
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
67
at a time, as they consult you, and confine your efforts to helping each one to
hear his own ‘call’; help him to use both his head and his heart for this purpose,
and then to interpret it on as high and as practical a level as he is capable of
reaching,—and no higher.”
“Well”, said the younger student, “that does seem to make sense, and will
probably make clearer sense when I have had time to think it over. I am
very grateful to all of you. May I ask another question,—this time on behalf of
a girl friend?”
As there was ready consent, he continued: ‘‘It is about women taking part
in public life. Obviously that is not their true field, and yet with this topsy¬
turvy world, is it not wise to make the best of things, and encourage girls to
fit themselves for some sort of useful work, and to uphold standards in the
educational and business worlds, since uncertain conditions and other things
make marriage less and less of a probability,—as a career for educated women ?
. . . That, as I understood her, is a summary of my friend’s problem, which I
discussed with her at some length, neither to her satisfaction nor my own.”
‘‘What was your difficulty?”
‘‘It has been removed to a considerable extent by what has been said already
in regard to vocations. Talking with my friend some weeks ago, I found myself
in the position of a house divided against itself, one part of me agreeing with
what I believed to be the ideal point of view as taught by Theosophy, and another
part of me, especially in specific and practical cases, leaning strongly in favour
of views held by liberal friends. The result was a fuzzy state of partial agree¬
ment with everyone, and no conviction of my own.”
The candour of this, appealed to all of us; but the Engineer had to get some¬
thing out of his system before continuing the discussion seriously.
“Please tell your friend”, he said, “that I will concede her a free hand in any
branch of public life on condition that she does not go into training for the
Secretaryship of Labour.”
The younger student saw the point and chuckled. “No danger of that in
this case”, he said. “Her father is a manufacturer, and has suffered,—which
means that she has too!”
“Glad to hear it”, the Engineer replied unsympathetically. “The more
wide-spread the suffering, the sooner it will be over. We have had a dc^pwhich
will not easily be forgotten. Never again, pray heaven! Why di<Wt they
make her Secretary of the Navy while they were about it? It would have
been just as suitable.”
“Back to the point, please”, interposed the Recorder.
“Very well”, the Engineer agreed; “I have had my say, and should like the
Student to resume.”
“Briefly”, responded the Student, “the ‘fuzzy state’ was due to lack of under¬
standing. Once the doctrine of vocation is understood, there is no conflict
between ‘the ideal point of view as taught by Theosophy’, and the views de¬
scribed as liberal. In fact, Theosophy provides the only view that is liberal.”
He paused, and looked at his junior. “Are your liberal friends”, he asked,
68
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“prepared to recognize and respect the vocation of a contemplative nun, or of
a Trappist monk, or of a Hindu sannyasi , or of a soldier, or of an expert in ex¬
plosives who devotes himself heart and soul to perfecting depth-charges?”
“Perhaps not”, replied the younger student. “But are you prepared to
recognize and respect the vocation of a woman who devotes herself heart and
soul to the enactment of laws for the abolition of slums?”
“Certainly we are”, was the reply. “A butterfly may perform a useful and
necessary function in the fertilization of certain plants, and in that sense has
been ‘called’ to that service. The custodians of our National Parks have learned
that the depredations of wolves and coyotes are essential to the well-being
of herds of deer, and that, without these ‘scourges’, the unfit survive, and at
last outnumber the fit. In all sincerity, however, I am not comparing your
reformers to wolves,—or to butterflies: I am trying to emphasize and widen
the application of a fundamental principle of Theosophy. In the human king¬
dom we must consider, first, the stage of evolution an individual has reached.
You ask, in effect, whether it can be a man’s (or a woman’s) vocation to relieve
distress, not only in his immediate environment, but on as large a scale as
possible. My answer is, Yes; and he will (and should) do so according to his
state of development, which means, according to his power of perception. He
may do it in the hope of serving the divine purpose, which is the Cause of his
Master; or he may do it for humanitarian and materialistic reasons. If, in his
eyes, bodily suffering is the greatest of evils, he must necessarily be ‘called’ to
relieve that, and may decide to become a doctor, or a charity worker, or a very
unusual type of politician. It would be a crime to discourage him, or to try
to divert his efforts into what, for others, would be higher channels. Naturally,
however, if we think he is pursuing his end, in any of these directions, by wrong
or foolish means, and our relations with him should warrant the expression
of an opinion, we might properly criticize his procedure and suggest methods
more likely to achieve his ends—his own ends, please note. And I have found
in this connection that historical illustration has more weight than philosophical
argument. For example (if you will pardon a moment’s digression), the very
practical experience in the eighteenth century of that strange American, Ben¬
jamin Thompson, more widely known as Count Rumford of the Holy Roman
Empire, is particularly instructive in these days of doles and governmental
relief. Founder of The House of Industry in Munich, when, as Chief of Police,
it became his duty to abolish the organized beggary which there had become a
scourge, he proceeded on the principle, which he announced, that no one could
be happy who was not industrious. Further:
It is most certain that all sums of money or other assistance given to the poor in
alms, which do not tend to make them industrious, never can fail to have a contrary
tendency, and to operate as an encouragement to idleness and immorality.
“Those, therefore, who had never learned to work, must be taught how to do
so. You have probably read of his extraordinary success: that he not only
abolished mendicancy, but won the gratitude and affection of those who had
once been professional beggars.”
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
69
The Student paused. It was now the turn of the Philosopher to interject a
thought which obviously had been worrying him. “The muddle of which you
have accused yourself”, he said, turning to the younger member, “arises in part,
I think, from confusing a means of livelihood, with a vocation in the sense in
which that word has been used here. Trying to state your friend’s problem—
about women taking part in public life—you asked if girls should not be encour¬
aged to fit themselves for some sort of useful work, and ‘to uphold standards
in the educational and business worlds’. If a girl enters the world of business,
not because she must, in order to earn her living, but as a missionary enterprise,
my belief is she will have mistaken her vocation. She may hate the idea of
going into business, and may try to console herself with the hope that she may
be able ‘to do some good’ in such uncongenial surroundings; but she ought not
to deceive herself by regarding this as a vocation: if she does, she will fail both
in business and as a missionary. We must be honest and clear-cut in the recog¬
nition of our motives. It comes to this: Has a girl independent means? Will
her parents be able to provide for her when they die? If not, she should of
course prepare herself to earn her own living, taking into account her capaci¬
ties and limitations, consulting her friends, and basing her decisions upon
common sense. We should remember that the right performance of our duty,
whatever that may be, is our real vocation, no matter how unromantic, insig¬
nificant, and devoid of public usefulness, the performance of our duty may
seem to us to be. We should remember also that we can use the performance of
any duty (though this is for the very few) as the best means to attain to union
with the Divine.
“The girl who is and will be provided for sufficiently, can afford to ask herself
if she is specially ‘called’ to do some outer work in the world, in the educational
or any other field, regardless of the monetary results. Or she can afford to ‘go
in’ for painting, writing, music, as she may desire; but I feel strongly that any
girl, rich or poor, in addition to her other occupations, should prepare herself
to take care of a home, seeing that the probabilities point to marriage sooner or
later, and that for the man’s sake as well as her own, the more she knows about
house-keeping the better.”
“Many girls marry nowadays”, someone remarked, “who cannot sew on a
button, much less dam a stocking, while all they know about providing a n\ml
is to go or send for some cooked meats and perhaps a salad. This is ju^Wis
true of the poor as of the well-to-do, because the city girl who works in a
factory or office, leaves it to her mother to do the cooking and mending, with
the result that, if she marries, her husband often goes through a period of
digestive misery before his wife learns that marriage is not just a spree.”
“The Philosopher spoke just now of girls who are and will be provided for
financially, presumably by their parents”, the Economist now volunteered.
“May I say that in my opinion no such condition exists, either for girls or boys.
The whole financial structure is being attacked so persistently, not any more
by individuals only, but by governments with vast resources, that, in twenty
^grs from now, all savings may have been swept away. If I had a million
«
70
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
dollars, and a daughter, I should want to provide for her by seeing to it that,
if the worst came to the worst, she could earn her own living as a craftsman of
some kind,—and I am not at all sure that old-fashioned sewing would not prove
as safe a form of insurance as any other. I am told that fine sewing is almost
a lost art, though the demand for it still exists and probably always will. But
what are known as ‘home industries’ cover a wide field, and a boy can learn how
to repair watches, or to mend and make furniture, or to do any one of fifty
things that would provide him with a living in an emergency. The fate of so
many Russian refugees from Bolshevist persecution, especially the women
among them, as they found themselves penniless in the streets of Constanti¬
nople or Paris, ought to be sufficient warning. Further, it is distinctly wholesome
for young people to learn how to use their hands profitably.”
‘‘You had other questions”, said the Recorder, turning to the younger student.
‘‘I have”, was the answer; ‘‘but these I may find have been answered already
when I come to think things over. There is this, however: I have wondered
whether my feeling that Theosophy always pulls counter to the world is mis¬
taken. All that tends towards goodness and unselfishness, on whatever plane,
must be part of the work of the White Lodge, and any real effort to discover
the Right must prove itself in action to be either erroneous or correct. Some¬
how I feel that the White Lodge could use all the strivings towards good of
even the most misguided souls, and yet I know that it is often the best inten-
tioned people who do the greatest harm. It is in talking and mingling with peo¬
ple of this type that I find myself hard put to it to know what attitude to take.
Ought I, in brief, to fight the world wherever and whenever it fails to come
up to the high ideals of Theosophy, or should I try to serve as a point of contact
between the world in which my life is lived and the wonderful teaching which
I love? In considering the latter possibility, I seem to stand on the edge of a
great undiscovered country, which is waiting for us younger T.S. members to
explore.
Said the Philosopher: ‘‘First in regard to the Lodge: it can and does use,
and is thankful for all honest strivings towards the Good, as towards the True
and the Beautiful. Such strivings, however, as you say, are often very blind,
resulting sometimes in far more harm than good, that is, if we were to judge
by outer effects alone,—which is what the Lodge never does, seeing that, with
them, it is the motive that counts not the outer result. A clear understanding
of this is essential if you would find answers to the questions you have raised.
A German Nazi, who is self-sacrificingly devoted to his cause, and who sees in
it the expression of all that is noble in life, may, in spite of his bad cause, be
doing far better work for the White Lodge than a student of Theosophy who
talks and writes about it self-seekingly. Look deeper still, and you will find
that if the German Nazi’s motive is good, his self-sacrifice will tend to destroy
his bad cause, and that if the motives of a student of Theosophy are bad, his
activities will tend to destroy his good cause. None the less, no matter how good
the motive, a blundering method could not be encouraged by the Lodge, be¬
cause, at best, such a method would involve waste of energy and time, even
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
7i
if it did not result in positive injury to others. Very little can be done about
it, however, unless people ask for advice, which is unusual. You may be able
to interfere by force with the boy who thinks he can learn music by taking
to pieces the family piano; but if, in Chicago, you encounter a stranger on his
way to San Francisco who is actually heading for New York, while it would be
but kind to warn him, the probability is he will be darkly suspicious of your
intentions, will feel for his purse, and will wait till you are out of sight before
continuing on his way.
“As a general rule, when you meet other young people who are working
enthusiastically for one or another cause,—leave them alone; do not feel that
because you are a student of Theosophy it is necessarily any part of your function
either to encourage or discourage them. Opposition usually confirms their
infatuation; and remember that in America as elsewhere in the world, you
are likely to find among Collegians a considerable percentage of socialists,
aesthetes, atheists, devil-worshippers, Bahaists, Bolshevists, and that these—
as Sir Ronald Storrs points out in his recently published Memoirs —are but
'pleasant and harmless phases through which many future pillars of the Church,
of the State and even of the Stock Exchange have made their early way’.
“I shall risk being frank with you: think less of what you can do to help
others; think more of how you can best fit yourself to help others. At your
age, I, too, was imbued with the idea that I must be ‘up and doing’. I was
old before I realized how infinitely little one can actually do for others, and,
now older, I am still trying to convince myself that that infinitely little is in¬
finitely worth the doing,—as I know in my heart it is. One of the most painful
discoveries in life is that we cannot make even those whom we love, happy.
We can give them momentary pleasure, but happiness is something which
each man can create for himself alone, as it is an attitude toward life, and all
that life brings, of pain as of pleasure, of beauty as of ugliness. Not even a
Master can give us happiness, no matter how greatly he may long to do so.”
“I should like to repeat what the Philosopher has been saying, but in some¬
what different form”, the Historian now remarked. “We were asked, in effect,
whether Theosophy always pulls counter to the world. The answer, as I see it,
is that if by ‘the world’ we mean Mammon in the Biblical sense, then Theosophy
is everlastingly, immovably opposed to it; but if we mean by ‘the world’, the
tendency of the world’s thought at any particular period, the answer will not
be intelligible unless based on an understanding of the theosophicjdjfctrine
of cycles, which is, as you know” (and he turned to the younger studenff; “that
the entire universe and everything in it moves rhythmically,—not forward in
a straight line, and not for ever repeating its performance as ‘the eternal return’,
but after the fashion of a swinging pendulum slowly drawn upwards. If men
were content to move with the oscillations of Nature, Theosophy could and
would move with them. The trouble is that so many men are bitten with the
idea that they can improve upon Nature, and can over-ride the laws of Nature
for their own benefit, while the more ambitious and temperamental among
them, strive to outdo the normal reactions of the herd, and in that way to shine
72
. THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
as advanced thinkers and leaders. This means that the initiators of thought
and action are nearly always extremists,—at one period, violent reactionaries,
at another, red-hot radicals; and as extremes of any kind are unwholesome and
dangerous, the Lodge and its agents throw their weight, first in one direction,
then in the other, in an effort to trim ship and restore the balance. Thus, if
H.P.B. were alive and were to write a third volume of Isis Unveiled , the result
would probably impress some people as a reversal of her earlier effort. It
would not be a reversal, but she would undoubtedly redirect her emphasis.
“Finally—so far as I am concerned—every student of Theosophy should
serve as a point of contact between the world in which his life is lived, and
the teachings of the Masters,—not by talk about those teachings, which are
for the very few (hardly any in these days, in my opinion), but by using the
clear light of Theosophy to help others to see their own objectives more clearly.
If Judge, as he travelled, conversed with a stranger and thought well of him,
he would not mention Theosophy or any of its doctrines, but would wait his
opportunity to ask, ‘What is your purpose in life?’ That was enough, regardless
of the immediate answer, for he had started that man thinking for himself,—
and thinking seriously, because of the immense background of understanding
and sympathy which Judge put into his question.”
Then the Historian: Behind, beneath, and above everything you people
have been saying, rests the eternal truth that the purpose of life, the real problem
of human existence, is being rather than doing. I am aware how impossible
it is for the vast majority to understand or to believe this; how useless and worse
than useless even to suggest it as true; but if we, as students of Theosophy,
should ever forget it, we should lose ourselves in a morass of irrelevant con¬
fusions, and should certainly fail, among other things, to see the unimportance
of the outer activity in comparison with the inner purpose and attitude. I
agree with what was said in regard to the improbability of any girl having a
mission to raise the tone of business, although all of us, to the last and least,
have been entrusted with a mission to raise the tone of any environment in
which we find ourselves, not, as a rule, by preaching, but by example, by
being.
“What was the Way of the Master Christ? Thirty years of preparation,—
of doing nothing, from the worldly point of view; then three years of work.
But we know, if we know anything, that the preparation was as strenuous,
that it involved as much effort, as any public event in his suffering life. As a
race, we have an astonishing belief in our ability to do things, and to do them
efficiently, without preparation. We do not even prepare to die! We learned
nothing from the Great War, coming out of it with the cheerful feeling that
we had done ‘mighty well, considering’,—totally unwilling to face the fact
that thousands of lives were thrown away for lack of trained officers and a
trained staff, as well as for lack of the necessary armament. How dare we at¬
tempt to help others solve the problems of their lives without years of prepara¬
tion and training! Can we not leave that sort of crazy blundering to the
untrained deacons and curates let loose upon the world by our Theological
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
73
Seminaries, boys who know nothing of life, nothing of history or literature,
nothing of universal experience, nothing of business, but who do not hesitate
to interpret Christ as a Social Reformer of the modem type. Too many people
as it is, helping others, instructing others, guiding others: do not let us add to
their number. Think what a peaceful world it would suddenly become if all
reformers, all innovators, all instructors, all lecturers, most of our clergy and
all our politicians were suddenly struck dumb. Peace, perfect peace! I would
gladly be struck dumb myself, if poor deafened, bewildered, stupefied humanity
could thus be saved from the multitudinous roarings of the host I have named.
And when they whisper they are sometimes more deadly than when they roar.
This, my young friend, is not addressed to you, but to the universe at large.
I know quite well that it is no part of your thought to join the ranks of such
‘helpers’. I sympathize keenly with your problems, which I hope, however,
have now in some measure been unravelled. What I am trying to emphasize is
the Way of Christ as an example all of us should follow. I wish I had realized
its significance when I was younger. But different epochs and periods bring
different duties, and to-day there is greater need than ever for outer silence,
and—I speak now exclusively to serious students of Theosophy—and for that
kind of hushed, expectant indrawal which we read of in the New Testament,
when the apostles were waiting for the coming of the Holy Ghost; or, if that
be too much to ask for, let us in any case remember what Judge wrote to a
pupil in days of storm and stress when the life of the Society itself was in jeop¬
ardy: ‘Sit still in the midst of all that may be said, inclining only to your
duty.’ You, personally, may have a vocation unlike that of the older members;
but all vocations must be tested in the same way, in the light of the same princi¬
ples. One and all of us must look to our spiritual Father in Heaven, and obey
his call, if we would tread the way of usefulness and peace; and one and all
of us must hear that call for ourselves; for while friends may help us to dis¬
criminate between the ‘still small voice’ and the voices of earth, no one can do
all our hearing for us, or relieve us entirely of the burden of decision. Beware
of the ‘wind’ and of the ‘earthquake’ and the ‘fire’, for they are of the emotjtaial
nature and quickly pass. ‘In returning (the Hebrew says, ‘In sitting iM'—
Judge’s phrase!) and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in confidence
shall be your strength.’ ”
“May I add verses which follow yours”, said the Ancient, “using, as you did,
the Jewish translation from the Hebrew: ‘He will surely be gracious unto thee
at the voice of thy cry; when he shall hear, he will answer thee. And though
the Lord give you bread sparingly and scant water, yet shall not thy Teacher
hide himself any more, but thine eyes shall see thy Teacher; and thine ears
shall hear a word behind thee, saying: ‘‘This is the way, walk ye in it.” ’ ” And,
curiously, as we sat and listened, the voice of the Ancient seemed to come
from behind us, full of longing, as though it echoed a plea to turn, that we
»ight see once more the promise of our heart’s desire. T.
Plato To-day , by R. H. S. Crossman, Fellow and Tutor of New College, Ox¬
ford; George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., London, 1937; price, 7 s. 6 d.
The title of this book is misleading. Mr. Crossman imagines Plato suddenly
appearing in the modern world, and commenting upon fascism and communism
and British society. But Mr. Crossman’s “Plato” is a sadly amputated replica
of the original. His ruling passion seems to be politics. Even a casual study of
the real Plato reveals what was his deepest concern. The great philosopher
devoted his life to the search for what is divine and immortal within the nature
of man. We shall never understand him, unless we recognize that he was funda¬
mentally a mystic. The famous “theory of ideas” represents an attempt to
explain in mental terms the basic datum of universal mystical experience,—
that human nature is a blending of divine and animal elements; and that it
transfigures or immortalizes itself, in the rpeasure that it embodies its divine
prototype, and converts the force within its animal proclivities into aspiration
and spiritual energy. Until we grasp something of the meaning of the “theory
of ideas”, Plato’s political speculations in The Republic and The Laws will be
essentially unintelligible. Indeed, during the centuries, they have been worse
than unintelligible. Plato started the fashion for Utopias. Doubtless, his in¬
tention was merely to construct in theory the constitution of a state founded
upon the “natural law” that the wise and the good should rule, and, incidentally,
protect the stupid and the weak. Unfortunately, few of his readers have had
enough sense of humour to realize that Plato was a master of irony, and did
not intend everything that he said to be taken in the most literal sense; unfor¬
tunately also, Plato himself seems to have lost his own sense of humour and
proportion on at least one occasion, when—if we are to credit history—he
attempted, with disastrous and bloody results, to reform the government of
Syracuse.
Mr. Crossman may be regarded as part of Plato’s “bad karma” for having
written The Republic for public consumption; for the sum and substance of Mr.
Crossman’s argument is that Plato was a sort of glorified “university teacher”,
the first “brain-truster”. It is not that Mr. Crossman blames Plato for his
“Utopianism” per se. That would be most unfair, for Mr. Crossman is a Utopian
himself. Indeed, what he objects to is Plato’s “realism”. Plato was an un¬
compromising adherent of the aristocratic principle. He could conceive of no-
74
REVIEWS
75
reason why the arduous art of public government should be entrusted to any¬
one who had not been trained from birth, by an aristocratic code, in the no less
arduous art of governing himself. There are interesting resemblances between
the “philosopher-kings” of The Republic and the “superior man” of Confucius.
As Mr. Crossman points out, Plato would not admire the efforts of fascists
and nazis and communists to make over the modem world; but it is equally
certain that he would be most unfavourably impressed by the theory and prac¬
tice of modem democracy. And Mr. Crossman’s Utopianism is of the demo¬
cratic order. It is instructive to quote his statement of what he means by
democracy, because it illustrates how even a clear and brilliant thinker can
surround a word with such a glamorous haze that its original sordid meaning is
utterly eclipsed in his mind. After all, democracy really means nothing but
government by the demos , that is, by or in the name of the mob.
Democracy (because it is founded upon the infinite possibilities of human nature)
must always be on the attack, always on the side of social change against the forces of
“law and order”, always critical of established institutions and social codes. It knows
that without the dynamic of its faith, human society will fall back into oligarchy and
injustice. Where faith in the impossible dies, Plato’s estimate of human nature becomes
correct. But democracy is not a mere ideal, mystically envisaged by a few dreamers;
for the belief in the infinite value of human personality is also the belief in human reason ,
and at this point the ideal of Jesus is fused with that of Socrates. . . . This appeal to
the common sense and to the critical faculty of the ordinary man against the formidable
structures of established orthodoxy is the vital force of democratic philosophy. . . . Only
when Western civilization has shaken off the shackles of the past and created a new social
order worthy of the human dignity of the common man, will democracy and religion be
once more realized in human society. Till then both must remain faiths, filled with
prophetic anger at the sight of the nations and societies which use their name in vain,
and, because they are grounded in the heart of the common man, powerful enough to
remove mountains.
It would seem that this panegyric can be boiled down to one “root-idea”,
that human personality has infinite value. There is a sense in which this is
true and there is a sense in which it is false. Like Socrates and the Master
Christ, Plato taught that all human nature, in so far as it is truly human , is of
divine essence. But we do not need the testimony of the sages to know that in
too many of its moods and manifestations the “personality” is not human but
bestial. This may be deplorable, but it is none the less a fact in Nature, and as
history and experience prove again and again, we disregard it at our peril^dRiat
is why the democratic “ideal” is, in the last analysis, dangerous nonseflBnmd
no amount of paint and varnish can disguise its essential ugliness. Even in a
debased form, an aristocratic standard at least recognizes some distinction
between man’s actual state and his nobler possibilities. The “human dignity
of the common man” becomes apparent when he voluntarily respects superiority
and endeavours to emulate it. How otherwise can the “common man” himself
ever evolve to the state of the “superior man”? Meanwhile there is a place in
the great hierarchical system of Nature, both for the common and for the
superior. One hastens to add that forms of government merely reflect the
dominant states of consciousness in the body politic. When a society is moved
76
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
from within by a powerful and co-ordinated aristocratic nucleus, sooner or
later its constitution will become aristocratic. Meanwhile, to try by external
means alone to change democracy into something more rational, would be as
futile as Plato’s alleged effort to convert the politicians of Syracuse into a group
of gentlemen, merely by lecturing to them. S.L.
The Science of Prayer , by Michael Bruce, B.Sc.; London, S.P.C.K.; New York,
The Macmillan Company, 1937; price, Si.10.
This excellent little book (it can be read in a couple of hours) is brimful of
practical and invigorating thought on prayer, by a man who believes to his
finger tips that: “Prayer is the most practical thing in life—the most vivid living
thing we can do. It is our contact with the Architect of our lives; the power¬
house from which the energy for all our activities springs.”
The Preface states that the book was written originally for Chinese students,
and that “Out here [in Shanghai] most educated people still have the exag¬
gerated reverence for science which was so common in Great Britain a few
years ago”. The author, who has himself had scientific training, accordingly
begins with the statement that: “In the course of six years of study in biological
laboratories, I never found any conflict between modem science and prayer.
On the contrary, I found that my scientific studies led me to a deeper under¬
standing of prayer and drove me to pray more.” He then gives the reasons on
which he bases his reconciliation of the two points of view (the scientific and the
devotional); and explains that his book aims to treat prayer as a science, but
with the hope that some of its readers may thereby gain a sufficient grasp of
the underlying principles, to go further and, first-hand, to study prayer as an
art.
As a framework, he uses these different kinds of prayer: Confession and For¬
giveness; Petition; Thanksgiving; Guidance; Adoration; Intercession; and then
a section on corporate prayer, and another giving examples of the various
methods. So many passages have unusual value that it is better, perhaps, in
the limited space of a review, to omit comment and let the book speak for itself
—quoting without consecutive plan.
Prayer not only has a reasonable basis in reality, it is also a growth of mind into truth.
... All life should be prayer; we want every moment of our lives to be lived in com¬
munion with God. . . .
We have seen that the vision of God leads to action. When we realize what God is
like, we must throw our lives into fervent co-operation with His will, for there is nothing
else in life which is worth doing. We are called to enter into the glory of God, into the
magnificence of His creative activity in the universe, and above all into the unfailing
love of Jesus. In the face of such a high calling our minds reel. As our vision of God
grows clearer, the more awe-inspiring it becomes. . . .
It is well to remember that God’s guidance is not given to save us the trouble of hard
thinking, nor to encourage us in intellectual laziness; on the contrary he guides us in
and through our thinking. ... It is valuable sometimes to relax our minds in God’s
presence and allow them to wander where He leads us. . . . If we make time so to wait
REVIEWS
77
upon God, we shall not smother voices through which He might speak to us, and we
shall open our minds to new areas over which He may reign.
Adoration, he says, is the centre of prayer and the centre of our life. It is
the highest activity of which man is capable. There is nothing in life so real,
so utterly true, so tense and active, so clear and illuminating.
1 o adore a picture of God, of our own making, which is not the true God, is to warp
and distort our whole being. We dare not adore if we will not take the trouble to study
to know what God is like. We dare not adore unless we have the courage to give every
moment of our lives to God. Since God is Love, our adoration, if it be truly adoration
of God, will of necessity send us back to sacrifice and service. . . .
We have to choose between being men privileged to be fellow workers with God, and
men whose assistance God does not need. It is certain that, if we do not unite our wills
with His, He will not need us; but if we do give ourselves to co-operate with His will
He will use us, and our intercession will bear fruit under His guidance and according
to His will.
Immortality, communion, prayer to the saints, the proper attitude toward
and in Church services, corporate worship and so forth, are discussed, all with
the basis of his simple, cogent reasoning, which has genuine value whatever be
our personal attitude toward those topics. For the most part, the fact of the
author’s first-hand experience of his subject, while unmistakable, is only im¬
plicit in what he writes; but occasionally there is a passage such as the following:
Needless to say, personal and social problems are always coming into my meditations,
but I rarely allow them to be my starting point; for, if I do, I frequently find that instead
of offering myself to God to do His will, I am instead asking God to give me His assist¬
ance in solving my problems. There is to me a constant danger of becoming problem-
ridden and losing that sense of certainty and victorious confidence which is the true
mark of a Christian. In consequence, I find it better to leave problems of all kinds out
of my consideration until I have first steeped my intellect and my imagination in the
spirit of Jesus. I go out from His presence to the difficulties of life as a soldier from the
presence of a victorious general going to the assault of His enemies, under His command,
supported by His strength. I try to see Christ first and problems second: and to see
them not as problems, but as the setting in which I am to do His will.
And finally,—
Prayer is to me the very essence of life. From it there flows into everything IiJ^he
joy of communion with God, a sense of unity with the heart of the universe, and ^ense
of the loving companionship of Jesus. I have scarcely got my feet planted on the first
rung of the ladder of prayer, but from what I already know I can say that living prayer
transfigures the whole of life and makes it significant and purposeful.
R.
Unflinching: A Diary of Tragic Adventure , by Edgar Christian, with an Intro¬
duction and Conclusion by B. Dew Roberts and a Preface by Major Hon. J. J.
Astor, M. P.; John Murray, London, 1937; price 65.
Edgar Christian, a youth of eighteen, fresh from an English public school and
fcager for adventure, went with his cousin, Jack Hornby—“Hornby of Hudson
Bay”—to winter in the North-West Territory of Canada. The third member
of their party was Harold Adlard, a young man of twenty-eight.
78 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
They were to explore a new route from Great Slave Lake to Chesterfield Inlet
on Hudson Bay. Young Christian’s letters, sent during the early stages of their
trip, while letters still could be dispatched, and his diary, the record of their
winter’s isolation, tell the story of the fatal expedition up to a few days before
Christian’s lonely death, he being the last of the three to perish from weakness
and starvation. The diary was found by a patrol of Mounted Police who dis¬
covered and buried their bodies.
Jack Hornby, the leader of the expedition, was the youngest son of the famous
Lancashire captain and All-England cricketer. Hornby had won the Military
Cross in the Great War. He was a seasoned explorer. He knew the wilds and
believed he knew the Barren Lands better than any other white man.
To him they were a refuge from the encroaching civilization which he hated. His
almost inhuman love of solitude and hardship for its own sake made him an exacting
companion on the trail. ... A deep reserve, which hid a cultured mind and a generous
nature, made him silent among strangers and most at his ease in the company of the
Indians, Eskimos and trappers among whom his real life had been passed. ... To him
the snow of the North was his native element . . . not an ordeal to be endured in order
to add to human knowledge or wealth (Introduction).
The winter after Edgar Christian left school, Hornby was in England. He
recognized the boy’s fine mettle. To young Christian, Hornby, in turn, was a
hero. The boy’s devotion never wavered but steadily grew stronger during the
last, long months of cruel testing. One of his first letters sent home from Canada,
proudly quoted an old friend of Hornby’s, “-any one who is with J. Hornby
can never go wrong”.
Adlard, third of the triad, had served in the Air Force during the War. He
was of less finely tempered steel than the other two, yet he, also, at the end,
won Edgar’s respect, and after Hornby’s death, became “Harold good pal”.
Hornby’s intention had been to “live on the land”. He knew the country
and trusted to find their food supply by hunting, trapping, fishing. He knew
that risk was involved. “He knew that every adventure worth the name holds
a possibility of disaster.” The disaster came. Game was scarce, the traps often
covered deep with snow, the nets dropped through holes in the ice produced
but little catch.
Hornby had been defeated by the incalculable factor which upsets all reckoning be¬
tween man and the forces of nature. Here it had been some mysterious change in the
normal migration of the caribou; a winter exceptionally long even for those regions,
driving beast and bird elsewhere and making meat scarce where it should have been
plentiful (Introduction).
The quiet sentences of Edgar’s diary give the record of their almost hopeless
search for food, and of their brave endurance. Only Alvard flinched. At the
end of five months, Edgar writes:
April 7th: Jack intended to go out on the Barrens to-day but the wind got up and he
could not go. Very warm all day really, but we are so weak and feeble that the slightest
wind stops us moving about to hunt. Harold not normal to-day, and thinks he is very
bad, but if he would only use some will power to pull through and be more cheery it
REVIEWS
79
would be better for Jack. I cut wood and got water and Jack rested up. Harold cooked
bones, etc., and complained all day.
April 8th: Our grub to-day has been pounded bones to make a little soup. . . . We
have enough for to-morrow’s breakfast and then we might have to eat Wolverine hide
if we can get nothing.
April 9th: Jack can hardly move from his bed without pain. I rub his legs and body
at times to relieve him. Harold is an awful worry continually saying how bad he is. As
far as looks go, the fittest of the bunch of us, but he is too damned afraid of himself and
consequently plays another out. I am feeling all right but weak of course to do heavy
work and walking.
Then the last brave entry, written, probably, a week or ten days before his own
death and after a month of solitary existence:
9 a. m. Weaker than ever. Have food on hand but heart petering? Sunshine is
bright now. See if that does any good to me if I get out and bring in wood to make fire
to-night. Make preparations now. . . .
Got out, too weak and all in now. Left things late.
Edgar’s parents now publish his diary, in the hope, his father, Lieut.-Colonel
W. F. Christian, writes, “that it may reach some of the rising generation and
inspire them with courage, loyalty and endurance. If this hope is realized, he
will not have died in vain.”
It sets a noble standard for youth. Yet it should not be restricted to youth.
Wherever men and women battle for existence, in a metropolis or on the near
side of the Arctic Circle, Edgar Christian’s simple, self-forgetful heroism estab¬
lishes a code of living, a way of meeting, without whining or complaint, the
grim facts of the daily struggle.
To those who undertake more, who have started on the soul’s adventure, it
has equal, if not greater, worth. No parallel can be exact, but the three who
faced the hardships on the Thelon, are not unlike the triad who start on the
greatest of all adventures,—the adventure which has no real end save through
the initiation of death. It is the neophyte’s task to win in that last conflict, as
we believe Edgar Christian must have won in his lonely battle with physical
death; his leader no longer present to show the way; when, the self-pity of the
lower nature in the triad for ever stilled, he, the soul, having had his first ardour
tempered by rigorous trial, and made strong in loyalty, in love, in courage,
meets—and conquers—Death. J.L.M.
On the Way to Perignan, by Jennings C. Wise (author of The Longnrm of
Lee; The Turn of the Tide; The Great Crusade , etc.); The Paisley Press, Inc.,
New York, 1937; price, $2.50.
This is a novel. It is impossible for the reviewer to write of it with impar¬
tiality or detachment. Its author is a personal friend. All of it, therefore, was
read with great interest, sympathy, and enjoyment. We should be delighted
if it were to become a “best seller”; we ask our many readers to inquire for it
at the Libraries and at the book shops they patronize. S. S. McClure, founder
and editor of McClure's Magazine , says of it:
So
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Pictures from the book are constantly coming back to my mind. It is filled with little
masterpieces. There are certain pictures that seem to me perfect. ... I remember
many of the characters and events just as if they had actually occurred. . . . The book
has become in a sense, a part of my experience with people.
The author introduces two Sages, who guide the intellectual and spiritual
development of the young man who is the central character of the story. On
one occasion the youth, in our opinion, showed himself far wiser than the Sage,
by not following the Sage’s advice (pp. 159-161); but that is a detail,—and in
any case the other Sage compensates for this by presenting him with a copy of
Charles Johnston’s translation of the Gita , which is quoted approvingly at some
length. So it goes. There are vivid sketches of persons and places—an old-
time Southern Colonel, a New England schoolmaster, a Parisian grisette. A
running commentary on public events as the story unfolds, distinctly adds to
the interest, although some critics will doubtless object to such comment as
superfluous and even as intrusive in a novel. Yet what is an author to do
nowadays when his real purpose is to bring certain ideas to public attention?
People will not read essays or similar forms of serious literature; they will read
novels: so, to reach the many, into the form of a novel ideas must be cast. We
recommend the book to the attention of English publishers as well as to American
readers. T.
Handicaps: Six Studies , by Mary MacCarthy; Longmans, Green & Co., New
York; price, $2.40.
The author of this charming little book says in her preface that she does not
pretend to write full biographies of the six persons here studied, but only to
describe them in relation to their infirmities, with the hope that their heroic
qualities may inspire others who are struggling against handicaps. The six
persons are Mary Lamb, Beethoven, Arthur Kavanagh, Henry Fawcett, W. E.
Henley and Robert Louis Stevenson.
The trials and tribulations of Mary Lamb, Beethoven and Stevenson must be
familiar to most readers, though it must always be helpful to be reminded of
them. Mary Lamb was afflicted with spells of violent madness during which
she had to be incarcerated. When she felt a fit coming upon her, she and her
brother would walk together to the asylum. Beethoven, after years of poverty
and strain, became deaf, and could no longer hear music. Stevenson suffered
from tuberculosis. Henley, also, the author of the well-known poem Invictus,
had tuberculosis of the foot and endured great pain.
The life of Arthur Macmorrough Kavanagh (1831-1889) was an extraordinary
one. He was born without hands or feet. He soon grew up to be such a charm¬
ing child that every one loved him. One of his childhood friends writes: “Even
as children we could not but wonder at his cheerful submission to his many
annoyances and discomforts; but he had a fine unselfish nature, and was grandly
submissive in his sense of privation.” He learned to ride, strapped to a chair
on horseback, and became an intrepid horseman and hunter. He had a steel
REVIEWS
81
hook attached to his arm and learned to do everything for himself with it. He
even managed to write a clear and beautiful script, which very few people with
two good hands take the trouble to do. Kavanagh’s mother seems to have been
an unusual woman. She refused to let him stay sheltered at home, but took
him and his elder brother with their tutor, on long journeys to the Continent,
to Egypt and to Palestine. Arthur learned Arabic in Egypt. His brother says:
“At Damascus, when riding through the Bazaars, Arthur encountered a number
of Bedouin and Arab sheiks whom he got acquainted with in the desert and
with whom he is a great favourite. As soon as they saw him they all ran up, and
kissed him on both cheeks.”
Later, the two boys went from Russia through Kurdistan into Persia and
India. They were the first western travellers, up to that time, to come out of
Kurdistan alive. In Persia, Arthur contracted a fever and was nursed back to
health in the Harem of the Prince Mirza, quite an Arabian Night’s Tale. In
India, Tom fell ill and was sent to Australia for his health. Arthur had spent
all his money on his brother’s passage, and, as no money came to him from
Ireland, he was penniless until he obtained a post as carrier of dispatches from
one Indian station to another. He remained in India for two years, when, owing
to the death of his two brothers, he became head of his family and returned to
Ireland. There, he married a charming young woman and became the model
of a country gentleman and landlord, and a Member of Parliament.
He was deeply religious and possessed all his life that sense of spiritual unity which
is the essence of faith; a mystical sense that this life is but a part of something greater
than itself was constantly present with him. He had a gift of silent prayer that all his
life seemed to bring a particular harmony to him at difficult times when he was in sore
need of comfort.
Henry Fawcett (1833-1884) was a brilliant and ambitious young student at
Cambridge, when he was instantaneously blinded by a charge of shot fired acci¬
dentally by his father. “The idea came to him, ten minutes after the accident,
that he would do, as far as lay in his power, everything he had set himself to do
in life, in spite of blindness.” He learned to ride, skate, swim and fish, and
went on with his studies at the university, by listening to reading and by di&
tating. *At the age of thirty, he was elected Professor of Political Economy m
the University of Cambridge. Two years later, he became a Member of Par¬
liament, and at the age of forty-six, he was made Postmaster-General of Eng¬
land. He married a young woman who said that she “enjoyed the whole of her
married life”.
No one can read these little studies of handicaps without being moved by
admiration or without being inspired to bear his own trials, whatever they may
be, with more fortitude. The author says: “All these characters coming out of
the past, express themselves each in the manner of their own time; but disaster
tothe human frame never goes out of fashion, and my hope certainly was that
i^hight be an encouragement to read about some, who, in various ways, accord¬
ing to their powers, managed to make the best of a bad business. Their courage
is for all time.” St.C. LaD.
82
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Biological Time , by P. Lecomte du Nouy, Chief of the Division of Molecular
Biophysics, Pasteur Institute, Paris; with Foreword by Alexis Carrel, M. D.;
the Macmillan Company, New York, 1937; price, S2.00.
Time is a fact which most of us take for granted without reflection. If the
man in the street were asked what it really is, he would probably reply that it
is “something” measured by clocks. However, the more thoughtful man soon
begins to realize that there is more than one kind of time. There is, of course,
the time of our clocks which is based upon the observation of the cycles of the
heavenly bodies and depends upon the various motions of the earth. There is
Newton’s “absolute, true, and mathematical time conceived as flowing at a
constant rate, unaffected by the speed or slowness of the motions of material
things”. There is Minkowski’s geometrical time conceived as the “fourth
dimension”. There is Bergson’s theory of time as duration in consciousness
and as inseparable from memory and from creative effort. There is Plato’s
mystical definition that time is a “moving image of eternity”.
The “biological time” which is the subject of this book, seems to correspond
most nearly to Bergson’s “duration”. We know that our sense of time is not
constant. A dream lasting five minutes may seem interminable to the dreamer.
A year may seem three times longer to a child than to an adult. M. Lecomte
du Nouy correlates these subjective experiences with the changing velocity of
physiological processes, as the physical organism ages. He invented during
the Great War a method of calculating the ratio between the speed with which
wounds heal and the age of the patient. There can be no doubt that this ratio
exists, and that there is an equivalent ratio between ageing, and the accumula¬
tion of poisons in the blood-serum. This change in the velocity of living reflects
a similar change in the velocity of thought and emotion. As Dr. Carrel remarks:
“Parents and children live in different temporal worlds. They are separated
by a gap that often is too large to be bridged, even by illusions.” The signifi¬
cance of the author’s experiments is manifest. Unfortunately, he obtained
much of his information by animal vivisection, and even under complete anaes¬
thesia and the most favourable conditions, vivisection is an incipient form of
the “black art” and, morally, wholly illegitimate.
M. Lecomte du Nouy is singularly free from the cut-and-dried mechanism
which is so fashionable to-day in biological circles. He has the lucidity and the
breadth of vision which are typical of the French savant at his best.
Even to a superficial observer, our internal physiological time does not seem to flow
at a constant rate within the frame of external sidereal time. Real age, as we have seen,
can differ from legal age. From a psychological point of view, the value of a day is not
identical for ephemeral insects and for animals that live to be sixty years old. Even for
one individual, this value seems to vary during the course of life. Our duration would
therefore be, in a certain measure, independent of sidereal time. Each human being con¬
stitutes a universe in a state of continuous transformation. It is the rate of this trans¬
formation which can be considered as characteristic of our brief specific duration, of our
physiological time itself, inseparable from our consciousness. . . . Time in its essence,
implies memory and thought, or in other words: consciousness. In reality consciousness
could be defined as the power to perceive things separately in succession. From this
CORRESPONDENCE
83
standpoint, time has been called an internal mode of perception. . . . “In truth it is
impossible to distinguish between duration no matter how short, which separates two
instants, and a memory which binds them together, for duration is essentially a con¬
tinuation of what is no more in what is. This is the true time, I mean the time perceived
and lived. It is also every kind of conceived time, for it is impossible to conceive time
without depicting it as perceived and lived. Duration, then, implies consciousness, and
we put consciousness into things by the very fact that we attribute to them a time which
lasts.” One might almost say that these ideas of Bergson are contained implicitly in
Descartes’ phrase: “I think; hence I am.”
One notes with astonishment the phenomenon of a “molecular biophysicist”
quoting Bergson with approval. It measures the extent of the revolution which
has displaced so many of the dogmas of scientific materialism during the past
twenty-five years. It may be suggested that if all the implications involved in
the concept of biological time were realized, biologists would be obliged to admit
the universality of consciousness. If duration be inseparable from conscious¬
ness, it should follow that anything which endures in Nature, even for an in¬
finitesimal fraction of a second, must be conscious in some way and degree.
In other words, the whole Universe can be reduced, in the last analysis, to an
inconceivably vast congeries of states of consciousness; for we cannot imagine
any existing thing which is without the attribute of duration. Not without
reason the Magi of Persia symbolized the Absolute Consciousness of God by
the name, Zeroana Akerne, or “Boundless Time”. L.V.
CORRESPONDENCE
German Atrocities
To the Editors of the Theosophical Quarterly:
As the result of skilful propaganda persistently carried on since the Armistice
by Germans and pro-Germans, but especially by those who hate France and
England on general principles, the impression is wide-spread in America, and
even in England, that the Bryce Report and other proofs of German atrocities
during the Great War, were the result of deliberate invention. As I happen to
know that some of the worst of the German atrocities have never been
public, and that those, such as the Dinant massacre, revealed in the Bryce
Report, actually happened, I ask you to publish, in the interest of truth, a
footnote from My New World (pages 93, 94, 95), the latest book by the Abbd
Ernest Dimnet, so well and favourably known to English-speaking readers as
the author of France Herself Again , The Art of Thinking , What We Live By ,
and other works.
Some of your readers may wish to know that My New World is a continua¬
tion of the Abba’s My Old World , and consists for the most part of a delightful
and appreciative account of his several visits to America, during the second of
wfeich, after many initial rebuffs, he succeeded in raising over one hundred
tfft^sand dollars on behalf of the University of Lille, the laboratories and dis-
8 4
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
pensaries of which the Germans had gutted when they were finally driven out
of northern France in 1918. This is the footnote:
“On August 16th and 17th, 1914, no fewer than six hundred and seventy-
four men and women, citizens of the charming summer-resort of Dinant (Bel¬
gium], as well as several children, were shot by the Germans against a wall
which I pass almost every year and never can see without a feeling of horror.
There are still alive in the pretty little city several thousand people who wit¬
nessed the gruesome scene. The German soldiers broke into the houses and
dragged out whomever they found there. Immediately after, the terrified
prisoners were driven to the wall and shot down without even an appearance
of judgment. The Germans admit the facts but account for them by the re¬
peated assertion that civilians shot at them, a statement which all Dinant
people indignantly contradict. I have always been surprised that some Amer¬
ican searcher, less likely than his European confreres to bring into such an in¬
vestigation a partisan spirit, should not have collected the evidence which can
still be easily gathered both from Dinant citizens and from German veterans.
A reference to this massacre in the last edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica
is so casual that the reader wonders if the writer of the Dinant article believed
in the actuality of the facts he relates. People in England and in America have
been made so sceptical by conflicting propagandas that they have adopted an
‘it-may-be-so-but-it-also-may-not’ attitude which is the greatest achievement of
the propagandist. One is rather surprised to find the same even in serious
books by real historians. In the early editions of The Epic of America , Mr.
James Truslow Adams wrote (page 370): ‘The French executed two war nurses
under almost the identical circumstances of the German execution of Nurse
Cavell, but we were not told.’ This is a typical statement revealing the state
of mind I was alluding to above. The natural reaction of a French reader who
never heard of this shooting of two German nurses was to ask: ‘But where could
the French get hold of two German nurses to shoot?’ I wrote to Mr. Adams
asking for his authorities. Let me say at once that the correspondence which
followed was entirely to the credit of Mr. Adams. He had found the two Ger¬
man nurses’ story on page 32 of Propaganda Technique in the World War by
Professor H. D. Lasswell, of Chicago, and he had not questioned it till a letter,
written shortly before mine, by former Ambassador Jusserand, raised doubts in
his mind. He had then written Professor Lasswell asking him about his sources.
Professor Lasswell had replied regretting ‘that Mr. Adams’ letter had not
reached him a fortnight sooner as he had just returned to the University from
Germany and his evidence for his statement was there.’ This letter was dated
December 7th, 1932. I wrote immediately to Professor Lasswell asking him to
give me the address of any German information bureau as the shooting of the
German nurses, if it had really taken place, must be well-known in Germany.
My letter did not reach Professor Lasswell. After waiting a few months I wrote
to him again and received the following answer (dated June 2nd, 1933) which
I communicated at once to Mr. James Truslow Adams: ‘The story, as related
in my Propaganda Technique in the World War , is practically a verbatim quota-
CORRESPONDENCE
85
tion from Mr. Karl von Wiegand, a German-American. He was head of one of
Mr. Hearst’s news-gathering organizations, the Universal Service, who was on
close terms with the Germans. He referred to Oberst Nicolai.’ Mr. Adams did
not think that evidence of this kind, ultimately based on the obiter dictum of an
Oberst about whom nobody ever heard, was sufficient to satisfy the require¬
ments of history, and he acted as a real scholar was sure to act. He not only
deleted the allusion to the German nurses from the new editions of The Epic of
America , but he added a note without which the suppression might have been
unnoticed. Unfortunately he could not send an erratum to the hundreds of
thousands who had previously read his book, and I still meet Americans who,
believing that the French shot two defenceless German women, feel like con¬
doning such things as the Dinant massacre, because ‘in war everything is
horrible.’ So it is, but there are degrees in horror and it behoves history to
establish such degrees. The moment an historian seeks to give the contrary
impression he falls to the rank of propagandist. I hope I have not more than
the inevitable amount of racial prejudices. Many people who are violently in
favour of, or antagonistic to, some foreign nation substitute emotions for rea¬
sons and can have no intellectual standing. I am only telling what I saw, and
I saw with my own eyes the effects of Schrecklichkeit. The terrorized Belgians
who, in August, 1914, made such a ghastly entrance into my native town were
the victims of a system of frightfulness which Germany openly defended at the
time and practised ruthlessly. I know scores of other instances less striking
than the Dinant slaughter but equally shocking. To deny is not to delete
them.” Old Member.
The Marines at Chateau-Thierry
To the Editors of the Theosophical Quarterly:
In “The Screen of Time”, October, 1936, one of the speakers remarks: “Yes.
The American marines were the first unit to take the aggressive,—at Ch&teau-
Thierry (Belleau Wood) in June, 1918.” This statement is frequently found in
current publications, the fair inferences being that the American marines con¬
stituted a combat unit; that the active participation of American troops in
offensive operations began with the action of the marines; and that what took
place at Belleau Wood and at Chateau-Thierry in June, 1918, constituted one
and the same episode. This chain of misunderstanding is the outgrowth of
widespread propaganda during the early days of our participation in^pe War
—many readers will remember the popular myth that Paris had been saved
from the Germans by a few marines; may remember also a narrative entitled,
“With the Help of God and a Few Marines”, published by a Colonel of marines
who had been wounded at Belleau Wood.
In fairness to the Allies with whom we served and also to the American regu¬
lars with whom the marines were associated, it seems well to keep in remem¬
brance certain of the facts. Two regiments of marines, the 5th and 6th, were
assigned to the 2nd U. S. Division which sailed for France in December, 1917.
86
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
With them in that division were the 9th and the 23rd infantry, three artillery
regiments, also engineers and auxiliary units. Little mention has been made
of any but the marines, though they constituted only a fourth of the Division.
In November, 1917, the 1st U. S. Division (the first combat unit to reach France
and one that included no marines) had entered the trenches in the Vosges for
instruction by the French. This 1st U. S. Division, supported by a large mass
of French artillery and backed up by French reserves, delivered what was in
fact the first attack ever made by American troops upon the enemy. Skilfully
conducted, it was entirely successful. Moreover, some American engineer
troops had already displayed great tenacity in the fighting on the British front.
In the operations about Ch 4 teau-Thierry and Belleau Wood, the 1st, 2nd and
3rd U. S. Divisions were all employed, and without belittling the part played
by any one unit, it is most desirable to keep each in its proper perspective: to
realize that they were used to assist the French to stabilize a new line of re¬
sistance along the Marne; that over thirty reserve divisions of seasoned French
troops were interposed at the time between Ch&teau-Thierry and Paris; and
that while to our men it seemed (as it practically always seems to troops ad¬
vancing into a strange country) that they were acting alone with no one on
their flanks,—in reality, they were but part of a great and ordered whole, no
part of which could claim the distinction of having stood solely between Paris
and disaster. Finally, no marines were employed at Ch&teau-Thierry, and
when they did go into action at Belleau Wood, it was after the infantry units
had become involved. F.T.S.
There is a choice in books as in friends , and the mind sinks or rises to the level
of its habitual society .— Lowell.
Read the best books first , or you may not have a chance to read them at all .—
Thoreau.
Question No. 405 .—How does one know when one is functioning in the inner, instead of in
the outer , world? Where is the boundary between the two? A re there really two separate and distinct
worlds, the inner and the outer? Or, are these simply two aspects of the One World—the spiritualf
Answer. —We are never out of the Spiritual world,—it is the One World. It is only a
question as to whether we are consciously functioning there, or whether we are not. We may
be immersed in outer events and activities, and lose all consciousness of the Spiritual world.
Or, instead of living amidst outer events, we may be living within them, and be finding at their
heart their true meaning, and Reality. C.R.A.
Answer. —Scarcely anyone can fail to have had, at some time and in one way or another,
the experience of functioning in the inner world. His failure to recognize it, as such, is due to
lack of awareness at that point. If he had used his intelligence properly to analyze his ex¬
perience, he would have known, self-consciously, the nature of that experience. The boundary
line between the two worlds—so designated to make the distinction clear in words—surely
must be within his own Manas, or mind. We do not move in space from the outer to the
inner world. The transition is in consciousness. Though the detail of the experience differs
with different persons, in essence it is similar: response to the spirit within. There are those,
for instance, who have passed from depression to joy, from boredom to sudden wonder and
rapture, at the song of a bird, or the vision of the delicate tracery of green leaves in early
spring. We do not move out of the physical world in order to experience what lies at its heart.
The song of the bird, the leafage of the trees, are outer aspects, if you will, of the spirit within.
The moment of joy, of wonder and rapture, is the moment of entrance into the inner world.
The extent to which we can penetrate into that world, is infinite in its reaches. On the strength
of our imagination in reiterating the experience, on the force of our will in living a life that will
purify the heart, on our love of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful, depends our progress.
If the imagination and the will remain sustained and right-pointed, a time will come when
we shall live in both worlds, so called, at once: acting in the outer, while actuated by the love
and loyalty which unite us to those of the inner realm. Then, we shall see the inner and the
outer, not falsely, as two separate and distinct worlds, but truly, as two aspects of theQne,—
the Spiritual, or Real, world. ( •
Answer— Broadly speaking, the universe is divided into two worlds—the world of Idea
(the higher), and the world of Matter (the lower). The lower world is formed on its prototype—
the higher world; and everything in the lower is but an image, or reflection, of the higher.
“As above, so below.” Theosophy stresses unity, and holds that, in essence, the universe is
one. But in manifestation there is duality—two aspects of the One Reality. The material
world is but the outer rind, so to speak, of the spiritual. The Kabalists call the material
universe the World of Shells. The materialist lives, moves and has his being in matter; he
mistakes the shadow for the substance.
Theosophy opens doors to the spiritual world—the world of Causes, of Ideation, of Divine
Purpose. The materialist deals only with effects. At our 1937 Convention, it was stated that
87
—
- : * 9 +
'/ \
88
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
perhaps the greatest need of the Society is a clearer realization of the inner world as the worl o
reality; that thoughts are things, that they are things of tremendous power; and that invariab y
throughout the universe the unseen is more powerful than the visible. How many of us give
more than intellectual assent to that truth? How many act upon it? The secret of knowing
in which world one is functioning lies in consciousness. Where are our thoughts centred?
Do we, in going about our daily tasks, undertake them as part of the Divine plan for us, with
the motive of offering up every thought, every act, upon the altar of the heart? Or, are our
thoughts centred in self?
“Fragments”, in the Quarterly for July, 1935, offers a key for the discovery of the boundary
between the two worlds:
“Who knows where earth begins and heaven ends; who can fix the boundary of that inner
world and this, determine what is seen and what unseen?
“Why grant a boundary between ourselves and heaven? What boundary can there be,
save sin?
“Living in heavenly-mindedness, we shall make earth one with heaven, remove the veil,
nor know which pavement, whether clay or gold, we tread.” G.H.M.
Answer. —The inner world is the world of purpose, and the spiritual world is the world
of Divine purpose. Whatever is carrying out the Divine purpose, whatever is living in accord¬
ance with the laws of its being, striving to carry out to the best of its ability the purpose for
which it was created, is in the spiritual world. A tree or a flower, growing as it was meant to
grow, is in the spiritual world. Part of the Divine purpose must surely be the manifestation on
earth of the Platonic trinity, Beauty, Truth and Goodness; whatever manifests them is helping
to carry out this purpose, and is, to that extent, in the spiritual world. On the other hand,
disobedience removes automatically from that world whatever disobeys. It ceases to be
connected with the purpose that created and constitutes it.
In speaking of such a subject as the spiritual world, we must be careful to make clear that
we are dealing with only one aspect. That world transcends description. It is as if a man
who had seen one little corner of Devonshire, were asked to describe England, and faithfully
described his little spot. From one point of view, he would be right in calling it England,
but as a portrayal of the country, it would, to say the least, be inadequate. The same thing
is true of any attempt to say what the spiritual world is, or is not. In so far as we are honestly
striving to carry out the Divine purpose, the will of the Masters, we are functioning in the
inner, spiritual world. In so far as we are self-indulgent, we exile ourselves from that world
It is love that is back of all purposes of the Divine. It follows, therefore, that love love of
something other than self, is the only motive that will enable us to enter the spiritual world.
J.F.B.M.
NOTICE
The regular meetings of the New York Branch of The Theosophical Societv 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 W
studio east of Fifth Avenue, on the north side of the Mews. The meetings bevintt half *
eight, and close at ten o’clock. meetings begin at half-past
During the present Quarter, there will be meetings on,_
January 15th and 29th
February 12th and 26th
March 12th and 26th.
Out-of-town members of the Society are invited to attend these meeting
are in New York. Visitors who may be interested in Theosophy are always welcome^' ^
-I
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PATANjALl’s Yoga Sutras .Translated, annotated; doth 1.25
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Culture of Concentration . p p ’ ’ 25
Echoes from the Orient. ••••••• • • .. i a it rim-h 1 oo
Letters That Have Helped Me, Volumes I and II, each.. .coth, 1.
Ocean of Theosophy. JJ* J*J
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Mitchell, S Henryedinger!°*M editation, Special edition, .20; paper, .so
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Founded by B. P* Blavatsky at new Vork in 1$75
T
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
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fraternal 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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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¬
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tread In this."
Applications for membership should be addressed to the
Secretary T. S., P JO. Box 64, Station O, New York.
VOL XXXV* No. 2
APRIL 1938
1 PUBLISH
I THE THEOSOPf
1ED BY
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CONTENTS OF VOL. XXXV, NO. 2
April, 1938
NOTES AND COMMENTS PAGE
FRAGMENTS. 91
INSPIRATION.. i...! . 102
ON HAVING A PURPOSE IN LIFE... X ° 3
HEAD, HEART, AND HAND 113
GEORGE WASHINGTON: A Standard'for To-dav. " 7
WITHOUT CENSOR, XII (Concluded) 122
NOURISHMENT.... I2 9
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME . ••... 142
HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY (Reprint) . 146
CORRESPONDENCE. i6 3
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS . *73
T.S. ACTIVITIES: Notices... . *74
. 176
* -3. a. the Po « 0ffic , at New Yofk . N y ^ ^
Copyright, 193 8, by The Theosophical Society
\
re li8iowphao^„hi.,,nJ s riJnJ.‘!,": T
• uuu uiners,
11 6 have no connection whatsoever imih .
adlmg tedf Theosophical, formed,, headed by Mr” 7hZ7t ““Z
—• * -** - -5
Editors, The Theosophical Qcarterlt.
0
\
APRIL, 1938
The Theosophical Society , as such , is not responsible Jot any opinion ox declaration
in this magazine , by whomsoever expressed , unless contained in an official document .
The Power of Choice
M ATHEMATICIANS and metaphysicians treat with respect the idea
that in some abstract “realm of essences” there is an infinite number
of possible worlds, of which our cosmos is the only specimen that has
attained existence. At first sight, nothing could seem more futile than such a
line of speculation. A “realm of essences” is as tenuous as the dream of a
dream. However, philosophical concepts are not always as void of sense as they
appear to be. When Leibniz, for instance, postulated that we live in the best
of all possible worlds, the world most perfectly adapted for the edification of
all beings, this was his way of saying that the universe is not a fortuitous con¬
course of atoms but is the production of a Divine Mind, a Logos, which selects ,
among many alternatives, the theme and keynote of its creation. The inference
is unavoidable if the root and origin of Nature be in the “Thought of God”.
A Divine Mind which could not pick and choose its ideas would be neither a
“Mind” nor “Divine”.
The great is mirrored in the small; the unknown is shadowed forth by the
known. The power of choice is inseparable from consciousness. We cannot
conceive one without the other. The most humdrum event in the humblest^
life brings an opportunity to choose between the better and the dearer. Do w*
realize that at every instant we stand at the cross-roads of destiny and that we,
and only we, can elect our course? For every man there is an infinite number
of possible lives which he can bring into being, and it should be his undivided
purpose to discover and to select the life which in the deepest sense belongs to
him and which is therefore the best of all that are possible.
The Soul in Bondage
If we examine our experiences with any attention, we shall obtain the certi¬
tude that all life is a process of selection. At the same time, however we shall
be^pe aware of another fact which is not pleasant to contemplate. The proc-
9i
*
92
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
ess of selection is not always conducted by the real Self, by the Soul. Much
of the time—to say the least—we ineffectively watch our habits and passions
choose for us. Action and inaction are dictated by an elemental complex which
is not the Soul, but to which in our infatuation we have delegated an authority
which is the rightful heritage of the Soul.
Consider what happens when the ordinary man consults a bill of fare. He
cannot eat unless some selection be made. Why does he finally order one soup
instead of another? Probably, in most instances, he does not know himself:
he just orders something, anything, as soon as possible. But a selection is made,
even if he be virtually unconscious. It is enforced upon him by habit, by the
“subconscious”, by the interplay of submerged desires. If he be really hungry,
he may be aware of a battle within himself. He wants beefsteak but remembers
the doctor’s orders. Perhaps he renounces the beefsteak, congratulating him¬
self upon his self-restraint. But the Soul need not intervene, by an act of will,
to settle the struggle between desire and fear. Fear can win the day by its own
force. To-morrow the cycle may change, and the victor may be desire. The
point is that the average man—which means anyone in his average moments—
does not always or even often behave like a free agent. His Soul, his proper
nature, is in bondage to a host of appetites and aversions, partly conscious but
mostly subconscious, whose strength is proportionate to the measure and fre¬
quency of his past self-identification with them. His conduct is thus largely
shaped by the particular complex which is dominant at the moment. If it
were possible to measure the relative amount of energy which has been put into
each of his complexes, and to calculate their cycles or periodicities, as physiolo¬
gists calculate the rhythms of vital functions, we could doubtless predict the
general outline of his future. Incidentally, this suggests why future events
may be prefigured in dreams with extraordinary accuracy of detail.
Free Will and Determinism
The doctrines of fatalism and mechanism and determinism cannot be
brusquely dismissed as of no account. What do we mean by freedom and by
fate? In so far as anything has a unified character or being, in so far as it is
an actual entity, it may be said to “behave” infallibly and “freely”, according
to its nature, whether it be an atom, a plant, an animal, a man, or a god. But
when a “thing ’ is not a unit but a “mechanical mixture”, an unorganized con¬
geries of many units, it has no real “nature” or, at best, only the rudiments of
a real “nature . It is not “free”. Its actions and reactions are determined
for it, since these are hut the effects of the actions and reactions of a miscellany
of elements. There are analogies between a mechanical mixture and the “per¬
sonality” which the ordinary man thinks of as his “self”, but which is in itself
only an amalgamation of elementals. The “personality” is, indeed, the “self”
whose instability and essential non-being are so persistently stressed in the
Buddhist scriptures.
Scientists have specialized so long in the study of the unorganized, mechani¬
cal aspect of Nature, that they have almost lost the ability to imagine what real
NOTES AND COMMENTS
93
freedom must be like. This was exemplified in an address by Dr. Edwin Grant
Conklin, Professor of Biology at Princeton, before the “Parliament of Science”
at Indianapolis. He distinguished between the “determinism of inanimate
nature” and the “world of human experience”. He even made a noble effort
to affirm the reality of free will as an irreducible item of human experience.
But his exposition of human freedom might be more adequately described as
an exposition of human bondage; for the only freedom which he seems to con¬
ceive is the “freedom” to do what we are “biologically” compelled to do.
Freedom does not mean uncaused activity. The will is not a “little deity encapsuled
in the brain”, but instead it is the sum of all those physical and psychical processes, in¬
cluding especially reflexes, conditioning and remembered experiences, which act as
stimuli in initiating or directing behaviour. The will is not undetermined, absolutely
free, but is the result of the organization and experience of the organism, and in turn it
is a factor in determining behaviour. Therefore we do not need to import from sub¬
atomic physics the uncertain principle of uncertainty to explain free will. 1 he fact that
man can control, to a certain extent, his own acts as well as phenomena outside himself,
requires neither a little daemon in the electron nor a big one in the man. . . . Novelty,
creativity and freedom, wherever their origin has been traced, are found to be caused by
new combinations of old elements and processes, whether these be atoms, molecules,
genes, chromosomes, cells, organs, functions, or even sensations, memories and ideas.
By such new combinations of old elements there emerge all the new properties of chemical
compounds, and by new combinations of genes and chromosomes and environmental
stimuli, all the novelties of heredity and development arise. There is evidence that even
psychical properties, such as consciousness, intelligence and will, emerge in the process
of development because of specific combinations of physical and psychical factors. 1 his
is, indeed, the whole philosophy of evolution, namely, that the entire universe, including
man and all his faculties and activities, are the results of transformation rather than of
new formation, of emergence rather than of creation de novo.
Professor Conklin remarked that the future of civilization is gravely en¬
dangered because “neither in human nature nor in social relations has progress
kept pace with science”. He means, of course, that man understands and con¬
trols physical processes much more effectively than he understands and con¬
trols himself. But for this condition “science” itself is, in large measure, re¬
sponsible. The present is a case in point. Professor Conklin’s manifest
sincerity and love of truth are a living proof of the presence of an active spirit¬
ual power in human nature. But the biological dogmas and materialistic
preconceptions which have been instrumental in shaping his thought, impel
him to describe human nature as if it could only be moved by animal impulses
and instincts,—“reflexes, conditioning and remembered experiences”. Why
should not the average man lose faith in spiritual law and in his own Soul,
when their existence is constantly treated as an absurdity by men of science
whom he regards as wiser than himself?
Let us make the issue as clear as possible. The “will” of the “personality” is
doubtless a “sum of physical and psychical processes”, but this is not the “free
will ” of the individual Soul; the “personality” as such operates like a mechanism,
and it is folish to pretend otherwise. Freedom is merely a “name”, not a
“thing”, utoss it be the exercise of an independent transforming power. The
94 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
individual will is a daemon, a “tutelary genius”— not, however, “encapsuled in
the brain”—or it is nothing.
The Interaction of Spirit and Matter
The Indian doctrine of Karma and of the twelve Nid&nas also emphasizes the
tyranny imposed by reflexes and complexes upon human lives. As it is some¬
times formulated, it seems beyond possibility that man can ever escape from
the web of passion and fancy and habit. He is caught, as it were, in an endless
chain of cause and effect, each effect becoming a cause in its turn. But the
true significance of Karma is that liberation from illusion is possible; the Gor¬
dian knot can be cut; the wheel of necessity which makes us repeat the same
follies again and again, can be brought to a dead stop before the Soul is crushed
out of existence. Indeed, are not the revolutions of this wheel designed to bring
such pressure upon the Soul that it is at last aroused by pain to resist “neces¬
sity”, and thus to declare its freedom?
Theosophy offers this solution,—that the real Self of man is not the confused
mass of physical and psychical elements which we call the “personality”, but
is an integral part of Divine and Eternal Nature and participates in all the
powers of the Heavenly Host. As man attains consciousness of that which he
essentially is, he attains freedom in the only possible sense of that term, the
freedom to make manifest his own essence. God alone is truly free, as a great
mystic has said, because He alone can express His Nature in its plenitude. Ac¬
cording to the theosophical version of evolution, the final aim of existence is
to raise the consciousness of creatures towards that perfect freedom which is
the natural attribute of the “Heavenly Man”, of God.
Every form on earth and every speck (atom) in Space strives in its efforts towards
self-formation to follow the model placed for it in the “Heavenly Man”. ... Its (the
atom’s) involution and evolution, its external and internal growth and development, have
all one and the same object—man; man, as the highest and ultimate form on this earth;
the Monad, in its absolute totality and awakened condition—as the culmination of the
divine incarnations on earth (The Secret Doctrine , ed. 1888, I, 183).
Evolution, both universal and individual, is thus conceived as an interaction
between the two great poles of Nature, between the positive and the negative,
between spirit and matter. When will scientists ever come to recognize clearly
and simply, that spirit or consciousness is as veritably a part of Nature as mat¬
ter or substance or objective form ? Evolution cannot be described as a function
of matter alone, any more than magnetism can be explained by the study of
iron filings, without reference to a magnet. Spirit has been compared to a mag¬
net, from which emanates the fohatic force which vitalizes the universe and lifts
matter from the level of non-being. This is the descent of spirit into the world >
of which all scriptures have left some record: “The Word was made flesh, and
dwelt among us . . . and of his fulness have all we received, and grace for
grace.”
Even our limited experience shows that spirit cannot contact matter without
changing the constitution of matter. Doubtless all “novelties”, from a chemical
INSPIRATION
107
NOTES AND COMMENTS 95
compound to a work of human genius, are new combinations of old elements.
The creative power in Nature and man uses whatever material is available,
whatever already exists. But how can we doubt that it infuses into that material
something new and altogether unique, something which the analysis of past
events and old elements can never wholly explain? The properties of water
cannot be imagined by adding together the properties of hydrogen and oxygen.
No formula of bio-chemistry can resolve the mystery of a flower or a bird’s
song or a poem or an heroic life.
Real and Illusory Freedom
The deep-seated sense that we are somehow free to select our destiny cannot
be dissociated from the immediate intuition of our being. It is one with con¬
sciousness itself and is present in all experience. But we deceive ourselves, if
we pretend that our actions are necessarily free merely because they ought to
be and can become free. We choose and select continuously, but not in the
ways which we commonly imagine.
Let us return to the man in the restaurant. We have assumed that being an
average person, he did not really order his dinner; that his habits and appetites
and aversions ordered it for him. However, as a matter of fact, he did make a
fundamental choice when he refused to choose for himself. A superior person
would not refuse to choose for himself, because he holds in consciousness an ideal
of conduct which he recognizes as always superior to his actual mode of living,
and to which he intends to conform himself more and more completely. Since
this ideal implies complete self-control, no activity of body or mind can be
excluded from his programme of self-discipline, not even the act of ordering a
dinner. Therefore, if he order meat or fish, it is not primarily under the com¬
pulsion of reflexes or the memories of past sensations, but because he intends
such a selection to be the best and the wisest that he can make.
We can use our spiritual will, or not use it; we can express our real nature,
or not express it. In either event, we make a choice and cannot help making
it. But when the spiritual will is inactive, “self-will”, the uncontrolled force
of passion and habit, takes its place. Misery and calamity are the only possible
consequence of this inner abdication, this “refusal to create”.
Genius and Freedom
The existence of transformation implies the existence of a transforming
agency. If we trust our experience, small though it be, it becomes apparent
that in man the power which transforms is identified with the individual will.
When that will is set free, it is indistinguishable from genius. The will, the
Soul, and the genius of man are fundamentally one.
In a scientific periodical there recently appeared this editorial pronounce¬
ment: “To only a few individuals does Nature happen to grant unusual abili¬
ties, a matter evidently of genetics, and one that lies beyond the responsibility
and control of the individual.” In other words, genius is a happy combination
of genes and chromosomes. It is likely enough that the Soul finds it easier to
g6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
work through some physical organisms than others; but it is an insult to human
dignity to assume that physical heredity can be solely or chiefly responsible
for the appearance of a Confucius or a Newton or a Napoleon. It is the Soul
which transforms the cells of the brain, not the cells which transform the Soul.
The ancient philosopher interpreted genius more rationally when he ascribed
its origin to the incarnation of a divine entity. Incidentally, he did not mean
thereby that a being different from the Soul entered the body, displacing its
normal occupant. The "inner god” was conceived as the man himself in a
truer guise than that which he usually assumes. The man of genius carries out
enterprises which seem impossible to the ordinary man: he sees and helps others
to see perspectives to which the average eyes are blind. But he is of one blood
with the rest of us. His superiority is the reward of protracted labour and self-
discipline extending, as Theosophy teaches, over many lives. What he has done,
we can do, but we must begin here and now to exercise the power of choice
which we share with the gods, in order to vivify the free will which is our most
intimate and precious possession.
The Paranoid Personality
There have been many "debunking” biographies of great men in recent years.
With the aid of certain psychiatrists, the authors have done their utmost to
make their public believe that genius is associated with mental and moral dis¬
orders, in particular, with paranoia. In fact, any personality which exhibits
conceit or suspicion reveals paranoid symptoms. Let it be admitted at once
that the "old Adam” in all of us is an incipient paranoiac. When the paranoid
qualities develop beyond measure, conceit passes into "delusions of grandeur”
and suspicion into "delusions of persecution”. The boundary of sanity is
crossed. Unless the victim be segregated from society, he becomes a menace
to anyone whom he meets. To defend his fancied rights, he is capable of any
crime. Most political assassins seem to have been paranoiacs.
Without doubt, many great individuals upon the stage of history have com¬
bined remarkable ability, in one direction or another, with some extremely
disagreeable personal characteristics. It is evident that conceit and suspicion
have sometimes bulked large in their consciousness. But it is a myth of popular
psychology, that paranoia is a normal attribute of any form of genius. We must
learn to discriminate between paranoiacs, who have become famous for one rea¬
son or another, and men of real genius, who have suffered from some of the ills
common to all human nature in its unregenerate condition. If they suffered
more than most of us, it may have been because their characters were built on a
larger scale. Even their weaknesses seem enormous by comparison with those
of lesser men. In any event, their genius is one thing; their "lower nature” is
another.
Harmonious Proportion
Confucius remarked that the sage in all his thoughts and acts shows forth
"harmonious proportion”. The man of genius who is not a sage, is not so for¬
tunate; but he should be given full credit for such self-control as he has, since
NOTES AND COMMENTS
97
his whole organism is obliged to endure abnormal stresses and strains. In the
fullest sense, only a Master of life and wisdom can be called a man of genius,
because only in a Master is the genius, the daemon, the spiritual will, the Higher
Self, fully embodied, in conscious and unrelaxing control of all reflexes and
complexes which come “from below”. It is less appropriate to say that he has
genius than that he is genius.
There is a factor here upon which we can meditate with profit. The disciple
ardently desires to increase his powers of vision and action, to become free, that
he may serve his Master more effectively. But in the words of Light on the Path ,
“That power which the disciple shall covet is that which shall make him appear
as nothing in the eyes of men.” One ventures to suggest one of the many mean¬
ings of this sentence. The disciple does not aim at a lop-sided development.
He does not wish to be known by the sharp angles and projections of his per¬
sonality, by eccentricities and abnormalities which make him obtrude from the
mass. His ideal is an harmonious proportion of all his faculties, the example of
which is continuously set before him by the being of his Master. It is his con¬
stant purpose to do all things well, not to confine his genius in a single talent,
not to become a specialist. “Each man is to himself absolutely the way, the
truth, and the life. But he is so only when he grasps his whole individuality
firmly, and by the force of his awakened spiritual will recognizes this individual¬
ity as not himself, but that thing which he has with pain created for his own
use, and by means of which he purposes, as his growth slowly develops his intel¬
ligence, to reach to the life beyond individuality.”
Vital Force and Its Vehicles
“Every man”, says the Eastern scripture, “is potentially a Buddha”. A
great step forward in a man’s inner progress is taken, when he realizes that the
attainment of genius does not chiefly depend upon such things as genes and
chromosomes, but upon his ability to incarnate the life of the Spirit, without
being consumed by it, as Semele was reduced to ashes by the apparition of
Zeus. As Theosophy affirms, the vital force which brings all things into being,
is omnipresent upon all planes. But it can wound and kill as easily as it can
heal and create. One of the immediate undertakings of the disciple must be to
make himself a fit vehicle for the reception of an increasing measure of vital
force of ever higher intensity.
We may observe in the lower kingdoms the operation of this law that tire
individual organism is adjusted to a certain pressure of the life-force. Until
quite recently, however, biologists have not understood how great that pressure
can be. Indeed, few of them have had any belief that a real life-force exists, so
eager have they been to explain all physiological phenomena in terms of known
chemical and mechanical principles. In an address before the American Associa¬
tion for the Advancement of Science, Dr. Philip R. White of the Rockefeller
Institute for Medical Research described a discovery which “revolutionizes
botanical theory, overturning one of the most widely accepted hypotheses in
the whole field of plant science”. His experiments have demonstrated that
g8
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“the force within the roots of living plants, hitherto believed to be very small,
is actually of a gigantic nature, capable of overcoming with ease counterpres¬
sures of 125 pounds to the square inch, the equivalent of a pressure of eight
atmospheres”. No purely mechanistic theory can account for this phenomenon,
and Dr. White feels obliged to postulate the actuality of an unknown “vital”
force. We quote from The New York Times , December 29, 1937:
The existence of root-pressure was first shown early in the eighteenth century by
Stephen Hales, who measured pressures up to 1.4 atmospheres. Nobody had been able
to equal that record since. As such a pressure is not nearly enough to account for the
rise of sap in tall trees and long vines, the theory was given up for the leaf-suction theory.
Dr. White attached growing “orphan” tomato roots to narrow tubes in which the sap
pressure could be balanced against the pressure of a column of mercury. With no ap¬
parent difficulty, Dr. White observed, the roots balanced 90, then 100, then 125 pounds
of pressure to the square inch. At that point the apparatus failed, but the roots still
seemed to be ready to accept the challenge of even greater pressures. “The old pressure
theory of Hales”, Dr. White said, “has been disparaged by modern plant physiology
texts because it did not provide sufficient force and because of the suspicion that it might
be an artefact. I think that these experiments show pretty conclusively that both these
objections are invalid. Root-pressure is certainly a very real phenomenon going on in
uninjured, normally metabolizing roots and showing a striking diurnal rhythm that is
reminiscent of many vital processes. . . . Six atmospheres of pressure is sufficient to
sustain a 200-foot water column. This is far higher than any tomato plant ever grows.
Yet such a column appears to be insignificantly small in comparison with what the lifting
power of tomato roots is capable of sustaining. That is a force to be reckoned with.”
The early plant physiologists all attributed sap movement to some form of “vital” ac¬
tivity, at least in major part. With the rise of mechanistic theories in all branches in the
last half of the nineteenth century, plant physiology did not escape the trend. . . . His
experiments, Dr. White added, showed that the arguments against root-pressure as a
factor in sap movement no longer held, that the process once more appeared to be a
vital one, rather than purely mechanistic.
The Life in the Heart
As Dr. White infers, the implications of his discovery are very important. If
biologists as a class were not the most stubborn of materialists, they would be
instantly impressed by this revelation that living beings are really endowed
with a living power. Life itself remains an eternal mystery, but it is at least
an aid to coherent thought, if we no longer assume that the tremendous force
exerted by living bodies and the immortality of the germ-plasm are as easy to
explain as the motive power of an old-fashioned steam-engine. The laws of
thermodynamics do not account for the versatility with which every organism
adapts itself to changing conditions. For example, what is the source of the
constant pressure which enables the growing plant to split a rock?
It is an accepted biological doctrine that all the higher organisms depend for
their sustenance upon the carbohydrates manufactured by the chlorophyll, the
green colouring matter in plants, during exposure to sunlight. Physical life is,
in a literal sense, an embodiment of the radiant energy which proceeds from and
through the sun. There is no conceivable limit to the amount of radiant energy
which is available for vital ends. It is the constitution of any particular body
INSPIRATION
107
NOTES AND COMMENTS 99
which limits the amount which can be received and assimilated; when the
“saturation-point” is passed, prana is transformed into an agent of death.
There seems to be a correspondence between the life-force in the plant-
root and the “life in the heart”, to which such frequent reference is made in
Eastern scriptures. This inner life is also described as emanating from the sun,
from the real sun, of which the physical image that we see is the shadow.
There is the Vedic verse:
The all-formed, the golden, the all-knowing.
The final goal, the one light, the fervent,
Thousand-rayed, hundredfold turning,
The Life of beings, this sun rises.
The theme of the Upanishads is that, by conscious self-identification with the
Ray joining the individual to this “Universe of Light”, the soul of man becomes
free and divulges its latent genius. This act of union is said to take place in
the “heart”, where is the root of the consciousness of the spiritual man.
From the Divine Self, verily, this Life is bom. As the shadow extended beside a man,
so is it with this. Through the power of Mind it comes into the body. Like as a king,
verily, enjoins his lords, saying, Rule over these villages and these villages! thus, verily,
the Life disposes hither and thither the lesser lives. ... In the heart is the Self. Here
are the hundred and one channels, from each of these a hundred. . . . According to his
thinking he comes to life; his life being linked by the radiance with the Self, leads him
to the world that he has moulded for himself. ... He who knows the origin, the en¬
trance, the dwelling and the lordship of Life fivefold, he reaches the immortal; knowing
this, he reaches the immortal (Prashna Upanishad).
The Grandeur and the Misery of the Mind
It is a sobering but encouraging thought, that mind alone imposes limitations
upon our capacity to absorb the radiance which streams from the Divine Self,
the Holy Spirit, as it is called in Christian terminology. “As a man thinly so
he is.” It is possible to change, to improve the mind. The power of imdjffna-
tion which bind^tis, can also set us free.
However, to be real, the transformation of the mind must proceed pari passu
with the transformation of character. It obviously cannot proceed at the same
velocity for all beings. All minds are not large; some are pitifully small. Why
are the asylums for the insane so crowded to-day? Not merely because con¬
genital feeble-mindedness may be commoner now than in the past. Too
many people have learned to read and write. There is too much incoherent
“education”. If they had been left in peace, multitudes of poor creatures might
have preserved what little mentality they received at birth, or even, through
the ministrations of Nature and normal experience, have added to it. The mind,
like the body, cannot bear more than it can carry. One cannot pour more into
a bowl than it can contain. Social and political upheavals are inevitable prod¬
ucts of mental over-feeding, for there are not enough asylums to hold more
than a small minority of the victims of our schools and colleges.
IOO
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Service of the Eternal
There is really only one way in which thought can be changed for the better
and the horizons of the mind be widened. Modem education takes little ac¬
count of it, but it has been pointed out by every wise teacher since the dawn of
human life. It is the service of the Eternal, the service of values which are
everlasting. In so far as a man is free, in so far as he is superior, he is dedicated
to an end, a cause, an ideal, which he knows to be more enduring and more
precious than himself, and which he loves and obeys without thought of reward
or recognition. Thus some men in all ages have loved and served their highest
conception of truth or beauty or honour or liberty, and they have loved and
served those who most completely embodied the ideal which they themselves
yearned to realize.
Recently an American correspondent made a trip to Palestine. In Jerusalem
he met some of the better-class Arabs, men of gentle birth. He was impressed,
almost overwhelmed, by their urbanity and courtesy. But what seemed to
impress him the most, was that they obviously rated honour higher than life.
They did not talk about it, but it was clear that they regarded honour, as the
Greek sage regarded it, as the one treasure from which a man cannot be sep¬
arated against his will. The correspondent admired them, but he was bewil¬
dered also. It was all so remote from Broadway and Forty-Second Street! How
could such things be? Perhaps, he half suggested, it was because the Arabs
find life so painful and disagreeable, so devoid of modem improvements, that
they welcome any excuse to end it with dignity. We venture to remark that if
he meant this, it would signify that he has never really lived. Life in the human
kingdom does not truly begin until it becomes an object of sacrifice. The Arabs
have many terrible shortcomings, but dislike of living is scarcely one of them.
The best of them enjoy life more than most newspaper reporters, precisely be¬
cause they are ready to lay it down when the demands of their code exact this
of them. They are good soldiers, as the West learned in past centuries.
The Christian Occident has its good soldiers also, as would be clearly shown
if by some means the conscience of the West could be awakened, as it was awak¬
ened during the Great War. We know now, if we did not know before, that the
Great War was ended before real victory was achieved; that the Dark Powers
were wounded but not slain, and are now at least as strong on the outer plane
as they were in 1914. The Allies lacked final perseverance. But the fact re¬
mains that for four years millions of civilized men and women gave all that
they had, in defence of their code, and to save Europe from barbarism and
desolation. That great collective devotion to a sacred cause is part of the his¬
tory of the West. The “good Karma” which it has sown, cannot fail to ger¬
minate and someday to bear fruit. The present role of France and England in
the international tragedy is ignominious and painful to behold. Neither nations
nor individuals can escape from the consequences of their past actions, good and
bad. This is the hour of “bad Karma”, but the “good” must have its day.
Debout , les morts! The armies of the illustrious dead have not deserted France
INSPIRATION
I
NOTES AND COMMENTS ioi
and England, nor have they laid down their arms like too many of those who
survived. Their intervention could at any moment turn the tide.
It has been—and so far as we know, still is—the custom of a certain company
of French grenadiers to pay daily tribute to the memory of La Tour d’Auvergne,
a noble of the ancien regime, who served as a private during the Wars of the
Revolution. He refused all promotion, even at the hands of Bonaparte, but a
special title was created for him, that of Premier Grenadier de France. When¬
ever the roll-call of his company is called, the oldest grenadier answers
for La Tour d’Auvergne: “Present. Mort an champ d’honneur." Does not this
moving ceremony, repeated day after day, illustrate the law of the growth of
the soul, the spiritual will, the immortal genius, the “Higher Self” within man?
No one can sacrifice himself “on the field of honour”, wherever that “field”
may be, without increasing his power to serve what he loves and to animate
the souls of others.
The Service Which Is Perfect Freedom
One recalls the austere and magnificent figure of Cato of Utica, the Warden
of Purgatory in the Divine Comedy , the Roman who preferred death to loss of
liberty. The historical Cato was celebrated in antiquity, because in the midst
of change and revolution he remained steadfastly faithful to the code of honour
bequeathed by his ancestors. He identified Roman liberty and “republican
virtue” with loyalty to that code. This loyalty was the nucleus of his life. It
was his genius, and at certain moments it became so incandescent that it set
aflame the hearts of multitudes. There is an example of this in Plutarch:
Before one of the battles at Dyrrhachium, when Pompey himself made an address to
the soldiers, the men listened coldly and in silence. But Cato came forward, and in the
language of philosophy, spoke to them, as the occasion required, concerning liberty,
manly virtue, death and a good name; upon all which he delivered himself with strong
natural passion, and he concluded with calling upon the gods, to whom he directed his
speech, as if they were present to behold the soldiers fight for their country. And at this
the army gave such a shout and showed such excitement that their officers led them on
full of hope and confidence to the danger.
Fortunate is the man who, like Cato of Utica, can be inspired by some aspect
of immortal truth and can inspire others by the radiance of his love! Blessed is he
who has discovered the Eternal personified in a spiritual Father, a living being,
the Master “at the head of his Ray”, to whom he can devote all that he is and
all that he can become. This is the service which is perfect freedom.
FRAGMENTS
4 g HE Master speaks:
£ When I enter the garden of your thoughts, have you no flowers for
me? Why are the paths untended where I walk, why are the beds
unplanted, the lilies and the roses drooping on their stalks for lack of moisture
and of cultivation?
It was I that made this garden, sending streams of living water through it,
hedging it about. I planted the flowering shrubs, and put the bulbs in the
cool, dark earth. By now it should have been a place of loveliness, perfumed
with devotion, full of the singing of birds, an Eden for my delight. What have
you done with my garden?
Here I was to find coolness and shade, and refreshment when I was weary;
here the presence of angels; the sound of the fountains and of the birds was
to be a hymn of adoration to the Father, and the incense of prayer arise to him
from the cup of every blossom. What have you done with my garden?
When the Brothers come to visit me, where shall I invite them? The seats
are broken and lying on the ground, the leaves on the trees have withered, there
is no protection from the noonday sun when Satan wanders abroad; and where
are you, to receive us and bid us welcome?
You are hiding, as well you may, behind the rubbish of your multitudinous
occupations,—your “duties”, your “interests”, even your “cares”—anything
whatever to serve as a screen between me and my interests and your duties
toward me, neglecting the one thing needful.
What have you done with my garden, and with yourself, secreted in the midst
of its desolation? you who are flinging away your birthright for the mere illu¬
sion of a mess of pottage.
What have you done with my garden?
Cave.
102
INSPIRATION
■
«
INSPIRATION 1
4 T THIS opening meeting of the season, it has been our habit to refer
briefly to what The Theosophical Society is, and is not. We wish it
to be clear that each of us who speaks here speaks for himself, so that
he is neither committing the Society nor asking his hearers to accept some
orthodox doctrine which, if they prefer to reject it, will leave them suspect and
persona non grata amongst us. The Society maintains a free and open plat¬
form. It has no creed nor dogma to set up as a criterion for good standing.
But this freedom and absence of official formulas does not mean that after
all these years of study and discussion and grave experiment, after all that has
been handed down to us from our predecessors, we feel that we have nothing
to offer others, nor that we think all views, however courteously we may wel¬
come them, are of equal moment and of equal truth. It is not at all that we
have found nothing of Divine Wisdom to justify our name. We think we have
found something of it, and our absence of dogma is due to the fact that what
we have found is seen as too large and many-sided to be wrapped up in some
little parcel of words. Truth is something greater than definitions, and we
deem no description of reality can properly be substituted for the Real. Rather
would we lead all men, were we able, to look directly at life itself.
It has been said that instead of offering a creed, the activities of the Society
tend to inculcate what is intellectually an attitude, practically a method,
ethically a spirit, and religiously a life. Our intellectual attitude is set forth
in the motto on our seal: “There is no religion higher than truth.” We seek
the truth, really desiring to find it, whatever it may be or wherever it may lead.
One cannot seek truth without striving to turn from error; and yet if one love
truth, it must be regarded as of far more moment than error. Therefore, in
the Society’s discussions, we think it more fruitful to try to understand one
another’s truths, than to carp at one another’s errors. It is probable that
everything which is said at our meetings will have in it some measure of truth
and some of error. To gain the greater measure of truth, we are prepared, if
we must, to accept something of error, which, later, we may be able to winnow
away. Thus we look for agreements, rather than differences, in the belief that
the common part of men’s views of life is more likely to be the true and funda¬
mental part than where they diverge, so that our attitude involves a looking to
the centre, and our procedure is centripetal rather than centrifugal.
Our practical method is a natural derivative of this intellectual attitude. It
rests, ultimately, upon the unity which underlies all diversity of manifestation,
and which, of course, alone makes possible any understanding of the universe.
This fundamec^l unity is implied in all three of the Society’s stated objects:
to form the nuOTus of a universal brotherhood; to study the great religions of
1 From an address before the New York Branch of The Theosophical Society.
103
104
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
mankind; and to investigate the finer forces of nature and the psychical powers
latent in man. Brotherhood is a word that has been used to cover much of
evil—-there are Brothers of Darkness as well as of Light—but the Brotherhood
of which we would form the nucleus, is based on the recognition of a Divine
Fatherhood, to which all religions point, so that the essential being of all men
is seen as the divine ray which they embody, and in which, latent and potential,
are all the powers and attributes of the Divine. Man is the microcosm of the
Macrocosm.
This was one of the points most emphasized by Madame Blavatsky in the
restatement of Theosophy, the ancient Wisdom, which she brought to the So¬
ciety’s open platform, and it leads directly to the theosophic method and doc¬
trine of Correspondences. We should call it the scientific method were it not
for the fact that science to-day seems strangely to distrust the breadth of its
own foundations, and, leaving man and consciousness out of its consideration,
limits itself to the world it deems it can measure. Yet when Newton, if the
story be not too apocryphal, saw in the fall of an apple the universal laws which
govern all matter and motion, from the greatest to the least, or when the physi¬
cist in the laboratory studies the action of lightning by observing the discharge
of a Leyden jar, the basic assumptions implicit in their procedure are those
which Theosophy makes explicit in its doctrine of Correspondences. It is the
unities of being which alone make science possible; and man, and the soul of
man, share in these unities. All the great religious teachers have, for this rea¬
son, taught through parables and stories, always pointing to life to illustrate
life. So Christ likened the Kingdom of Heaven to a grain of mustard seed, and
bade us consider the lilies of the field, or the love of a father for his son. So
St. John opens his gospel by likening the creation of the manifested universe to a
spoken word. Life is itself the revealer of Life, and all that is, mirrors for us
the Life of All. By this we are enabled to read within the little the secret of the
great, and in the familiar facts of our experience to see the workings of divine
and universal laws.
I propose that we consider this evening a fact that is so commonplace and
familiar that its significance is usually overlooked. That fact is the fact of
inspiration.
It may seem strange to speak of inspiration as commonplace. It is a word
that is, in general, rightly reserved for something rare and high, which lifts
men above the commonplace, and the normal level of their consciousness and
powers. A profound disservice is done to truth and to us all when such words
are lowered or cheapened. Yet that which is transcendent may also be im¬
manent. Light is light whether it come from a firefly, or a shred of cotton wick
dipped in oil, or from a flaming sun; and we are not lowering or belittling the
firmament of the heavens when we realize that the light and heat of the stars
are the same as that by which we see, and warm ourselves, and cook our food.
The little and the great are one, as the Universe is One. There is nothing so
little that God cannot enter it; and because we ourselves are little, it is to the
little that we must look in order to understand the great.
INSPIRATION
107
to our consciousness, and throueh us to others, in a vesture which it weaves
INSPIRATION 105
“In all ages entering into holy souls, she [Wisdom] maketh them friends of
God and prophets."
The fact of inspiration, which lights the history of mankind and lifts to
grandeur the seers and saints and heroes of the race, is demonstrated, in little,
in the familiar fact of your everyday experience, that you did not have an idea,
and now you have it; that your courage was low, and now is higher; that you
were despondent, and now have hope.
The question is, how did it happen, and what is its significance? Where did
you get that greater courage, that new view of truth, that inspiration as to
what was the wise thing to do in the puzzling circumstances that confronted
you? Did you have them latent somewhere about you? If so, you did not
know it. Did you eat them? Are they distillations of carrots and cabbage?
Of course there are those who will tell you that cabbage and carrots have a
great deal to do with the matter, for if you do not eat, you will have neither
courage nor hope nor any vision of what is wise. There is truth in this, for to
receive is not the negative and passive thing sometimes supposed. It is an act
of power. You are working when you listen to someone speak, as perhaps you
realize. Really to understand and follow anyone talking to you, requires the
rehandling of many varied elements of your personal history,—the rearrange¬
ment, under the guidance of the speaker’s words, of the patterns left in the
sediment of past hopes, desires and experience. As in a dance, one leads, one
follows; but each must move and carry his own weight. From our food, our
bodies gain the energy requisite for such motion, so that the brain and nervous
system can register and transmit the impressions they receive. By our food,
too, if it disagree with us, the whole functioning of our organism may be so de¬
ranged that nothing can reach us. But no matter how important a part food
may play, I do not think any of us really believes that any spiritual values, any
vision of truth or will to right, have their origin in, or are distillates of, merely
physical substance or action.
Therefore the question persists, where do we get the new ideas that arise in
us, our new hope and our new spirit? Whence comes our inspiration? I know
of no more important question; but I shall not now attempt any further answer
to it than the negative comment we have just made. It is not drawn from the
world of visible substance and physical force. But from somewhere, out of a
region that has been to us formless and invisible, something takes form and
visibility, something comes to us as new thought, new spirit, new power or new
beauty. Let us say it comes from “the other world”, since it does not come
from what we can recognize as this one. Or let us say from “the inner world”,
or from some world that transcends in dimensionality the world of our normal
conscioua^ss, since it arises and takes form within us, rather than coming already
formed frOTi without, through some avenue of the senses. In some of the
Eastern scriptures, it has been described in Sanscrit phrases that have been
translated as “the causal world”, and the world “of formless power”; and any¬
one who watches his own inspiration, the birth of clearer thought or new ideas
or firmer purpose, which become the causes of his actions, will recognize what
0
%
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the phrase is meant to convey,—that something of power which was before
formless to us has taken form, and what we could not see has now become
visible. But we should be misled if these words suggested to us that the inner
world is amorphous or nebulous or inchoate. Rather is it the matrix of all
forms; the field and focus of all the formative forces. How to describe it, and
the passage which inspiration effects from the unconscious to the conscious, I
do not know. Perhaps the words of St. Augustine come as near to it as any we
can find. “When I first knew Thee Thou liftedst me up, that I might see there
was somewhat for me to see, and that I was not yet such as to see.” They
convey the characteristic sense of the action of a power other than ourselves;
the perception that there is something to see which we do not see; and that the
reason we do not see it, is an inadequacy in us, not in it.
There is an old and beautiful mystical treatise whose name, The Cloud of
Unknowing , is suggestive in this connection, for the process by which thought
is bom, and inspiration received, seems often such a pressing up, and being
drawn up, into this cloud of unknowing, as the treatise describes, and, with
this, the steadfast intending of our attention upon something which we dimly
sense to exist there, though what it is we do not know. We fasten our attention
upon it until, little by little, it takes form in the mist. Little by little it draws
to itself from out of our memories and experience, things similar to or contrast¬
ing with itself. In a kind of subconscious questioning, our whole being is passed
in review before it; and as a magnet draws iron from all other substances, so
our inspiration draws from the storehouse of all that we have felt or known, the
things of its own kind. They cluster around it, as iron filings around the magnet,
until they become a medium or vehicle for the manifestation of this new and
unknown truth in terms familiar to our consciousness. They are like the visible
drapery which reveals the form of the invisible body that it clothes. So our
inspiration clothes and reveals itself to us through the vehicle which we our¬
selves furnish it.
It would be absurd to suppose that all ideas come, and all inspiration acts,
in the same way, but I believe that what has just been outlined is so common
and typical that its essential elements can be recognized in all our intellectual
activity,—even in trivial conversation, and whenever ideas have to be found
and clothed in words. Such strangeness as may appear in our description is, I
think, due to the fact that the process, except in purposed meditation, is in
general largely subconscious and very rapid. To analyze and attempt to follow
it in detail, therefore, yields an effect similar to that of showing a moving pic¬
ture at only a fraction of the speed with which it was taken. Everything is
slowed down. A succession of steps is substituted for the continuous flow of
movement, and rapid transition stages, which the eye itself never notices, seem
awkward and curious when recorded as though they were permanent.
It is sufficient for our present purpose, however, if it be clear that we are
all constantly receiving from some “inner world” or source other than the vis¬
ible, physical world about us, an influx that acts upon us behind the mental
machinery of expression, and which thereupon clothes itself, and presents itself
INSPIRATION
107
to our consciousness, and through us to others, in a vesture which it weaves
from elements that we ourselves supply. In one, its vehicle may be colour. In
another, music. In another, the magical images that we call words, with their
power to evoke our past and make it live again,—so that no one ever knows all
that the word he utters may mean to him who hears it. But in each of us our
inspiration can use only the media that we can supply. In us, its vocabulary is
limited to ours. You will remember the little English boy, who, taken to church
in Paris, asked his mother, “Does God talk French?” How can Life, or the
Universe, or the Spirit, talk to you, save in your own language? How can any¬
thing be significant to you, save as it has significance in terms that you under¬
stand? Wherever inspiration acts, through whatever form of nature or of being,
it clothes itself in that form. So in the Bhagavad Gita , Krishna tells Arjuna,
“In whatever way men approach me, in that way do I assist them; but what¬
ever the path taken by mankind, that path is mine.”
From all the foregoing, one fact emerges unmistakably. Our whole sentient
life is supported by, and evidences, the working of a formative power, which,
acting from the unseen to the seen, is constantly bringing us new vision of truth
or beauty or holiness (or, alas, since we are open below as well as above, of their
perversions and opposites); constantly forming within us new images of reality;
constantly making new moulds for a new will and a new spirit. Our physical
senses tell us of an outer world made up of things already formed, individual
and separate,—separate, individual stars and men and women, insects and
trees and grains of sand. Our inner world is no less rich in individual and sep¬
arate forms,—formed and separate thoughts, feelings, desires and emotions.
But as we look inward and watch our inner life, we see that these separate things,
created in the past, are of chief moment to us now as being the sole medium
which we can offer for the present action of the inflowing and in-forming spirit.
These two aspects of Being, the formed and the formative, are never, and can
never be separated.
Now, surely, our initial observation that we do, somehow, get new ideas, has
led us a long way, and opened far horizons upon snow-clad mysteries. For here
we are looking out upon the ageless mystery of the Trinity,—the fact that the
One Reality, the Father of all, ever reveals itself in manifestation under the
dual aspects of the formed and the forming; of the Son, who is one with the
Father and manifests his image; and of the Holy Spirit, which, proceeding from
the Father and the Son, ceaselessly acts to impress that image upon all that is,
and to fill with itself the moulds that it creates. We use the Christian terms
not merely because they have been familiar—and perhaps incomprehensible—
to many of us from infancy, but particularly in order that it may be the more
noticeable that The Theosophical Society, imposing no creed upon its members,
nevertheless gives them, in Theosophy, a practical method and guiding prin¬
ciple which lead to the interpretation and validation of all the creeds, so that,
though the realities with which they deal stretch far beyond our utmost vision,
we sd^clearly ways in which they apply also to us, even in the lowlands where
we live.
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Though we began with the very small, we have now been led to the very
great, and face the penalty of having chosen such a theme for our evening’s
discussion. For we cannot consider the action of the Holy Spirit apart from the
other aspects of the Trinity, and though the way lies open before us, looking
out upon so vast a scene, we know how presumptuous would be the attempt to
traverse it. We must return again to the little, and to the theosophic method
of seeking there the understanding of the great. As Lao-Tze tells us in the
Tao-Teh-King , The Book of the Path of Virtue: “Finding the great in what is
small, and the many in the few, . . . effecting difficult things while they are
easy, and managing great things in their beginnings,—this is the way of Tao.
All difficult things have their origins in those that are easy, and great things in
what are small. Therefore the wise man can accomplish great things without
ever attempting them.” Theosophy would, if it could, make us wise. We turn
back, therefore, to look again at the way inspiration comes to us through “the
cloud of unknowing”.
I doubt whether there are many men who have not felt as though, separated
from them only by a veil which sometimes seems thin, there were an inner
world of consciousness, rich and radiant with the full perfection of all the things
with whose imperfections we are struggling in our outer life. There, just beyond
that veil of mist, or even pressing toward us through the mist that shadowed it,
was the wholeness of Truth that unified the broken fragments which were all we
held. There was Beauty, glowing in form and colour, though our eyes lost them
before they could be registered. Music and Poetry were there, whose rhythm
remained, though words and harmonies died from memory in the very moment
they were bom. And there, perhaps in some way different from all the rest, in
that, however dimly seen, it never wanes, could be sensed the presence of No¬
bility of Soul.
I doubt, as I said, whether there can be many who have not had such a feel¬
ing; but whether the recognition be as common as I believe or not, of one thing
I am confident. If it be the type of experience to which I wish to point, if it be
genuine and not some psychic counterfeit, it carries with it unquestioning con¬
viction that whatever it be which we sense beyond the veil, it is, in itself and of
its own kind, perfect and complete. It is only our perception or translation of
it that is imperfect and incomplete,—due to the inadequacy of what we bring
to it as materials for its expression. Whenever we succeed in tracing inspiration
back to its source, we always find this sense of perfection inherent in its
origin.
To establish this point, from which we wish to draw certain inferences, we
have entered upon very dangerous ground, and should pause to post warnings.
If, instead of speaking of a “cloud of unknowing”, we had called it plainly our
dense stupidity and crass ignorance, and an impurity and lack of holiness that
made us responsive to every voice of vanity and passion, it would scarcely be
necessary to say that what we encountered in it might be something less than
perfect, and other than the True, the Good and the Beautiful. A cloud zone
can reflect an incendiary and destructive conflagration on earth, while it dims
INSPIRATION
109
the sun or stars; and very much of what conceit mistakes for inspiration from
on high, is a psychic reflection from beneath. Ideas that are misty are not
thereby made true; nor is everything veiled either beautiful or good. Few
things are more corrosive to such sense and judgment as a man may possess,
than to think that he has touched perfection in any particular. But let it be
observed that in the process of inspiration, as we have described it, we do not
think that we have touched perfection, but only that we have become aware of
its existence, and have striven to open ourselves to its in-forming, trans-forming
radiance in order that we may be changed in little and in big, in nature and in
life, nearer to its likeness. We are not saying that men are not victims of their
own silliness and vanity; nor that there are not evils and deceits to which they
are open and endlessly succumb. But we do say that above all imperfection is
the Perfect; above all evil the Good; and that to these, also, man is open,—
that Theosophy, Divine Wisdom, exists, and can to-day as “in all ages” enter
into and irradiate the soul. Some time since, we borrowed a sentence from St.
Augustine. The one with which he followed it is not less pertinent: “And
Thou didst beat back the weakness of my sight, streaming forth Thy beams of
light upon me most strongly, and I trembled with love and awe: and I perceived
myself to be far off from Thee, in the region of nnlikeness , as if I heard this Thy
voice from on high: ‘I am the food of grown men; grow, and thou shalt feed
upon Me; nor shalt thou convert Me, like the food of thy flesh, into thee, but
thou shalt be converted into Me.’ ” It has been quoted more than once from
this platform, for it records a perception that marks the beginning of the Way.
With proper warnings, thus duly posted, of the quicksands that fringe the
way we have come, we may now compare the observations it has yielded us with
those we made earlier from a different point of view. We saw first that in the
birth of new ideas—in the commonplace phenomena of our everyday thought
and speech—inspiration came to us as the influx of a creative, formative power
which acted upon us from within (or behind or above, use what word you will)
the whole mental machinery of expression, and set that machinery to work;
so that, if we were attentive to the process, we could watch the heretofore un¬
known idea reveal itself to our consciousness by donning such clothes as it could
fashion from what it found in us. As a man, needing to outfit himself from a
ready-made clothing shop, tries on and rejects garment after garment which
the salesman hopefully hands him, but must ultimately take the nearest fit
and least objectionable patterns and colours which the shop affords, so our
inspiration has to dress itself from what we may have in stock. It does not
come “all dressed up”, but gives the impression of having stooped to us from
a world where our kind of vesture is not needed, though now, like a well-bred
guest, it accommodates itself to the limitations of our hospitality. That was
what we saw at first. But in what we noted later, of the world that we some¬
times glimp^d “just beyond the veil”, there was no sense of looking into the
unmanifest, %>of touching unclothed essences that would stoop to fill such
forms as we could offer. All that reached us from that inner world told of the
exact opposite. It told, not of the beginnings of things, but of their full flower-
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
ing; not of the germ of individuality, but of its attainment; not of the unex¬
pressed, but of an utter perfection of expression of every form and kind,—a
perfection so complete and ultimate that in having become absolute it had
become eternal. To it nothing could be added, nor anything taken away; for
it was what it was, and mirrored the Supreme. Its concern was with what was
above, not with what was below; and therefore it could not stoop, nor accom¬
modate itself to our limitations so as to incarnate in us. But if we were attuned
and very still, beams from its radiance might enter our heart and mind; and if
one had any faculty or instrument, sensitive and trained, a response might rise,
not as the Perfect it sought to reflect, but yet as great poetry or art or music.
And even those of us who, lacking any instrument, are incapable of utterance,
nevertheless know that, in what has touched us, virtue has passed into us and
inspiration been received. The vision of the Perfect, however dim and broken,
quickens a nostalgia which will not rest, and leaves in our memories something
which, if too vague to be a mould, is yet the matrix of moulds which later in¬
spiration may in-form and fill.
Thus inspiration comes to us from two sources which yet are One—from both
directions along the great arc of our evolution—from what stands to us for the
Unmanifest, and from the manifested Perfect,—the Master who reveals it.
Once again, in the little, we come upon the Great.
“And I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Lord and Giver of Life, who proceed¬
ed from the Father and the Son, who with the Father and the Son together, is
worshipped and glorified, who spake by the Prophets.”
This doctrine of the Holy Ghost, or, to pass from Christian to theosophic
terminology, the doctrine of Fohat, is the essential complement of the existence
of Masters. It points to the creative action of the Spirit, which both “con¬
ceives” the Perfection of Humanity that the Masters embody, and “proceeds”
from that Perfection to inspire and uplift all lower levels. Madame Blavatsky
speaks of it in The Secret Doctrine as the link between Spirit and matter, “the
bridge by which the Ideas existing in the Divine Thought are impressed on
Cosmic substance as the ‘laws of Nature’. Fohat is thus the dynamic energy
of Cosmic Ideation, . . . the guiding power of all manifestation, . . . trans¬
mitted and made manifest by the Dhyan Chohans, the Architects of the visible
world. Thus from Spirit, or Cosmic Ideation, comes our consciousness; from
Cosmic Substance the several vehicles in which that consciousness is indi¬
vidualized.” Later, she refers to it as “the key in Occultism” to all the world’s
religions and mythologies. It invites our study, in its universal as well as in
its personal aspect, but here we must return to the little and the personal, to
note another factor in us, that constantly limits and thwarts our inspiration.
We may approach it by an analogy and a question. Throw a stone into a
pond. The still surface breaks into circular and concentric ripples. Throw a
stone into a sheet of glass, or into the same pond when thin ice has formed on it.
The glass or ice will be shattered into jagged lines and angles. Let a fact (and
remember that facts are spiritual things, as are all truths) be thrown into your
attention, breaking the surface of your consciousness. What kind of pattern
INSPIRATION
hi
does it make there? What is the character of the thoughts, the emotions, the
feelings, that are prompted by facts or inspiration of any kind?
The first, and common-sense, answer would probably be that it depended
upon the fact or inspiration. But does it? Of course to a certain degree it does;
ftist as the character of the splash, caused in the pond, depends in part upon
the shape of the stone. But to a far greater extent, as we have just seen, it
depends upon the surface and the substance into which the stone falls. So it is
with you. The effect which facts—above all, the effect which inner facts and
inspiration—have upon you, depends chiefly upon you.
I draw near to three friends, holding a telegraph form in my hand. One of
them laughs, for no obvious reason, and calls, “Hello, are you playing Mercury?
What’s the good news now?” Another, looking up quickly, his whole body
tense, asks, “What’s the matter? Is anything wrong?” The third, silent,
simply watches and waits. Here are three different reactions, and reactions
not to a specific fact (it was not known what, if anything, that telegraph form
contained), but to any interrupting and possibly important fact,—to fact as
fact, not to the quality of fact, and so to Reality and Being itself. The first
response, doubtless intended to be gay, and perhaps seeming so to the one who
made it, was, instead, personal and trivial. The second revealed scar tissue.
In some way life had hurt the speaker, so that his reaction to any unexpected
intrusion of fact was one of anxious foreboding, or of fear. The third does not
admit of sure interpretation. Such unmoved, silent waiting may be the result
of a mere bovine lack of imagination. Or it may indicate such a response to
Reality as the great of heart have attained: that calm, level-eyed facing of
whatever may come, prepared to deal with it as it comes, and to leave the re¬
sult in quietness to Karma and the Masters.
What we see thus clearly in others, is true also of ourselves. Each of us
presents to Reality, to Divine Inspiration, to Life and Theosophy, an attitude
and a surface whose pattern we have made characteristic of ourselves. It may
be a fearful attitude, or a cheaply jocular attitude, or a bovine attitude, or one
that is faithful and heroic. But whatever it may be, we must take it into ac¬
count. Break a steel bar, and the surface of fracture follows and reveals the
crystallization of the steel. Different minerals are distinguished by the dif¬
ferent types of crystals which they present, and which determine the angles at
which they reflect or transmit light. It is the same with us. The inspiration
that comes to us all, the new life and light from the Causal World of Wisdom,
is reflected and refracted in different individuals at different angles, so that the
expression it is given, and, indeed, whether it can penetrate beneath the surface
of our consciousness, depend upon the crystallizations that have taken place in
our natures, and which characterize our minds and hearts. Do we not all know
people who, no matter what is said to them, will hear and remember only what
accords with their own preconceptions and predilections? They will quote
back to you, as your own, phrases which they have thus taken out of their
context and have made to convey the exact opposite of your plainly stated
meaning^But let us take courage and hope from the knowledge that our type
I 12
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of crystallization is something we can change. It exists in us, determining our
instinctive, automatic reactions to-day, only because we have made those re¬
actions our habit in the past. Little by little, as we grow in self-knowledge and
gain consciousness of them, we can correct them, as we can correct any habit.
Or, to see from a little different view-point these same limitations, let us ask
ourselves: What kind of vocabulary do we put at the service of our inspiration ?
How do we express new ideas when we get them? Our vocabulary is of words,
but it is—or should be—of far more than words. It consists also of our will and
emotions and instincts, our fears and desires and whole nature. We have to
offer all these things, all that we are, to our inspiration as the material from
which the Holy Spirit is to make in us its vehicle. As Light on the Path tells us,
“the whole nature of man must be used wisely by the one who desires to enter
the way”. The Creative Power, working through the soil, can draw up fruits
of the soil, grain and trees and flowers, that it cannot draw from rock. Wherever
it acts, its result is dependent upon, and limited by, the substance through which
it acts. In us, it can only act on and through what we are. It can only in-form,
and express itself through, such stuff as we supply, and through such patterns
as that stuff is capable of taking. Therefore it behoves us to learn to bring
more to our inspiration, to extend our vocabulary, dissolve our old crystalliza¬
tions and hard and fast patterns, that we may make ourselves pliable where
now we are rigid, responsive on higher planes where now we are inert.
This is another thing that the Society does, and can do more and more for us.
There is no one of us, in the Theosophic Movement, who is not in contact with
others who are, in some way, wiser than we are, whose response to life, and
therefore whose inspiration, is truer and holier and more beautiful than our
own, though it came from the same source, and fell upon us even as it fell upon
them. From their example, we can learn how to alter the surface of fracture
we expose when some fact or truth of the inner world breaks our sleeping con¬
sciousness, learn how to open ourselves more fully to the ethical spirit of Theos¬
ophy, and give ourselves more truly and completely to its religious life.
Henry Bedinger Mitchell.
We cannot kindle when we will
The fire that in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still;
In mystery our soul abides .
But tasks in hours of insight willed
Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.
—Matthew Arnold.
ON HAVING A PURPOSE IN LIFE
and flaming spirit of love that mad<- if r...
ON HAVING A PURPOSE IN LIFE
S TUDENTS of Theosophy are told that Mr. Judge used often to ask:
“What is your purpose in life?” Ardent lover of his Master, grieved at
unresponsiveness, deadness, or aimless drifting, his challenge calls to mind
the vision of the Hebrew prophet, Ezekiel, in the valley of dry bones; and how,
when he “prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones
came together, bone to his bone. . . And so, when this call to a purpose
in life rings out at every meeting of our Branch, and above all at the Conven¬
tion, there follows a stirring, an awakening, to our divine privilege and
opportunity.
With this thought in mind it is inspiring to hear of a woman of our day who
had a purpose in life. Her name was Hannah Riddell. She was bom in 1855
at Barnet, near London, the only child of her parents, and would have gone as
a missionary to India because of her father’s great interest in that country.
But her wish for India was frustrated by the death of her parents, one soon
after the other. Later she heard what she believed to be God’s call: the Church
Missionary Society asked her to go to Japan.
Now she had always thought Japan must be “a dreadful place to live in”,
because of the frequent earthquakes; but, as one sees all through the story of
her life, 1 her ruling desire was to further her Master’s cause, without any thought
of self. The story reveals clearly also the secret of her marvellous success:
she understood so absolutely St. Paul’s reiterated teaching that, while by her¬
self she could do nothing, yet with the Master she could do whatever he might
require of her. “We have this treasure in earthen vessels”, says St. Paul, “that
the excellency of the power might be of God.”
So, in this dependence, she arrived at Osaka, studied the language, and was
soon working at Kumamoto, a city of Northern Japan. One day a friend in¬
vited her to see the cherry trees lining the approach to Hommyoji Temple. It
was a beautiful morning, and under a clear blue sky the cherry blossoms were a
lovely sight. But as she reached the Temple her delight was suddenly changed
to horror. She had never before seen a leper, and there, thronging the steps,
and all about the grounds, were these awful sufferers. The day was an anni¬
versary occasion: three hundred years before, Kato Kyomasa, a great general
and statesman, who had become a leper, was healed at this Temple and later
was buried there.
Miss Riddell was overwhelmed with compassion and dismay. Each leper
was pleading for alms, it being indeed by alms alone—as she learned—that
they could exist, since their families cast them out, and no one took thought
for ther^fcven the Government paying no heed to them whatever.
That night Miss Riddell never closed her eyes, meditating on the awful scene.
1 For further particulars, see Hannah Riddell, Known in Japan as The Mother of Lepers , translated from the
Japanese of Jingo Tobimatsu, I937*
113
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
114
As the hours passed the conviction grew that God must mean her to give her
life to the lepers; then, when morning dawned, she felt there was not an hour
to be lost, and arming herself with lotions and bandages she hastened back to
the Temple.
Everyone knows that leprosy is the most loathsome disease that afflicts
humanity. For hundreds of years it had been called in Japan “The Punish¬
ment of God”, so that lepers felt themselves to be accursed. All of which drove
this noble woman from the Temple to the slums of the city, where she washed,
anointed and bound their wounds and, above all, poured hope and faith into
their despairing hearts. The work was so vast she decided to establish a clinic,
trying all the while to interest people, and especially the Government, and
giving her entire private means to the cause. Then her horizon widened. She
saw she must build a hospital, but how,—with indifference around her, and
England so far away? Still she urged and wrote and strove, while some said
she was mad. It was not until 1895, five years after her visit to the Temple,
that the Hospital was opened. Here let me quote her biographer:
In the northern part of the city of Kumamoto, at the foot of the green-clad Mt. Tat-
suta, surrounded by a beautiful trimmed hedge, we see a group of several buildings.
Ascending a gently rising gravelled path, we come to a white gate, within which are to
be seen numbers of large camphor trees and newly trimmed shrubs. Contemplating
this one feels a peaceful and holy atmosphere pervading the whole scene. This is
the quiet home for spiritual and bodily help where the leper patients are housed. This
hospital is known as “The Hospital of the Resurrection of Hope”.
Miss Riddell had been greatly concerned in choosing a name for her hospital.
“The idea”, she said, “that patients enter because of a disease which is loathed
by the world is abhorrent, and must be removed from their minds.” This is
one example of her intense sympathy, and her ability to enter into the conscious¬
ness of others. But there are many more. In a group discussing means of
securing funds for erecting the Hospital, someone suggested newspaper pub¬
licity. After a pause, she said: “I am doing my work in the spirit of a Japanese
myself,—I certainly should not like to see the papers report that a foreigner is
doing relief work for miserable, unhappy beings whom people and society here
have neglected. For the sake of Japan I should not like to see such reports in
the Japanese and foreign press.” When a patient entered the hospital Miss
Riddell said: “You are welcome here; this is your home; do not worry about
yourself any longer; be free from anxiety.”
Marquis Toshitaka Okubo, who wrote an introduction to the biography, says:
When Miss Riddell spoke at a special meeting held at the Governor’s residence, men
listened to her plans and to her description of the work she was doing with tears in their
eyes. She had a very wide vision of her aims. It was not only to have lepers well treated,
but also to eradicate leprosy from the land. She moved towards this goal step by step,
making use of every opportunity as it arose.
And from Kehchi Suzuki, Governor of Kumamoto Prefecture:
It was really Miss Riddell’s noble character that people admired. It was by her
earnest religious faith that people were drawn to her, and it was her indomitable will
ON HAVING A PURPOSE IN LIFE
US
and flaming spirit of love that made it possible for her to reach her ideal. It is generally
recognized that we may rightly say that God sent her here, and she truly delivered God’s
message to our people.
Miss Riddell’s modesty was such that she deprecated any praise. She said:
“I am not a social-service worker, but am only working in accordance with the
will of God.”
In 1898 Miss Riddell went to England and explained to her friends and rela¬
tives what she was doing. At that time she decided to resign from the Church
Missionary Society and to work independently.
She was anxious about the hospital in its relation to the law. She insisted
that the relief of lepers should be a national undertaking, so that the govern¬
ment and the people should work together for that end. As the hospital was
gradually completed, she thought it should no longer be a personal property
and asked permission to have it registered. In 1906 it received its charter from
the Minister for Home Affairs. The Japanese people everywhere now began
to appreciate what was being done, and Miss Riddell received many grateful
letters, and contributions came from various sources. Later a group of friends
in England, and also in America, formed themselves into a committee for
furnishing information about the work.
But to return to our description of the Hospital. As time went on many
necessary buildings were added, in all sixteen, and the most important, the
church. It is of Japanese architecture, and all its interior arranged for the
comfort as well as the edification of the patients, and an inclined entrance pro¬
vided for wheel chairs. It is called the Church of the Advent, and over the
door are the words: ‘‘My House shall be called the House of Prayer.” Beyond
and among the buildings are gardens; a kitchen garden cared for by the pa¬
tients, and many garden patches for those well enough to work in them. And
great is the delight of these gardeners at planting the seeds, seeing the delicate
shoots come up and then the beautiful flowers.
After the service of dedicating the church, someone remarked how perfect
the upkeep of the hospital was and how expensive it must be. “Yes”, a friend
replied, “perhaps so; but all the money in the world could never result in making
the atmosphere what we all feel it to be: nothing but the tireless, consecrated
personal attention and loving care of the founder herself could accomplish this.
The Hospital of the Resurrection of Hope is the creation of a consecrated per¬
sonality. It is the spiritual, as well as the material expression of a great soul
devoted to the service of God and her fellow men.”
But her work extended far beyond this hospital. Kusatsu, one thousand miles
from Kumamoto, is a place with hot sulphur springs, and of great natural
beauty, where rhododendrons and lilies of the valley abound, and where lepers
congregated in hope of benefit from the waters. Often, however, in their dis¬
appointment, they became desperate, and sought oblivion in drink, and thence
sank into the depths of vice. So Kusatsu was “a town of darkness”. When Miss
Riddell saw it she wept; yet, instead of drawing back in despair, she thought of
the despair of the lepers, and of the power of Christ.
n6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
For this great undertaking she had untold help in the person of her niece,
Miss Ada Wright, who for some years had been associated with her in the hos¬
pital. So a little group was formed, of Miss Wright, the native chaplain, and
other workers from the hospital. Of course, progress was slow, especially
because their arrival was at first entirely misunderstood. After a while, how¬
ever, timid smiles began to appear on the wan faces, and gratitude, and later
came praise and thanksgiving to God. So great was the change effected that
the police of the region were puzzled by the transformation.
To the Loochoo Islands, another centre of lepers, and to many other similar
places, Miss Riddell sent native workers, with medicines and comfort and in¬
spiration. Meanwhile, Leper Asylums were established in many parts of the
Empire, and in 1930 The National Leper Prevention Society was organized.
After forty years of this strenuous life her health began to wane. Still she
worked on, going about in a wheel chair. Then, in February, 1932, she breathed
her last, and her ashes were placed, in accordance with her well-known wishes,
in the mausoleum she had erected for the ashes of “her children”,—Miss Ada
Wright, her niece, carrying on the work.
One of her patients says: “Miss Riddell put great stress on religion, not
urging us, but by her own character and love we were influenced. She comforted
us and always emphasized the spiritual side, so we lived in love and freedom,
and were joined one to another by mutual friendship, service, and gratitude.
We lived in an atmosphere . . . which money could not buy.”
It is at the Hospital of the Resurrection of Hope that the following hymn is
sung every evening,—a hymn which, it has been said, expresses the essence of
Christianity:
All through the day this thought has been the dearest,
That I hy beloved Hand is laid on me;
That Thou of all hast deigned to come the nearest
And marked me with the sign of Calvary.
What if 1 suffer, so Thou grantest only
That I fall not from Thee in my last hour;
So that Thou leave me not to suffer lonely,
But wilt uphold me with Thy touch of power?
Thou givest joy so deep to those in sadness,
That though Thy pierced Hand may be downprest,
There is within a hidden well of gladness,
For which I thank Thee, knowing I am blessed!
Truly the founder of this hospital had a purpose in life! And if her achieve¬
ment seems to some of us, in our quieter lives, too vast to be an inspiration, let
us remember we are repeatedly told that the Masters look on motives and not
on results, and that we are no judges of what they can do with the smallest
honest effort made for their Cause. 2 Z.
* Let us remember also, the Editors would suggest, that while current events continually remind us of the extent
to which the West has corrupted the East, the influence of the West has in some ways proved a marvellous bless¬
ing, as this article so clearly shows.— Editors.
HEAD, HEART, AND HAND
Y OU will need to consider often the nature of this “science” about which
we hear so much to-day, and which enters into our lives at a thousand
places, bringing to our attention a wealth of strange phenomena of
which our ancestors had no least notion. Our age, in fact, is distinguished
from other historical periods by the dominance of this great power to which
men have transferred much of the allegiance which, in an earlier day, they
gave to religion. We are about to start upon the study of one of the sciences,
and certainly we want to know how science differs from other kinds of knowl¬
edge. Well, we discovered at the outset that the men who study science begin
by drawing an arbitrary line about one set of facts: Things that can be touched,
tasted, seen, smelled, and heard—these alone are the matters with which science
deals. Most of us were, I think, surprised to learn that science is so limited.
Nobody had ever told us that before. In the schools we had been led to believe
that science was a wise and wonderful guide to the whole of life, and that the
ancient nations, lacking this wonderful guide, had been subject to idle specula¬
tions and superstitious beliefs about natural events. Now we begin to realize,
perhaps, that we have to keep an eye on this cock-sure giant of science. He
can’t possibly know everything which is necessary to our happiness, because
he refuses to consider at all so very many matters that lie closest to our hearts.
There are certain people in the world who say that scientific knowledge is
the only kind that is real, is the only kind that matters, and that every single
fact which is true must come to us through the sense organs. They look upon
everything else as fanciful dreaming. You hear such people say: “That idea
isn’t scientific”, which seems to imply that, in their opinion, the idea is not a
sound one.
But we can see easily how biassed and foolish such a view really is. For every
mother’s son and mother’s daughter of us is perfectly familiar with a set of
normal, everyday experiences which are wholly real but which cannot be touched
or tasted, seen, smelled or heard. For instance: we can imagine the old dog
at home sitting on the back porch and scratching fleas. An inelegant picture,
perhaps, but it is perfectly real as a picture in the mind, and yet it is utterly
unscientific. Tell me: where is that picture of the dog? If I should open
your brain and dissect it down to the last cell and nerve fibre, could I see or
touch or otherwise detect the picture of that dog? Of course not. Yet that
picture-dog is a fact—just as much a fact as the flesh-and-blood dog on the
back porch. But it is not a physical fact, not a scientific fact; it belongs to
another sort of fact-world which, using the term broadly, we may call the spiritual
world. Let’s take another example. What are your affection for your parents,
your loyalties to your friends, your admiration for those examples of noble
1 Notes of a lecture recently given to College Freshmen.
118
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
men and women who have fought and died in defence of high ideals? None
of these glorious things is scientific; not one of them could possibly be studied
by the scientific method. Yet we surely realize that such matters lie at the
very core of our lives, and that to omit them from consideration would leave
us starved and crippled. If the terrible choice were forced upon us of giving
up some of our outer senses or of being crippled in our inner life, I am sure
we should all say: Yes, take away my sight or my hearing but leave me my
imagination, my power of affection and worship and love.
How foolish it is, then, to imagine that science and the world with which
it deals, is all that is needful to solve the problem of human life. Why science
cannot even solve the simple problem of a picture-dog in my mind.
Of course we are going to give science its due. What we object to is giving
it more than its due. Within its limited field of facts it has done a magnificent
work, and I hope your hearts may come to feel the beauty and the wonder of
the world which it reveals to us. Only we must not forget that the beauty
and wonder which we feel before the revelations given us by science, are not
themselves of any scientific importance whatever. Strange, is it not, that the
spiritual beauty hidden in the heart of the world, and which is the source of
life and joy and gladness, is no concern of science?
Now of course science has a perfect right to stake out any sort of limited
claim it wishes. If a group of men wishes to limit its field to a one-acre meadow,
that is its affair. But we shall enter a decided protest when such people insist
that their limited province embraces all that can be known, and then try to
force upon us an interpretation of the big world in the terms of a one-acre
meadow. One is reminded of a story based on an old saying that, “In the
country of the blind the one-eyed man is king”. A young man with two sound,
shining eyes finds a mountain valley shut away from civilization, where for
ages the inhabitants have all been blind. Only hollow eye-sockets remain in
their faces. Touched by pity, the traveller begins to tell them about the beau¬
tiful world of form and colour from which they are shut out. Does he become
their king, this young man with his completer senses? Not a bit of it. The
people listen; they whisper together: “A poet and a dreamer”, says one; “Mad¬
ness”, says another. Finally the scientists of the land learn of this monster
who is among them. After a physical examination they aver that two tumours
are pressing on the young man’s brain and are causing strange hallucinations.
They recommend the use of the surgeon’s knife. Fortunately our hero escapes
such a terrible fate and finds his way back to his own sort of people. Now
there are men of parallel blindness among the scientists. They aver that only
material things are real; their spiritual eyes are darkened, and in dreadful
likeness to the scientists of our story, they consider themselves normal human
beings and regard as diseased, such men as believe in the spiritual world. Of
course not all scientists are like that. Many of them see clearly that the field
of science is only a limited and partial one.
Now it is evident that science concerns itself wholly with what we familiarly
call “head knowledge”. But when we glance through a college catalogue we
HEAD, HEART, AND HAND
119
may see, perhaps, a statement to the effect that the college gives training in
“sciences, humanities and arts”. What, then, are humanities and arts?
Well, we are human beings, and there are subjects which appeal to us just
on that account. Literature, history, painting, sculpture and music—such
subjects make up the humanities, and it is evident that a strong element of
human feeling goes with them. We might call it the “heart-element”. It is
clear, too, that a race of intelligent dogs or cats would show small interest in
our humanities. Perhaps they would prefer to study “dogmatics” and “cate¬
gories”. Possibly old bones, ash-cans and the natural history of woodchucks
would bulk heavily in the curriculum of dogdom. There would, however, be
one “dogmatic” which we humans might well add to our “humanities” and
consider with deep attention. That is the subject of dog-loyalty. The dog
too often puts his master to shame in his mastery of that quality which we like
to think is such a splendid human trait.
Finally, our college catalogues offer the arts, and the arts are only applied
sciences, or sciences in action. When we study the arts we learn how to do
things: to build churches and chicken-coops, to pull teeth and raise tomatoes.
Those are arts. The fine arts possess the element of beauty. The study and
appreciation of true and beautiful human works belongs to the humanities.
Their actual production, however, is an art, and since the art of their production
calls for scientific knowledge, we can see that the activities of head, heart and
hand are interblended with one another and work together to produce the final
effect. So every perfect work whether it be a poem, a painting, a majestic
bridge or a whirring dynamo, embodies and makes manifest the three qualities.
But the perfect human body or the perfect oak tree reveals the same three
blended qualities, as though the Creative Activity which builds the universe
were the Pattern according to which man’s smaller powers were moulded.
Here on the blackboard let us draw the familiar symbol of the equilateral
triangle and label the three comers: “head”, “heart” and “hand”, respectively.
As we ponder the matter we see that it symbolizes our everyday nature, though
I doubt very much if any one of us is so finely balanced, with head, heart and
hand so nicely adjusted to one another, that an equilateral triangle is truly
representative. Most of us are unfortunately highly scalene. For when the
“head gets to swelling”, the head angle of the triangle becomes obtuse, the
other two angles necessarily become acute, and the whole figure becomes skewed.
A man whose symbol is that sort of triangle may be a learned and brilliant
fellow; he may be a great scholar capable of spinning thoughts into tenuous
patterns and drawing up elaborate blue-prints for Utopias in which other
people are to live, but his heart is shrunken, and he is a bungler in the world of
practical affairs. It is a danger to which the brilliant student is exposed, though
after considerable experience with Freshmen I do not believe the danger to
them is^unediate and I do not lie awake nights worrying about it.
But if men sometimes go wrong on the “head corner”, the women are likely
to get impaled on the comer directly opposite. Have you ever heard the word
“gush”, or, what is worse, been exposed to a “gusher”? Have you ever opened
120
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
a book or a magazine and started an article about plants which commenced
with the “darling little blossoms lifting their sweet baby-faces to the sky”?
That is gush an indication of a triangle gone all askew on the “heart angle”.
Oh yes, we rather expect a bit of it from the ladies and we get used to it, but if
a man gets going that way the only thing to do is to shoot him!
Tinally comes the lower or “hand angle”, and it is perfectly clear that the
over-development of the “practical” leads to a highly undesirable type of human
being. For here stand those who measure life by the quantity of things they
can get, men who sneer at high thought and noble feeling and spend their
shrunken lives in “grubbing for edible roots”.
But the triangle can teach us still more about ourselves and about others.
U hat will happen if two angles are given values of more than sixty degrees
respectively, while the third angle necessarily becomes exceedingly acute?
Or, to interpret the symbol in human terms: what will be the effect on char¬
acter if one aspect of the triune nature be starved at the expense of the other
two.' There are three possible combinations of such undesirable possibilities:
(i), head and heart may dominate the hand; (2), head and hand may dominate
the heart; and (3) heart and hand may dominate the head. It does not take
us long to fit these various combinations to actual human types. Many evils
in our society arise from just such unbalanced natures. The heart-hand combi¬
nation is back of many of the ill-devised schemes for social betterment. It
means that well-meaning sentimentalists rush into social action without a
balance wheel of sound thinking. Here are the pacifists and “uplifters” who
fill the world with their silly blather. To put the same thought in the senten¬
tious words of another day: “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread”. The
head-hand distortion is seen terribly at work in Russia, where a logical, dog¬
matic, materialistic doctrine is put into action with the help of the firing squad
and exile to Siberian lumber-camps.
For our immediate purpose the lesson is clear. Let us try to keep a healthy
balance, so far as we may, between our sciences, humanities and arts. Let us
learn to think clearly, to feel keenly, and to act swiftly, silently and effectively
with a passion for perfection.
But we know ourselves to be so weak. So often we have tried and failed,
till we begin to doubt the possibility of ever conquering our faults of head!
heart and hand. Yes, it is clear that the human triangle stands on its point
and that it is a poor, wobbly thing quite unable to keep its balance unless it is
shored up and stabilized. What we need to do is to draw another and reversed
nangle through it. There, now we have a firm, strong figure which, I am sure
is familiar to most of us. It is found in the Christian Church, in the Jewish
Synagogue, and even in the temples of Eastern peoples. We note, too, that
the angles of the first triangle are only reflections of those of the second and
stable one, just as though we had held them successively before a mirror. Can
it be that our head, heart and hand—our sciences, humanities and arts—are
likewise only the reflections of parent realities? Did we not see, at the beginning
of this lecture, that the works we do, seem curiously to follow the Pattern
HEAD, HEART, AND HAND
I 2 I
set by the Creative Activity which built the world? Suppose we write the
words: “Wisdom”, “Love”, “Will”, at the appropriate comers of the new
and stable triangle. Then the sciences which our minds have attained with
such vast labour, are seen to be the reflection of Wisdom; our humanities mirror
the mighty Love which strives ever to bind the human race into a Brotherhood;
and our arts picture for us the Will which made the worlds. We may call this
majestic stable Trinity, the Powers of God, or, if we prefer, we may term it
our Higher Self or our Deeper Nature. We see that it is entwined with our
own poor powers of head, heart and hand, and we see further, that it is the
source of these powers which are, indeed, but reflections, and have no being
apart from their great Parent.
So the sciences, the humanities and the arts which we are to study as we
go forward in our college course, are the mirrors in which we see “as in a glass
darkly” the reflection of the Divine Trinity. We begin to understand how
cramped and limited is the materialistic view which would for ever confine us
to the shadow-world revealed by the five poor human senses.
Have we been disheartened as we faced the giant task of conquering, not
only the field of knowledge, but, what is harder, the field of our own imperfect
natures? But now we know where the Power is to be sought which can accom¬
plish all things for us. Within each one of us is the Light which shows us the
way, the Love which reveals all mysteries, and the Power “which made the
rocks and rivers, the stars and the ever-moving sea”. But only as we yoke
ourselves with that Lord of Joy who is our Higher Self can we ever hope to
climb the steeps of high accomplishment.
Such is the meaning of the double triangle for us as we stand at the thresh¬
old of our college course. R.E.T.
The man who cannot wonder , who does not habitually wonder {and worship)
... is but a Pair of Spectacles behind which there is no Eye .— Carlyle. a
All beauty that to human sight is given
Is but the shadow , if we rightly see ,
Of Him from whom man's spirit issueth .— Michael Angelo.
GEORGE WASHINGTON
A STANDARD FOR TO-DAY
If I were to be called upon to draw a picture of the times and of men, from what
I have seen , heard , and in part know, I should in one word say, that idleness , dis¬
sipation, and extravagance seem to have laid fast hold of most of them ; that specula¬
tion, peculation, and an insatiable thirst for riches seem to have got the better of
every other consideration, and almost of every order of men, that party disputes and
personal quarrels are the great business of the day; whilst the momentous concerns
of an empire, a great and accumulating debt, ruined finances, depreciated money ,
and want of credit, which, in its consequences, is the want of everything, are but
secondary considerations, and postponed from day to day, from week to week, as if
our affairs wore the most promising aspect .— George Washington: Letter to
Harrison.
il 4 PICTURE of the times and of men”: the first thought Washington’s
picture suggests is its striking applicability to our own day, and then
comes a realization of the fact that against such a background, and
with such unpromising material, Washington and a small group of right-minded
citizens moulded what was to become a mighty empire. In the century or so
since then, the country, both in spirit and in government, has fallen away from
the lines originally laid down, and many to-day recognize the urgent need for
returning to the first principles of Americanism—realizing that the fate of
the nation, now as in 1776, depends on the proportion of its citizens who
are capable of embodying the ideals of the early patriots and serving as “the
little leaven”.
In any such consideration, of course, Washington is pre-eminently the first
American—though estimates of him vary all the way from those who try to be¬
little his greatness, up to the occasional devotee who regards him as a Lodge
Messenger, sent to strike the keynote for the great experiment made in the
western world. His ideals comprise the simple virtues open to emulation by
every right-thinking American—unselfish service, self-control, prudence, magna¬
nimity, a big outlook on life—though many of them he possessed to a degree
that only a great man could attain. Gouverneur Morris said of him: ‘‘His
first victory was over himself. To each desire he had taught moderation”—a
significant comment, in view of the quiet forcefulness which characterized every¬
thing that Washington did. There is another contemporary estimate of him, no
less significant, coming this time from Jefferson: ‘‘His integrity was sure, his
justice the most inflexible I ever knew, no motives of interest or consanguinity,
of friendliness or hatred being able to bias his decision. He was, indeed, in
every sense of the word, a wise, a good and a great man.” A modern biographer
122
GEORGE WASHINGTON
123
adds another quality which is noteworthy, terming him “the most supremely
silent of the great men of action that the world can show”.
Perhaps the three words which associate themselves most closely with him,
as characteristic, are justice, honour and dignity. They were the touchstones
which he himself used in many and varying circumstances: is it just, is it hon¬
ourable, is it fitting? The first two are, of course, a part of the code of the
gentleman of whatever time. The third is less often stressed, in our own day,
yet it will be remembered that Confucius declares the sense of “harmonious
proportion” to be one of the requisites of nobility—by which he means a sense
of appropriateness, a sense of what is fitting, of what is in good taste. This
idea is included in Washington’s use of the word dignity. We may recall, as
one instance of it, the account given in our histories of his refusal to accept a
letter from Lord Howe, representing the English Government,—because it was
addressed, “Mr. Washington”. A second time the letter came, the address
changed to, “George Washington, Esq., etc., etc.” When the General rejected
this too, the bearer explained that the “etc., etc. implies everything”, but
Washington replied that it might also mean anything. No insistence on personal
recognition was involved in this, but, instead, a realization of the fact that, in the
eyes of the world, he represented the Republic, and the dignity of its cause;
that form and ceremonial, rank and title have a reality behind them. Henry
Cabot Lodge, in his highly laudatory biography, calls attention to the fact that
Washington, at the beginning of the Revolution, had achieved, overnight as it
were, a national feeling and a national outlook—the viewpoint of a national
leader as contrasted with that of the colonial planter—claiming that no one else
at that time, with the exception of Hamilton, was capable of such a swift trans¬
formation, and that it is difficult for us, after a century of national life, to realize
all that it involved. “He felt to the very core of his being the need of national
self-respect and national dignity. ... It was the personal dignity of the man,
quite as much as his fighting capacity, which impressed Europe. Kings and
ministers, looking on dispassionately, soon realized that here was no ordinary
agitator or revolutionist, but a great man on a great stage with great
conceptions.”
Mere personal ambition, the desire for personal recognition, personal honour
and glory, were no part of his nature. Many instances of this fact could be given;
it is sufficient to recall the simplicity of his comment on the military operajtfbs
which included the famous crossing of the Delaware, and the battles of Trenton
and Princeton. Frederick the Great is said to have characterized this as the
most brilliant campaign of the century; Washington referred to it merely as
“two lucky strokes at Trenton and Princeton”.
In the experiences of his early years—his Indian fighting, his work in the
wilderness, and so on—he developed an indomitable will to victory, and the
power in an eminent degree to set self aside, sinking personal considerations in
devotion to duty, to a principle, to a cause or to his country, as the case might
be. This steady adherence to principle is notable throughout his life. In the
fcarly days he had written: “If it is in my power to avoid going to the Ohio again,
124
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
I shall; but if the command is pressed upon me by the general voice of the
country, and offered upon such terms as cannot be objected against, it would
reflect dishonour on me to refuse it.” It was in the same spirit that he accepted
the command of the Revolutionary forces. A man of wealth, living in all ways
as an English gentleman of the time, he was little affected personally by the
political disturbances between the colonists and the Crown. He could well
have viewed the matter as did the Tories, or remained au dessus de la nielte.
But he saw it as a question of right and wrong, a question of justice, and he
threw everything into the balance,—refusing all pay for his services, pledging
his estates to raise money and men, and placing his reputation, his future, his
liberty and his life at stake, in becoming the leader of the rebel cause.
A minor instance of the same characteristic adherence to principle was shown
when the English troops marched up the Potomac, and a member of the family,
left in charge at Mt. Vernon, tried to conciliate them by serving refreshments.
Washington wrote to him: “It would have been a less painful circumstance to
me to have heard that, in consequence of your non-compliance with their re¬
quest, they had burnt my house and laid the plantation in ruins. You ought
to have considered yourself as my representative, and should have reflected
on the bad example of communicating with the enemy, and making a voluntary
offer of refreshments to them, with a view to prevent a conflagration.”
To one of his officers who was dissatisfied with his commission and considered
resigning because of it, Washington wrote, “In the usual contests of empire
and ambition, the conscience of a soldier has so little share that he may very
properly insist upon his claims of rank, and extend his pretensions even to
punctilio; but in such a cause as this, when the object is neither glory nor extent
of territory, but a defence of all that is dear and valuable in private and public
life, surely every post ought to be deemed honourable in which a man can serve
his country.”
Profiteering and similar dishonest practices during the Revolution moved
him to hot indignation. Quoting a remark made by the English on this point,
to the effect that we should destroy ourselves if left free to do so, he wrote 1 :
Cannot our common country, America, possess virtue enough to disappoint them?
Is the paltry consideration of a little pelf to individuals to be placed in competition with
the essential rights and liberties of the present generation, and of millions yet unborn?
Shall a few designing men, for their own aggrandizement, and to gratify their own ava¬
rice, overset the goodly fabric we have been rearing, at the expense of so much time, blood,
and treasure? And shall we at last become the victims of our own lust of gain? Forbid
it, Heaven! Forbid it, all and every State in the Union, by enacting and enforcing effica¬
cious laws for checking the growth of these monstrous evils, and restoring matters, in
some degree, to the state they were in at the commencement of the war. Our cause is
noble. It is the cause of mankind, and the danger to it is to be apprehended from
ourselves. Shall we slumber and sleep, then . . . ?
And a little later (December, 1778), in a letter to Reed:
It gives m e sincere pleasure . . . that the assembly is so well disposed to second your
> Quotations that follow are taken from: Life of George Washington, by Washington Irving; George Washington,
by Henry Cabot Lodge; Maxims of Washington, collected by J. F. Schroeder, and from other sources including
Washington’s Correspondence.
GEORGE WASHINGTON
125
endeavours in bringing those murderers of our cause, the monopolizers, forestalled, and
engrossers to condign punishment. It is much to be lamented that each State, long ere
this, has not hunted them down as pests to society and the greatest enemies we have to
the happiness of America. I would to God that some one of the most atrocious in each
State was hung in gibbets upon a gallows five times as high as the one prepared by
Haman. No punishment, in my opinion, is too great for the man who can build his
greatness upon his country’s ruin.
That last sentence might well be used as a slogan for the present day.
The history of his heroic struggle to build an army, to supply money, uniforms,
ammunition; to awaken patriotism and the fighting spirit; to induce the country
to send more able men to Congress, and to stir Congress (ignorant of the needs
and details of war) to effective action—all are a matter of history, too well
known to need mention. But the selflessness and sacrifice and suffering involved,
were a grilling test of devotion to a cause, the long-drawn agony of which is not
always taken into account. It was after two of his brigades broke and ran
before fifty British soldiers, leaving him to choose between capture or flight,
that he wrote:
Such is my situation that if I were to wish the bitterest curse to an enemy on this side
of the grave, I should put him in my stead. I see the impossibility of serving with repu¬
tation, or doing any essential service to the cause by continuing in command; and yet I
am told that if I quit the command, inevitable ruin will follow, from the distractions
that will ensue. In confidence I tell you that I never was in such an unhappy, divided
state since I was born.
One other instance is too striking to omit,—though all of them, of course, are
matters of history, more or less familiar, and only their significance as showing
the measure of the man, warrants their inclusion. We refer to his attitude when
a certain group in the Army, aroused by the inefficiency of Congress, planned
to make of the country a monarchy, and to offer him the crown. His letter in
reply reads:
With a mixture of surprise and astonishment, I have read with attention the senti¬
ments you have submitted to my perusal. Be assured no occurrence in the course of
the War, has given me more painful sensations, than your information of there being
such ideas existing in the army, as you have expressed, and I must view with abhorrence,
and reprehend with severity.
I am much at a loss, to conceive what part of my conduct could have given encourage¬
ment to an address, which to me seems big with the greatest mischiefs that can befall
my country. If I am not deceived in the knowledge of myself, you could not have found
a person, to whom your schemes are more disagreeable.
At the same time, in justice to my own feelings, I must add, that no man possesses a
more sincere wish to see ample justice done to the army, than I do; and, as far as my
powers and influence, in a Constitutional way, extend, they shall be employed, to the
utmost of my abilities, to effect it, should there be any occasion.
At the absent time, when a thousand dollar prize has been offered for a song
that shalfropplant the National Anthem—a song that is “not martial” and has
“no bombs bursting in air”—Washington is being quoted as authority for keep¬
ing our country safely out of war! George Washington, used to bolster up the
pacifist cause, is an anomaly indeed. Such detractors ignore entirely the nature
126
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of the man. They seize on one incident of his Administration: the fact that a
large part of the population, impelled by an entirely justifiable gratitude for all
that France had done for the new Republic, were determined to reciprocate by
joining her in her war against England; and that Washington saw it as a matter
of necessity to maintain a policy of strict neutrality. It will be remembered
that he issued a proclamation, forbidding any participation in the war on the
sea, or the carrying of contraband. Public opinion ran high, and Washington’s
prestige suffered. The proclamation, Washington Irving tells us in his monu¬
mental work, was stigmatized as a royal edict, a daring assumption of power, a
manifestation of partiality for England and hostility to France.
But the circumstances must be taken into account: a nation in embryo, so to
speak, with no proved ability to stand on its own feet, no national credit, no
definitely national sentiment—in short, sure to be an encumbrance rather than
an aid. Washington wrote on this subject: “With me a predominant motive
has been, to endeavour to gain time to our country to settle and mature its
recent institutions, and to progress, without interruption, to that degree of
strength and consistency which is necessary to give it, humanely speaking, the
command of its own fortunes.”
There was nothing of the pacifist or the neutral in the man who exclaimed in
youthful enthusiasm that he “loved to hear bullets whistle”; who, in one en¬
gagement where the Revolutionary troops wavered, rode to the front and reining
his horse within thirty yards of the enemy, ordered his men to advance; who, in
another engagement, where his men broke and ran, dashed in among them
urging them to rally, and then, drawing sword and pistol, fought them furi¬
ously, determined to stop their flight, until finally saved from capture himself
by one of his officers, who seized his bridle and dragged him almost from the
hands of the oncoming British. Lodge, who bases his estimate on a minute
study of details, writes:
There was one thing which he could never appreciate nor realize. It was from first to
last impossible for him to understand how any man could refuse to fight, or could think
of running away. When he beheld rout and cowardly panic before his very eyes, his
temper broke loose and ran uncontrolled. His one thought then was to fight to the last,
and he would have thrown himself single-handed on the enemy, with all his wisdom and
prudence flung to the winds. The day when the commander held his place merely
by virtue of personal prowess lay far back in the centuries, and no one knew it better
than Washington. But the old fighting spirit awoke within him when the clash of arms
sounded in his ears, and though we may know the general in the tent and in the council,
we can only know the man when he breaks out from all rules and customs, and shows the
rage of battle, and the indomitable eagerness for the fray, which lie at the bottom of the
tenacity and courage that carried the war for independence to a triumphant close.
It is true that Washington’s policy regarding neutrality developed later into
the Monroe doctrine; but there is nothing to suggest that he expected it to hold
in sternum , nor, above all, that he dreamed of its taking precedence over prin¬
ciples of justice and honour. His letters give proof of this.
The United States ought not to indulge a persuasion, that, contrary to the order of
GEORGE WASHINGTON
127
human events, they will for ever keep at a distance those painful appeals to arms, with
which the history of every nation abounds.
There is a rank due to the United States among nations, which will be withheld, if not
absolutely lost, by the reputation of weakness.
If we desire to avoid insult, we must be able to repel it.
If we desire to secure peace, one of the most powerful instruments of our rising pros¬
perity, it must be known that we are, at all times , ready for war. (Italics his.)
It has been, very properly, the policy of our Government to cultivate peace. But, in
contemplating the possibility of our being driven to unqualified war, it will be wise to
anticipate, that, frequently, the most effectual way to defend is to attack. (Again, italics
his.)
There is nothing which will so soon produce a speedy and honourable peace as a state
of preparation for war.
The Revolution had little more than ended when the insurrection, known as
the Shays Rebellion, broke out in Massachusetts. An investigator, sent to
determine the facts of the matter, reported:
Their [the insurgents’] creed is that the property of the United States has been pro¬
tected from the confiscation of Britain by the joint exertions of ally and therefore ought
to be the common property of all, and he that attempts opposition to this creed, is an
enemy to equity and justice, and ought to be swept from off the face of the earth. . . .
They are determined to annihilate all debts, public and private, and have agrarian laws,
which are easily effected by means of unfunded paper, which shall be a tender in all cases
whatever.
Washington, in retirement at Mt. Vernon at the time, was playing an im¬
portant part, by means of an extensive correspondence, in moulding public
opinion. His comments left no doubt as to how he would handle such a situa¬
tion. To Lee he wrote:
You talk, my good sir, of employing influence to appease the present tumults in Mas¬
sachusetts. I know not where that influence is to be found, or, if attainable, that it would
be a proper remedy for the disorders. Influence is not government. Let us have a govern¬
ment by which our lives, liberties, and properties will be secured, or let us know the
worst at once.
In another letter on the same subject, he wrote:
There is a call for decision. Know precisely what the insurgents aim at. If they have
real grievances, redress them, if possible; or acknowledge the justice of them, and your
inability to do it at the moment. If they have not, employ the force of government
against them at once. . . . Let the reins of government then be braced and held with a
steady hand, and every violation of the constitution be reprehended. If defective let
it be amended; but not suffered to be trampled upon whilst it has an existence.
From this point on, there is much in his conduct of public affairs that suggests
what his approach would have been to certain major problems of our own day.
The firm policy just outlined for the handling of popular unrest, was put to the
test in his second term as President, by a rebellion which broke out in western
Pennsylvania over a tax on liquor—a most delicate situation, since it came at a
time when he could not be sure to what extent the country was with him, or
whether, if he called out the militia, the States were yet capable of rising above
State-considerations and acting as a Federation, with the sole good of the union
128
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
in view. It was one of the first real tests of the efficacy of the new government
and the Constitution, and Irving’s account of it is worth reading for the picture
it gives of Washington’s insight and ability through several difficult years, and
of the sagacity with which he chose just the right time to strike and strike hard,
—to the complete and final confusion of the insurgents. A letter from Washing¬
ton on the subject tells of the notable response evoked from the best element in
the country: “There are instances of general officers going at the head of a
single troop, and of light companies; of field officers, when they came to the
place of rendezvous, and found no command for them in that grade, turning
into the ranks and proceeding as private soldiers, under their own captains;
and of numbers possessing the first fortunes in the country, standing in the
ranks as private men.”
The lessons learned from his eight years as President, Washington embodied
in his Farewell Address,—combining them with a keen foresight as to the diffi¬
culties that lay ahead. He made no claim of perfection for the governmental
system which he was so largely instrumental in drawing up,—having written
earlier concerning it: “There are some things in the new form, I will readily
acknowledge, which never did, and I am persuaded never will, obtain my cordial
approbation, but I did then conceive and do now most firmly believe that in the
aggregate it is the best Constitution that can be obtained at this epoch, and
that this or a dissolution of the Union awaits our choice, and is the only alterna¬
tive before us.” But once adopted, there could be, in his estimation, no excuse
for failure to adhere to it. He saw clearly the dangers that lay in departing
from it unadvisedly, and his Address is devoted largely to warning and admoni¬
tion: warning against innovations in government (an insidious means of under¬
mining that which could not be overthrown by direct attack); warning against
allowing one department of government to encroach upon another (destroying
the balance of power as between legislative, judicial and executive-functions,
which alone insures liberty); warning against the extremes to which party spirit
will lead; warning that in each case there lie hidden, inevitably, the seeds of
despotism, the jeopardizing of the liberty for which the nation had paid so
dearly. In reading certain clauses of the Address, his foresight appears almost
prophetic, so closely is it applicable to conditions both at present and in the
century that has passed. In this our day of little men, blindly sowing the wind,
it is certain that some measure of the whirlwind might still be averted if more
general heed were given to this great Address, the fruit of wise experience, and
if more general adherence were given to the ideals and principles of the nation’s
founder,—so far the greatest public character the country has produced.
J.C.
WITHOUT CENSOR
XII.
B Y the latter part of October, 1918, the First Army was feeling the effects
of the severe fighting in which it had been engaged. Losses had been
very heavy, especially in the best attack units, and our offensive power
had been lowered. These losses were made up by replacements, but often these
were only partially trained, and in some cases had had practically no training
at all. Several different Colonels told me that they had received new men
into their organizations who had not been in the military service for more
than six weeks, who had never fired a rifle, and who had never worn a gas mask.
Often, too, their equipment was inadequate. The regiments assimilated these
men as rapidly as possible, until they were again at full war strength; the train¬
ing and the equipment of the replacements was completed in the field and
under combat conditions. Stragglers, of whom there were now many, had to
be collected and returned to their organizations. The weather conditions had
been bad, with cold and continuous rain, and the attacking troops were entirely
without means of shelter, and often without sufficient supplies. Transport
was difficult, owing to the fact that there were only three worn-out roads,
one for each Army Corps, leading up to the front, and these roads were often
almost impassable because of congestion and shell holes. Forage for the animals
was scarce, for ammunition and supplies for the men were sent up first, and
when the congestion was at its worst our horses died in great numbers, impairing
the mobility of our artillery. So acute did this problem in regard to the animals
become, that I heard some discussion among the First Army Staff as to whether
or not it would be possible, then and there in the middle of the offensive, to
change over the artillery and make it tractor-drawn. It was under conditions
such as these that the work of reorganizing and of rehabilitating those divisions
which had been in the line for days went forward, while at the same time an
unrelenting pressure was maintained against the enemy, and preparations for
the final co-ordinated drive forward were completed. There was nothing particu¬
larly unusual about these conditions; there was no doubt whatever that they
could be met and overcome, and they were. We had gained ground, against
severe opposition, and we had greatly impaired the enemy’s strength. Our
positions were being improved daily through local operations, while the tempo¬
rary lull in the proceedings encouraged the Army and raised its morale.
The final phase began on November 1st, and proceeded rapidly. A great
change in the direction of the First Army attack had taken place, from facing
north touting east; the Fourth French Army was not always able to keep
abreast o^ir left flank, so that the First Army relied for flank protection upon
our own First Army Corps on the left of our advance. The attack gained
129
130
THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
momentum as it proceeded, as did also the enemy’s retreat; it was necessary
in some instances to use motor trucks to carry our infantry forward and enable
them to regain contact. The enemy’s lines were completely broken through.
In seven days he was driven back twenty-four miles on the First Army front,
and his main line of communications was within close striking distance. In
the last three days before the Armistice the Second American Army on our
right, with three Army Corps in line, advanced in its initial army offensive
along its entire front in the direction of the Briey iron basin. But it was the
results of the final drive of the First American Army which were significant, and
which were felt along the entire Western Front. The enemy could not survive
the loss of those positions which we had taken, with the resulting paralysis of
his railroad system of supply and communication. The break through rendered
completely impossible any further orderly withdrawal of his forces, and he
pressed for an Armistice.
As this last phase progressed, and as our attacking troops surged further
and further away from Headquarters First Army at Souilly, the difficulty of
communicating with the Headquarters of our Army Corps became very serious.
They were too far away then to be reached rapidly by courier, and the greater
distance rendered the telephone wires weak, and made it practically impossible
to hear continuously or distinctly. So bad did these conditions become that
finally the Chief of Staff directed me to take two officers and to go forward to
Ch 4 tel-Ch£h 6 ry and to establish there a relay post of the Message Centre.
It was a mid-way point, at which our Signal Corps had established a telephone
central, and my mission was to take down the more urgent messages emanating
from First Army Headquarters, and to relay them afresh to their destinations
over a shorter wire on which the current was stronger. It was, of course, the
start of a new Army Advance Command Post, necessitated by the exigencies
of the situation; and when I arrived there, after having bumped slowly over
unspeakable roads for a couple of hours, I found that a number of officers from
other sections of the Staff were already on the spot. But I was not destined
ever to function there as intended, for I was met upon my arrival by the Secre¬
tary of the General Staff, who informed me that he had just received a message
from Lieutenant-General Liggett, to the effect that the Herman delegates
seeking an Armistice had crossed our lines, and that he was not going to do
anything more about establishing an Advance P. C. until he knew what had
taken place at their conference with Marshal Foch. I was told to return at
once to Souilly, so that I was not in the place for more than twenty minutes.
Just as I was about to step into the car for the return journey, having left my
two officers behind in case plans should again be changed, I happened, by
some singular piece of good fortune, to glance into the forward part of the
car where the driver sat. I saw there some foreign objects rolling about as he
manoeuvered the car to a standstill. I looked again, more closely, and found
that they were unexploded hand grenades, which my chauffeur had collected
from the adjoining battle-field during his short period of waiting, and which
he had hoped and expected to take back with him as souvenirs. I deferred my
WITHOUT CENSOR
131
departure until they had been safely removed and placed by the side of the
road. I had no wish to try bumping about on those rough roads, with a load
of hand grenades rolling about the floor of the car. It would have made our
arrival too problematical.
During those last days before the Armistice there had been a constant stream
of cipher messages, received through the Code Room of the Message Centre,
announcing the defection one by one of the German Allies, until Germany at
last stood alone. There had come, in rapid succession, message after message
describing the victories which were being gained daily by the French and the
British Armies, and the rolling back of the long German line from the Meuse
to the Sea. We who were at the pivot, at the hinge of the door that was open¬
ing, knew how things were going there, knew that our pressure at that key
point was assisting in forcing the enemy retirement. From the military point
of view, that German retreat was one of the most masterly tactical operations
of the War. Time and time again, on the great map of the Western Front at
First Army Headquarters, it seemed inevitable that whole enemy army corps
would be hemmed in and captured; time and time again the enemy slipped
through just before the pincers had time to close. Events were taking place
with such extraordinary rapidity that it was difficult to keep track of them;
to gauge the speed at which they would move; to attempt to forecast future
happenings. One could foresee what was likely to occur, in the light of things
that were then taking place, but only in a general way; the outcome depended,
in that rapidly moving panorama on the map, upon which thing happened
first; accuracy of forecast was impossible. But the ultimate result was no
longer in doubt, nor should there be any doubt to-day in the minds of those
who criticize the Armistice, who regret that the advance was not continued
then to German soil, and that the final fruits of victory were not gathered, as
to the completeness of the success at that moment, as to the thoroughness
of the defeat, the utter rout. There are many to-day who were in the Allied
Armies, who whole-heartedly agree with such criticisms, who admit their justice
and their truth. But they do so with, shall I say, almost a feeling of regret
that they must, because they realize that, in the bitterness of disappointment
that prompts them, what was really accomplished from a purely military stand¬
point has been under-estimated, undervalued, unappreciated, even that it
has never been understood. That bitterness of disappointment, that feeling
that the Peace was lost, seem, in retrospect, to have completely overshadowed
appreciation of actual military accomplishment. It is not fair, this, to those
who brought about these final military successes; it is not fair to those who
laid down their lives in countless thousands over four long years in order that
those final results might be at last achieved. They had nothing to do with the
machinations of politicians in high places, with the expediencies and the subter¬
fuges i«Miplomacy, with the give and take of conferences. Nor is it fair to the
officers^tnd men of the American Expeditionary Forces, who, entering the
war late through no fault of theirs, developed with extraordinary rapidity a
military machine, which, in those last days, compared favourably, I believe, in
132
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
efficiency and in accomplishment with any of the other Allied Armies; which
conducted operations on a scale to which there is no parallel in the military
history of our country, a scale which has never been understood or realized
by those who stayed at home.
It was after one had actually arrived home, that the realization of this came.
It was a shock, then, to realize that, practically without exception, the people
with whom one talked did not have the slightest conception as to where on
the map those towns and villages were, the names of which are immortal in
our military history. When they thought at all along military lines, it was in
terms of companies and of regiments; we had been thinking and acting over
there in terms of army corps and of field armies. But they did not seem to be
particularly interested in the purely military aspect; they did not want, appar¬
ently, to try to understand the scale upon which things had been done. They
would let one talk—a returning officer was entitled to do that—but they were
quite obviously glad, when an opportunity came, to break in, and to tell about
what they themselves had done in the Red Cross or in selling Liberty Bonds.
They seemed, especially those who should have known or should have wanted
to know, to be sound asleep. They had been too far away, too safe. They had
read literature of the war to “any” extent, and they could talk of things more or
less fluently, if not with accuracy, but they did not know , they had no real
conception of what they were talking about. What interest they did show
became rapidly less as time went on, and as they relapsed into their old pre¬
war occupations and ways of living. How I longed then, in the feeling of un¬
settlement and of discouragement which this apparent lack of interest caused,
for Mr. Griscom. It would not have been a case of one talk with him; there
would have been many. He would have questioned me, would have gone to
the heart of things, inquired into reasons, pointed out hitherto unrealized
reactions, as he had after my two experiences at the Military Training Camps
at Plattsburgh. It was just another way, an additional way, in which I missed
him, upon my return.
Much has been said from time to time, and by many different people, in
regard to the attitude of the American soldier. In the minds of many, he is
supposed to have been insufferably arrogant, to have gone about explaining to
the British and to the French that, now that they had failed, he and his buddies
had come over to show them how to win the War. Indeed, there are those
to-day in whom that idea is so strongly ingrained that, when our participation
in the War is mentioned, this supposed attitude of the American soldier is the
first thing that seems to come into the forefront of their minds in that con¬
nection, and they are inclined, as a rule, to drag it out and to speak of it with
something that almost approaches a sneer. Usually, one finds that such people
were not on the other side of the water during the War, that they have formed
their impressions from a distance or from hearsay. This critical attitude of
theirs is undoubtedly caused, in part, by that same bitterness of disappoint¬
ment, of which I have already spoken, over an Allied victory which turned
out, in the light of the Peace, to have been no victory at all in the real sense.
WITHOUT CENSOR
i33
But their attitude is not fair to the American soldier; they are magnifying
out of all due proportion something which, while it unquestionably existed,
was entirely devoid of the significance which they have attached to it. One
must know the soldier mind to understand it; when one does, one does not take
it seriously. I do not for one minute believe that our soldiers really thought
that they were superior to their comrades in the Allied Armies. They did
not mean, in the remarks which they made, to belittle or to ignore. Far from
it. When they spoke of themselves as the best little performers ever, and
urged somewhat startled French citizens to keep their eyes on them when
they once got going, they did not mean themselves to be taken seriously. Part
of that brag and bluster came from natural talkativeness and a perverted
sense of humour. Part of it was a smoke screen, for, at heart, they were dif¬
fident; they were horribly afraid that they might not perform well when the
time came. They were mere boys, most of them, and when they found that
the other fellow was annoyed by what they said, they were delighted, and
they proceeded to rub it in some more. The very exuberance of youthful
spirits which inspired this kind of talk was, in a sense, an indication of the
high morale which our troops possessed. What they said at times was un¬
questionably in the worst possible taste, thoughtless, regrettable for the wrong
impression which it might cause and for its possible effect. But it came from
no real feeling of superiority, and was mostly pure and simple “hot air”. Need¬
less to say, nothing was ever said or done, as far as I was able to observe, by
any officer on the Staffs of those larger units with which I was associated,
which conveyed the idea of any feeling of superiority, of any wish to show
anyone else how to win the War. Those men, the great majority of them,
were the pick of our old Regular Army. They were under no illusions what¬
ever as to how much they knew. Their one thought was to learn, from those
who had had experience in what they themselves were then doing, and to learn
fast. Their one idea was, not that they should win the War, but that the War
should be won.
The coming of the Armistice brought with it two extraordinary experiences.
One was the total cessation of that terrific noise to which we had been accustomed
for so long, and the sudden reappearance of lights at night; there was something
unreal about both of these things, and it took quite a long time to become
used to them again. The other was a sudden influx of women into the front
areas, all of whom were in some kind of uniform or other, and all of whom
were bent on doing good of some kind to someone. Incidentally, they did not
neglect themselves at times, if the extent to which they rode about in Staff
cars was any criterion. I had, of course, seen nothing whatever of the work
which women had done in French civilian relief, and so had been unable to
form any im*pssion of those organized activities. I had, however, seen nurses
working in equation hospitals, under terrific stress and strain, and, later on,
I saw them at their duties in several of the base hospitals, and it is impossible
to speak in too high terms of their efficiency and devotion, of their courage
and self-sacrifice. This lot, however, which was unloosed upon us, was a new
134
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
type. As I observed them, and as I gained light in regard to their activities
before the Armistice through what I heard from others, I came reluctantly to
the conclusion that there were too many women of the wrong kind going about
in uniform, and not enough of the right kind. By the wrong kind, I do not
mean those whose influence was positively harmful. Not at all. But the
best of them were afflicted with curiosity. They wanted to be taken about
and shown things which they had no business to see, the seeing of which ful¬
filled no useful purpose whatever and was entirely outside the line of their
duty. Almost invariably, they were eager to be taken to see the front line
trenches, and whenever they could, they pulled wires to bring this about.
More than one unfortunate officer, detailed to conduct such a joy-ride in person,
told me afterwards of his experience, in language that cannot be printed. They
never seemed to have the remotest conception of the unnecessary danger in
which they placed, not only their own party, but also all the troops in that
immediate area, through their desire to gratify mere curiosity. They never
in the least realized that, even in a quiet sector, every yard of the territory
through which they passed was under perpetual enemy observation; that the
slightest abnormal circulation at an unusual hour in that area, such as the
arrival of their motor half a mile in the rear, would be noted; that any extraor¬
dinary activity in the trenches, caused by the advent of their party, would
be spotted. The Boche, on the chance of being able to interfere with some¬
thing which was going on that might possess military significance, was ex¬
tremely likely to start a bombardment on general principles. The visiting
party might escape without injury, after a thrilling experience which made a
good story to tell later on, but there might well be several casualties after their
departure among the troops holding that part of the line, as a result of this
display of feminine interest. Again, these uniformed women were inclined
to be over-talkative, to talk from insufficient knowledge. A traffic jam in the
forward areas would attract their attention, and they would speak about it
to some long-suffering junior officer; there must be inefficiency somewhere,
they thought, and someone in authority ought to be told. They could not
know that the plan for some offensive had been advanced in point of time,
and that what they saw was a superhuman effort to accomplish in four or five
days that which it had been planned to do over a period of two weeks. Paren¬
thetically, to the civilian eye, the movement of military traffic almost always
seemed to betoken confusion; it always looked worse than it really was; there
was always order and purpose behind the seeming chaos. But I became more
and more convinced that, outside of trained and efficient nurses, women had
no place in the battle areas.
The Armistice brought with it another experience which caused intense dis¬
satisfaction in the American Expeditionary Forces. Indeed, it is not over¬
stating it to say that it caused an incipient spirit of revolt, so keen was the dis¬
appointment, so acute was the sense of injustice which it inspired. Three or
four days after the Armistice it was announced in General Orders from G. H. Q.
that all promotion had been suspended in the American Expeditionary Forces.
WITHOUT CENSOR
i35
The impelling force had, of course, been Washington, where a thrifty but short¬
sighted Congress, appalled at the cost of the War, had determined, in view
of the cessation of hostilities, to shut down at once on unessential expenditures,
and had decided that a desirable first step would be to avoid the increased
expense which a large number of promotions in France would automatically
bring about. Many recommendations for promotion had already been sub¬
mitted to G. H. Q. by commanding officers, and had been awaiting action
for some time. Many others would have been submitted, based upon efficient
or heroic performance in the days and weeks immediately preceding the Armis¬
tice. There had simply not been time, in the pressure of rapidly moving events,
to send forward the customary papers in these cases; it was one of the things
that could wait. This ruling was particularly hard on the younger line officers,
for in many instances, owing to casualties, lieutenants had for days been in
charge of companies, and captains had been commanding battalions, and they
had shown themselves worthy of the higher rank which they had temporarily
held. This edict was like a douche of cold water on the morale and on the
spirits of all ranks. Indeed, it was more like a blow in the face. With the
meanness always characteristic of a democratic form of government, our Con¬
gress had, in effect, said that the show was now over, and as the best efforts
had already been obtained from all concerned, there was no use rewarding
anyone for what had been done; that it was all on a cash basis anyway; that
everyone had been paid up to date and would be paid as long as it was abso¬
lutely necessary, but that the views of constituents at home in regard to further
war expenses, and future political careers, were now the controlling factors.
As a matter of fact, the total additional expense that would have been involved
by even wholesale promotions in France, made immediately, would have been
relatively small, and it would have been money well spent, looking at it only
from that rather sordid standpoint. The immediate recognition of merit would
have infused into men, worn out physically and mentally, who had been giving
all that they had in them, a new gratitude and pride, a new patriotism, a new
ardour and zeal. As it was, they felt, exhausted as they were, that the people
at home did not care; that they had been “let down”; defrauded of something
which should have been theirs. It was the way this official action made men
feel about our country and our Government that did incalculable harm, when
it would have been so easy to have produced such an entirely different effect.
Promotion was resumed in the American Expeditionary Forces several months
later, towards the end of the winter, and many men came into their own; but
it was too late then, and the real opportunity which our Government had had,
was lost.
I was amazed, in those days, to see how profoundly affected many officers
were by this drastic edict. I suppose, in many cases, it was because they had
nothing by which to measure for themselves the real quality of their performance
except the degree of the outer recognition. But, even with the War over,
there ^ no time to dwell for very long on all this; there was too much to be
done, ana it was just a case of “being out of luck”, as the Army has it. Activity
136
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
was concentrated on withdrawing the divisions from the former front lines,
and in starting them on their way, some to the Rhine, where they became
part of the Third American Army, our Army of Occupation, others to the
area adjacent to General Headquarters at Chaumont, where they settled down
in billets to wait until there was ocean transport available to take them home.
At the end of two weeks, First Army Headquarters was ready to move back
to Bar-sur-Aube, between Troyes and Chaumont, and to settle down for the
winter, and on November 25th the Message Centre packed itself up in its own
transportation, and started from Souilly to the rear, so as to be on the spot
and functioning, by the time the rest of the Staff arrived. Major General
McNair, who had been Chief of Artillery of the First Army, was left in com¬
mand of the old First Army area, to supervise the work of tidying-up and of
salvage. But once the activity of the move was over, and once we had settled
ourselves in billets at Bar-sur-Aube, life was dreary in the extreme. It rained
all the time; the Aube overflowed its banks and spread over the adjoining
fields; the dampness pervaded everything with a chill that cut like a knife.
Occasionally, a watery looking sun would come out for an hour or two, take a
look at the dismal scene, only to disappear again, and then it would rain some
more. I sloshed about in mud and water, in a sort of treadmill, going from
billet to mess, to Headquarters and back again, over the same route, lingering
where there was a stove or some other form of warmth. Everyone at Head¬
quarters wrote up the history of the War in so far as their respective depart¬
ments of the Staff were concerned. This was a monumental work for the Opera¬
tions and Intelligence Sections and for the Chief of Staff’s office, but it did
not take me personally very long, as there was not a great deal of ground to
cover, and after that there was literally nothing at all for me to do. Upon two
occasions I was sent back to Souilly by General Drum as his personal repre¬
sentative, to inquire into certain aspects of the work of salvage and of policing
the old First Army Sector which were unsatisfactory. I was received by Gen¬
eral McNair at his mess, and conducted my inquiries, and made my suggestions
and my report, with such tact as I could muster. These two trips were welcome
breaks in the monotony, but they only accounted for a few days. The routine
work of the Message Centre was now so light that I left one of the juniors in
charge as a rule, and only spent three or four hours a day in my office. In¬
fluenza, of varying degrees of severity, induced by the constant rain and damp¬
ness, gave most of us something to think about for a while. I remember that
on the night before my final departure from Bar-sur-Aube, I dined with General
Liggett’s Aide in the very superior house in which they were billeted. Waited
on by two “strikers” and fed by the General’s cook, we had the place to our¬
selves, for, upstairs, General Liggett and General Drum were both in bed
with the ’flu. My pleasant relations with the General’s Aide had been resumed;
he confided to me that he felt suffocated at times by the constant atmosphere
of high rank in which he had to live, although he was now a Lieutenant-Colonel
himself. Often, when the weather permitted, we would take walks together
in the evening. It was the thought of the approach of Christmas which made
WITHOUT CENSOR
i37
me resolve to get away at all costs from my watery surroundings, even if only
for a few days, and I applied for a week’s leave in Paris.
Leave for Paris was not easy to secure; one had to have a good reason for
wanting to go there. Knowing this, I thought that I would make assurance
doubly sure by having several. In my application I stated that I must have
my eyes examined and my glasses changed; that I must see one of my family
who was on the Staff of the Chief of Air Service in Paris, in order to discuss
with him some matters of importance; that another relative was with the
Peace Conference, and that I must talk over some more family affairs with
him. Assistant Secretary of War Stettinius had suddenly appeared in my
office at Souilly one night on a visit to his son at the front, and had been so
polite as to say that he hoped to see me later in Paris; I implied in my applica¬
tion for leave that the Assistant Secretary of War was simply marking time
there until I arrived. I do not know which of these reasons did the trick. Cer¬
tainly, the combination of them proved irresistible, for my application was
returned, approved, and I went to Paris, where it was at least fifteen degrees
warmer than in the provinces in spite of the constant rain, and where I spent
a week in a servant’s room at the top of one of the hotels, the very last accom¬
modation, I think, that was available in the city. The Peace Conference was
all over the place, but the underlings whom I saw did not know anything, and
I could not get to any of the “higher-ups”. I gave it up as a bad job, therefore,
and spent the mornings visiting many of the churches, and the afternoons
in driving about with a wounded friend who had been so fortunate as to secure
a car for his private use (all motors, including many cars from Army units,
had been commandeered for the Peace Conference, which, as can be seen,
had already started to make trouble), and the evenings in dining with officer
friends. Two events of that visit stand out in my memory. I dined one night
at the apartment of a French Major General who had commanded an army
corps; his wife was an American, who had been given the Legion of Honour
for her war work. There were a number of people at dinner, both army and
political, among them old Madame Waddington, whose Letters of a Diplomat's
Wife I had read long before and enjoyed. I told her so, when I found myself^
next to her at table, and discovered that she had known some of my peopHF
in the older generations, and we, or rather I, had a perfectly delightful evening.
Far advanced in years then, her mind was as keen and as accurate as ever.
Her questions and her comments were acute and trenchant. She took part
in all the table talk, both military and political, and I learned more from her
in an hour of what was actually taking place at the Peace Conference than I
should have discovered by hanging about Paris for a month. She was au courant
with everything, and I left immensely stimulated, not only by the atmosphere
which was so different from that in which I had recently been, but by contact
w^ this remarkable old lady, so prodigal of her vitality although already
in mu and frail.
I shall never forget the Christmas Service which I attended at the church
of St. Germain-l’Auxerrois. It was one of those things which can never be
i3«
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
forgotten. The church was thronged; it would have been impossible for another
person to have entered; the crowds were massed in the aisles, and extended
forward to the altar itself. The numbers were impressive, but it was the atmos¬
phere, the feel of that great congregation, that clutched at the heart, that made
one’s breath come short. Black, of course, predominated; there were few, if
any, there who had not lost those who were near and dear. But the War was
over, the enemy at their gates had been driven back after long years, France
had been saved. Nothing else mattered. They had come there, in a spirit of
utter thankfulness, to give thanks, to adore. All else was forgotten, or, if it
was not forgotten, they had come to give thanks that personal sorrow and
sacrifice and loss had been possible, that they had thus been able to give. De¬
vout, with a reverence and a consecration that could be felt, they took their
part in the service and in the responses. It was when the choir began the
“Venite, Adoremus”, that the climax came. A wave of feeling swept over
that vast throng that brought one to one’s knees. Everyone sang. Some
standing, heads thrown back, faces illumined; others, kneeling and bowed,
prostrate in utter humility; but all sang. Tears were running down the faces
of men and women; they wept openly and unashamed. They were tears of joy,
oblations. As that swelling volume of sound rose and fell, one could sense,
as it were, all of the elements of which it was composed, one could almost catch
the notes of individual heart-break; of unendurable longing for those who
were gone; of inexpressible regret that they, too, could not, as they would
have wished, give thanks there for the preservation of all that they had died
to save. But the individual note was blended, was drowned, in the universal
motif of thanksgiving, in a spirit of adoration such as must animate the choirs
of angels when they sing in the Presence. As verse succeeded verse, a new
note was struck, struck again and again, and finally held, until it became the
predominant tone in the symphony. A note of courage and of hope, of supreme
confidence for the future, based upon certain assurance. They knew , those
people, carried out of themselves, looking down, momentarily, from the heights.
It was as if those high in the spiritual hierarchy, drawn to Reality, present in
person because Reality was there, had in their divine compassion infused into
adoring hearts this new hope, this fresh courage, until it sounded forth. Sacrifice
and heart-break and sorrow had been transmuted and changed. All things
had become new, by virtue of that wave of selfless adoration, of instinctive
thanksgiving. The deathless Spirit of France was looking forward again. The
former things had passed away.
I returned to Bar-sur-Aube on December 30th. On that same day, as I
was to learn two days later from a cablegram which I received late in the night,
Mr. Griscom had died. I could hardly believe that it was possible. I had not,
of course, even known that he was ill. I sat up most of the rest of that night,
thinking things out. I knew that I must get home, and at once. It was not
that anyone, least of all any of the younger ones, could take his place. But
I knew what a great gap his going would leave, that it would be necessary
to close ranks, and I hoped that, perhaps, if I were on the spot, I might be
WITHOUT CENSOR
i39
allowed to assist in assuming some of the minor burdens which the older ones
in the Movement were carrying, so that they could to that extent be free to
carry on those phases of the work to which Mr. Griscom had devoted himself.
His death seemed to me, without any doubt, to be a sign that the work which
I had come to France in the hope of doing, was over. From the military point
of view, it was clearly over. There would be no more fighting. Later on, if I
remained in France, it was likely that new work might be found for me, perhaps
similar to my two return visits to Souilly, when I had represented the General
on special missions of inquiry; possibly there would be in this new work oppor¬
tunity for personal advancement. But all that was of no importance whatever
now; anyone could do that sort of thing acceptably; the real work, the real
duties, were done. It became a question as to how I could arrange an early
departure for home.
Fortunately, I had developed a minor physical ailment, which I thought
might profitably be exaggerated. This meant assuming the status of an in¬
valid, and I did not feel in the least like one, but it was as good a way as any
to get home, I thought, and I decided to try it. Success appeared doubtful
for some time, as I became thoroughly entangled in the red tape of the Medical
Corps. Finally it was decided that my medical status would depend upon
what an authority at the Base Hospital at Chaumont thought. He turned
out to be a doctor from New York, an attendant at one of the large hospitals
there, who knew some members of my family; and, without relaxing any of
the Army medical etiquette, he assured me that I could count upon his getting
me past the examining Board of Officers and upon my being marked for home.
I took nothing for granted in the Army any more. I moved over to the Hospital
at Chaumont, but I arranged with the Adjutant General First Army that I
should not be dropped from the Roster at Headquarters until I had telephoned
him from Chaumont that I had been safely passed. I spent several pleasant
days at that Hospital, suffering no inconvenience whatever, paying calls
on officers whom I knew at General Headquarters, and taking my meals
at the officers’ mess. Finally, my specialist was as good as his word, and I was
ticketed to be returned to the United States as physically disabled, which
made me want to laugh. It took some time, however, to get home. It was
several days before the hospital train went out, on which I must travel, wh^frher
I liked it or not. I felt that I was there under false pretences, among ^^hc
seriously wounded on that train. There were men on board whose legs had
recently been amputated, the stumps of which were still so painful that they
could not bear the touch of a blanket; they could not feed themselves, and the
medical attendance was inadequate, so I joined hands with several other officers,
all “walking cases”, and we passed food around at meal hours, and held tins
of fluids to their lips while they drank. It took thirty-six hours for that hospital
train to reach Nantes, a distance of about two hundred miles, I think, during
which time the sick men were without proper medical care; fortunately, no
^ one died en route. I spent two weeks at an Officers’ Hospital at Nantes, which
was run with such negligence and inefficiency, by one of the Regular Army
140
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Medical Corps, that a Lieutenant-Colonel, with whom I had made friends en
route, and I, seriously discussed the advisability of preferring charges against
the Commanding Officer and of remaining in France for the Court Martial; we
finally relinquished the idea as being impracticable. Nantes was a pleasant
town, with an opera and a good picture gallery, but its resources were exhausted
long before the two weeks were up. Another week was spent in a Hospital at
St. Nazaire, where there was nothing whatever to do. Finally, on January
31st, 1919, I embarked on the SS. “Finland”, which had been converted into a
hospital ship, and was full of sick and wounded, and, after a rough and stormy
passage,—I arrived safely in New York on the 14th of the following month.
At the end of the third week in October, 1918, Marshal Foch had drawn up
a special instruction for the General Commanding the American Army and
for the General Commanding the Centre Group of French Armies, with the
object of assuring close co-operation between the American First Army and the
French Fourth Army in their joint offensive, and particularly in that last phase,
that final drive which had as an objective, unblocking the line of the Aisne
from the east. The enemy had for long been on the defensive, he showed signs
of giving way, his retreat was in sight. It seemed to Marshal Foch that, in the
circumstances, the preliminary plans “indicated a return to the method of attack
which consisted in marking beforehand on the map successive lines to be reached,
and betrayed an exaggerated solicitude in the matter of alignment”. Accord¬
ingly, the following directive was issued:
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 except 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 pre-occupation as to alignment,—units which have
got the farthest forward working for the advantage of those temporarily 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.
The strategy and the tactics of the inner spiritual warfare are not for the
beginner; they are not for him who stands at the very commencement of the
Way. For him, it is a case of first proving himself in single hand-to-hand
conflict with individual faults and sins and weaknesses. He must first with¬
stand counter-attack after counter-attack; he must be tempered and tested
and tried, until he can control the elements of his lower nature, until he has
his higher forces—partially developed, partially trained, it may be—under his
command. Not until he has met successfully test after test of this nature;
not until he is able, in some measure at least, consciously to direct those higher
forces, can he avail himself of the strategy and the tactics of the inner life.
He cannot do this while still defending himself from an attacking inner enemy,
who can choose the point of his attack. He can only do so when that inner
WITHOUT CENSOR
141
enemy is on the defensive, when he shows signs of giving way, when his retreat
is imminent. This much accomplished, he can marshal his inner forces, as a
general moves his divisions in battle, deliberately choosing, not the ground
upon which he will stand on the defensive, but the point at which he will him¬
self attack, and how he will do it. Then, and then only, does the parallel be¬
tween the inner spiritual warfare and the outer conduct of modern war become
clear to him, and, translating from one set of terms to the other, he seeks skilled
direction, he seeks those facts which have been proven in actual outer experience,
by those who speak with authority, that he may apply them within.
We have been told that, because Marshal Foch really dealt with principles,
expressed in terms of force instead of in terms of consciousness; because he
had thought deeply; because he was profoundly religious, his writings may
easily be paraphrased as a treatise on the spiritual combat. In terms of that
inner warfare, what exactly is the hidden meaning for us in the extract above
from a purely military directive? He is telling us, I think, that we must stop
appraising and measuring our inner progress; that we must cease being satisfied
with the attainment of a minor inner objective which we have laid out for our¬
selves in advance. He is saying that there is no such thing as finality in inner
growth, that there is no limit whatsoever to that to which we may attain in
inner ways, or to that to which we should aspire. He is pointing out that, as
inner effort continues and is pressed, latent weaknesses of character—the
things which we still have to “mop-up”, to overcome—grow less strong daily;
that, when the growing exhaustibn of our inner enemy becomes apparent,
we must press forward in attack—always the attack!—giving no consideration
whatever to anything save to the attack itself. We must not be concerned
with our weaknesses, with our known faults; we must not be afraid that they
will impede our progress or hold us back. We must utilize our tried qualities
in attack and in manoeuvre, forcing their further growth and development
to the fullest possible extent, in the realization that they, farthest advanced
as they are, will work always to the advantage of our most backward char¬
acteristics. We must know where we are going, where it is we want to go, and,
once we know this, we must go as far as we can, where we can. If we will do
this, never faltering, never wavering, never letting go, we may be sure that
we shall find back of us, reinforcing us, the High Command.
This, I think, is what a master of outer warfare is telling us, in terms of the
inner spiritual combat. We shall do well, I think, to apply it, always basing
the action we take upon the fundamental qualities of the true soldier, of which
the greatest, perhaps, is humility. It is humility which makes initial obedience
possible. It is the habit of obedience, the instinctive recognition of higher
authority, of the hierarchy, which, in turn, reinforces humility, and which
leads to other things.
{The End)
Centurion.
NOURISHMENT
0 avoid possible misconception, perhaps it is well to state now that
this article does not recommend specialization, on the one hand, nor
expansiveness, on the other; at least according to the connotation
often given those words to-day. In discussing, recently, some of the more
blatant bewilderments current in the world, two acquaintances, neither of whom
is a student of Theosophy, made the following salient comments. One of them
said, “There are too many specialists. A specialist is a man who knows more
and more about less and less, and everything about nothing.” The other
acquaintance took the opposite view. He remarked, “How about the multi¬
farious number of expansive ideas? The world literally is choked with them.
They are tumbling over each other, in constant conflict and debate; some
going so far as to take issue with God because God does not seem to agree
with them.” So, the subject matter of this article advocates neither of these
two extremes: narrowing knowledge down to ascertain the diameter and the
circumference of a pin head; nor reaching out broadside, as it were, to take
hold of some idea which, momentarily, has popular appeal.
Instead, our theme is man’s use of his whole nature wisely; that is, in ac¬
cordance with the natural law of evolution; which is divine law. Our theme
is transformation; exfoliation.
During a past winter, several meetings of the New York Branch were
devoted to a discussion of man’s power to receive and to use inspiration. It
was pointed out that inspiration is a divine gift; yet man can help to prepare
the way to receive this gift more abundantly. Also, it was shown that inspi¬
ration is dangerous. So is any divine gift, for it is a two-edged sword, cutting
both ways. Nevertheless, man can take measures to lessen, if not entirely to
eliminate, the danger of the misuse of that which comes from the spiritual
world. Man is a creature of dual nature. He has a higher and a lower nature;
a Higher Self and a lower self, with which latter he, now, for the most part,
associates his centre of consciousness, his sense of I am I. The problem is for
him to raise his centre of self-identification, inward and upward, so that it
becomes conjoined, at one, with the Higher Self. That Self, in man, is the
individualized vehicle of spirit, with the power, the capacity, to receive and to
use divine gifts.
There is the goal; but, that man is far from any such state of perfection, is
apparent from the general confusion rife in the world at present. Wherever
one looks, are to be found false prophets crying, “lo here, lo there”; each with
his own pet panacea offered as a cure-all. Among these, there are some who,
in a sincere search for truth, have found a small fragment of it; and, because
it has helped them, they have wrapped it around with creed and dogma, and,
with the best of intention, offer the formula to others as the only sure way
142
NOURISHMENT
i43
out. With their motive one can have sympathy, even while recognizing a
misuse of divine gifts. On the other hand, there are those who premeditatedly
have concocted selfish schemes, dressed them in a cloak having mob appeal,
and who deliberately use their schemes, either to place themselves in power,
or to retain their power if they have it. Recently, in America, much has been
heard about “the forgotten man”, and thousands rallied to that phrase because
of its appeal to the lower emotions. In reality, there is no such thing. Those
who have the slightest familiarity with the Christian Bible should be able to
recall the words of the Master Christ on this subject: “Behold the fowls of
the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into bams; yet
your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?”
It is man who has done the forgetting. He has forgotten his relationship
with, and his indebtedness to, the Fatherhood, and so fails to see that with¬
out true recognition of the Fatherhood there can be no brotherhood.
The misuse of divine gifts by man is a national problem, a world problem,
and a universal problem; for it has direct bearing on the ultimate salvation of
mankind. Nevertheless, it resolves itself into an individual problem as ex¬
pressed in the age-old maxim: “Man know thyself”. To that problem this
article addresses itself in terms of nourishment, as illustrated in the law of
Cycles, the doctrine of correspondences, and the seven principles of man.
Western man takes himself too much for granted. The peoples of the East
are not so inclined. By nature they are more contemplative, and are more
disposed to ask, “Who am I; whence come; whither bound?”—and to seek
the answer by retreating quietly within themselves. Westerners, on the other
hand, are given to action rather than to contemplation, to regarding externals
instead of looking beneath, or behind, the surface. Superficial action, spring¬
ing from a wrong, or lower, centre, often results in producing a sense of
superiority. Hence, we of the West have made the mistake of trying to occi-
dentalize those of the East, ignorantly, perhaps arrogantly, assuming that our
method is superior. Yet it would be as much of a mistake if Easterners tried
to orientalize us; nor should we attempt to follow their system in its entirety,
especially as it has become perverted in certain Eastern cults of to-d^y.
Nevertheless, we can apply with profit the philosophy which lies bajffd
the Eastern mode of life. That philosophy is based on the truths held and
lived by the sages of old; truths which have survived the surface flux and
flow of the centuries; the truths which Madame Blavatsky—the Lodge Mes¬
senger of the nineteenth century—revived for the Western world as Theosophy.
Theosophical philosophy shows that manifestation is not a continuous pro¬
cess; but is periodical, recurring, cyclic. At the beginning of a Manvantara,
or Great Cycle of manifestation, lasting some trillions of years, Light, or Life,
issues from the Source, the One, courses outward and downward from plane
to plane, setting all in motion, vivifying, vitalizing, unifying; somewhat as we
fcnight imagine a giant electric spark infusing the entire universe. As the
radiant energy descends, each plane is a projection, or reflection, of the plane
next above; Light, or Life, diversifying more and more, until, on our plane,
144
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
it manifests in heterogeneous ways and forms that it, the incomprehensible,
may become comprehensible to our finite minds. Hence, it is said of a Great
Cycle of manifestation, that the fructifying and energizing genius proceeds
from Unity, through diversity, and back to Unity; for, when the descending
impulse has spent itself, the life current turns inward and upward and starts
its ascent back toward the One, the Source. As the indrawal proceeds, the
reverse of the outward movement occurs, for, now, each plane is nourished by
the plane next below; that nourishment—the fruit of experience gained during
manifestation—ultimately being carried up to enrich the Source.
The doctrine of correspondences shows the same process taking place in
nature, in the way in which the mineral kingdom nourishes the vegetable, and
the vegetable, in turn, the animal and the animal man. The seed, and,
later, the roots of the plant, draw nourishment from the minerals in the earth.
When the plant has reached its ripeness, it is used to nourish the kingdom
next above, the animal. This is a perfectly natural process in nature, a normal
function of life; so normal, in fact, that we hardly think of the sacrificial aspect
of it. Should it not be just as natural, as normal, for man to sacrifice the lower
within himself that the higher may be nourished; the lower self in favour of
the Higher Self? Yet, man hesitates at taking the step; he shrinks from it as
though it were suicidal. He sees it as loss through sacrifice, instead of as gain
by transformation, exfoliation. He remains smug in his wrong self-identification.
It is not that nourishment ceases to come from above, any more than the
sun stops nourishing the plant; but man must cease to pervert it to his own
selfish uses. All nourishment originally came from above, and it is with
that which he has perverted that man must gain his immortality. As the
plant grows, it meets, and, in its way, uses, at a higher level, the rays coming
to it from the sun. Likewise, man, turning inward and upward the force he
has misused, can receive and use divine gifts at a higher level of conscious¬
ness. Not only that, but there are tides in the affairs of men, which, if taken
at the flood, lead on to “fortune”. Within the Manvantara there are many lesser
cycles, one of which is the one hundred year or century cycle. At present,
we are passing through the indrawal phase of this cycle. It is a period particu¬
larly pertinent to the thesis of this article; a time when man, by drawing in¬
ward and upward the force he has perverted, can put himself en rapport with
the present cyclic current.
Western theologians point to no such road to immortality. Having dwarfed
and perverted the teaching of the Master Christ, and failed to discern the
resemblance between it and the teaching of the Buddha, they would have
man believe that an anthropomorphic God in some way confers immortality,
after one brief, and, usually, haphazard, existence on earth. The philosophy
of the Eastern mode of life, on the other hand, shows that everything in nature,
including man, must use effort to survive, and not at haphazard, but an effort
that is pointed and purposeful; shows, moreover, that individual immortality
is for him who gains it through his own courageous work and aspiration,
sustained during a senes of incarnations, and not just for one short corporeal
NOURISHMENT
i45
span. This philosophy emphasizes the necessity of transferring the centre of
consciousness from the transient personality to the enduring individuality, if
we would gain immortality. To help towards an understanding of the way in
which this transfer may be effected, it shows man, as well as the Universe and
all in it, to be sevenfold: man as a creature of seven principles.
A brief consideration of three of these principles will be sufficient to indicate
the method of the transfer in question. To use the English equivalents of the
Sanskrit names, these three principles are: at the upper pole of man’s nature,
Divine Will, pure and eternal; at the lower pole, its perversion, personal desire,
essentially selfish and transitory; and, oscillating between the two, Mind or
Self-consciousness—the sense of I am I. The transfer is made by drawing
inward and upward the force that is now behind personal desire, starving per¬
sonal desire, as such, and using the force, thus turned, to nourish Divine Will.
As this force, originally divine but perverted by man, is raised, Mind or Self-
consciousness is carried inward and upward, from level to level, as it were,
until, ultimately, it is transferred from the selfish and transitory personal
desire, to the pure and eternal Divine Will. Thus the sense of I am I becomes
conjoined with the immortal element in man.
To accomplish this, meditation and, its advanced step, contemplation, are
necessary. Meditation, however necessary, is but part of the process. There
must be accompanying action. In this regard, Western man has a precious
heritage in that he is a creature of action, once his acts spring from, and are
controlled by, a centre which is one-pointed and high-pointed; once his sense
of I am I has been raised to a level where the feeling of superiority has given
way to the quality of humility. The doctrine must be lived, acted out in daily
life; the impulse of the meditation put into practice, so that each successive
meditation is enriched by the fruits of experience. The transfer of self-identi¬
fication from the lower to the Higher Self is a definitely practical matter, in¬
volving man’s seemingly trivial and mundane, yet infinitely important, every
thought and act. Why does he cross the street? Why does he eat corned
beef and cabbage? Why does he keep a certain book on the table beside his
favourite chair? As in the Great Life Cycle, spirit descends into matter, mani¬
fests in the particular, and carries the nourishment of the experience tlum
gained, from plane to plane, back to enrich the Source; so man, no mat^^
how obscure his place in the world may appear to be, by his every thought and
act, not only can nourish the god within himself, but, so doing, can benefit
his nation and the race: more than that, he can help to bring fonvard the ulti¬
mate salvation of the whole of mankind.
In the revolution of the Manvantaric Cycle, and in the evolution of the
soul, the Universal translates itself in the particular, and the particular assumes
universal significance.
G.M.W.K.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
HE promise to speak on the subject of what happens after death was
beginning to worry one of our number. As soon as we assembled
he said so, determined to pick the brains of his friends, whose sug¬
gestions he was prepared to adopt or reject with entire impartiality. He would
in any case make them work for him; they would liberate some energy, perhaps
including his own. His name, for the Recorder’s immediate purpose, may as
well be Smith.
Said Smith: “How shall I begin? With a lot of quotations from Madame
Blavatsky and Judge?”
“No!”, the Philosopher exclaimed. “Do not rely on authority; begin with a
brief statement of the problem, followed by an equally brief statement of the
solutions which the public is offered, on the one hand by materialism, on the
other, by orthodox religion, and show that both are unsatisfactory.”
Smith laughed. “Orthodox religion! Do you mean the Hell, Purgatory,
Heaven of the Roman Catholics, or the ‘Hope for the Best’ of the Protestants?”
“Mention both”, the Philosopher replied, undaunted.
“What next?”
“After showing that the Protestant solution is hopelessly inadequate, and that
the R. C. solution is cut-and-dried, and that it excludes the large majority of
the human race, go on to-.”
“Excuse me: but whom does the R. C. doctrine exclude?”
“Everyone except themselves and a few Protestants whom they smuggle
into Purgatory by pretending that they would have been Catholics except for
‘invincible ignorance’. They make no provision for a good Pagan; they deprive
the Indian of his ‘happy hunting ground’; they would leave Buddha, Shankara,
and the great adepts and saints of other religions, past and present, shivering
in the cold, not fit for Hell as they have to admit, and, in their eyes, equally
unfit for Heaven, while Purgatory is impossible because only those who desire
Christian salvation can go there.”
“Please continue.”
“Go on, as I was saying, by presenting the theosophical solution, basing this
upon what we know of universal laws of growth.”
“Why don’t you give my talk?” asked Smith.
“I shall before we get through”, the Philosopher answered cheerfully.
“No such luck”, said Smith; “but what of these universal laws of growth?
Why start there?”
“On the principle of working from the known to the unknown, and because
‘Man is the mirror of the Universe’.”
“I never knew anything quite so pat”, said Smith. “You must have been
giving this talk all your life.”
146
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
i47
“No”, said the Philosopher, “but you are forcing me to take the trouble to
think.”
“Sorry”, said Smith; “but please keep it up. What comes next?”
“Really”, said the Philosopher, “that ought to be obvious.”
“I wish it were. It’s not.”
“After explaining very briefly—for you must not exceed your thirty minutes
—the law of alternating periods of expansion and contraction, of exfoliation
and indrawal, and using sleeping and waking, summer and winter, and the life-
cycle of a bulb or a tree to illustrate this, you should point out how useless it is
to speculate about man’s condition or nature after death, until we have solved
the problem of his nature or constitution while alive on earth. For example,
if man were merely a body; if, as Buchner said, the brain secretes thought as
the liver secretes bile, death would be the end of consciousness and there would
be no future life. Instead, what we now are, we shall be,—minus only the
physical body, and the grosser elements of the astral or etheric body.”
“I think that would be misleading, or in any case that it begs the question,
which is: how much of our present consciousness will be left behind when the
body dies? In other words, what, if any, will be the difference between the
state of consciousness which we enter, and the state we leave behind us when
we die? People want to know: Shall I be the same person?”
“The two questions are not the same, for the same person is in many different
states of consciousness during every day and night of his life. However, the
state of consciousness which we first enter when we die, must necessarily be the
result of our state at the time of death. Thus, if a man dies in great discomfort
or pain, his first reaction on the other side would be one of immense relief: the
physical pain would have ceased. If he were killed instantly in battle, and the
whole force of his nature had been concentrated on what he was doing, he would
at first continue doing it,—except in those rare cases when a man has acquired
sufficient detachment to see himself as the spectator of his own actions, ancj^fl
keep in touch, while fighting, with his Master and the spiritual world. In that
case he would know instantly that he had been killed, and would find himself
with his Master, in Paradise. By some means or other you will have to make
it clear to your audience that our first state of consciousness after death is the
result of our dominant thought and feeling when we die, and then of our habitual
thinking and feeling.”
“Easier said than done”, commented Smith.
“Quite easy”, was the reply, “if you will explain that death is like waking
from a nightmare: in some cases the awakening is immediate and complete; in
others, the impression of the nightmare persists for an appreciable time. In
that in death as in life, no two persons have the same experience. You must
rub this in: a thunder-storm will terrify one person and exhilarate another;
that what is a temptation for some men will repel and disgust others of different
148
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
character. Character is the determining factor, there as here; so even the first
reaction to death varies enormously as between different individuals.”
“At this rate”, said Smith, “I shall need two hours instead of thirty minutes.”
“You can’t have two hours. If you had them you would cause death, instead
of explaining it.”
“Thank you”, said Smith, beaming. “That possibility was beginning to
worry me. Now for what corresponds to the ‘Day of Judgment’,—I mean that
summation of a man’s deeds and experience, as seen by his higher self, which
some have remembered when resuscitated from drowning.”
“You can’t cover everything”, vouchsafed the Philosopher, as a concession,
perhaps, to Smith’s limitations; “you might leave that to be brought up by
some questioner.”
“And if it should be brought up?”
“My answer would be that the summation of a man’s life, and of the lesson
to be drawn from it, ought to take place before death, and does when he has
acquired the habit of self-examination and of regular review of his days and
years. In other cases it happens when life has left all parts of the body except
certain centres in the brain, and in yet other cases, such as sudden death by
accident, it happens as soon as a man wakes up to the realization that he is
dead. But, once more, if people want a cut-and-dried programme of this in¬
finitely varying process which is known as Death, no true student of Theosophy
will attempt to supply it. From beginning to end, death varies as much as life
varies. How can it be otherwise! Suppose someone were to ask: ‘What hap¬
pens when you are bom into this world?’
“But there are certain fundamentals you will have to cover, even if you omit
all else. First, you must make it clear that Time, as we know it, is a concept
derived solely from the limitations of our physical senses. You must remind
your audience of what all of them should know from their experience of dreams,
—that in three minutes or less of waking time, we can dream of events which
seem to last for years, while, on the other hand, if a man be waked at six and
at once goes to sleep again, to be waked again an hour later, he may be ready
to swear that he had shut his eyes for less than a second. Time is an illusion.
States of consciousness which, as it were, incorporate a sense of time, are still
‘earth-bound’, that is to say, are still controlled to a great extent by the residue
of earthly experience, or, in the case of an Adept, are deliberately accepted as
part of his sacrifice. People always want to know: How soon shall I reincar¬
nate? H.P.B., pushed to the wall by the persistence of this question, answered
that the average interval between lives on earth, for the average of the human
race, is about fifteen hundred years; but apart from many well-known cases of
reincarnation within a very few months or years after death, the soul that
returns quickly may feel as if he had been away for ages, while one who exceeds
the average may feel like the man who has just shut his eyes, only to be wakened
again.
“Another fundamental truth you will have to emphasize is that ‘We find
what we bring’,—when we die, just as while we are on earth: for that is a law
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
149
of consciousness. If an old peasant, a prize-fighter, an artist, go through an
art gallery, each of them finds what he brings, and cannot see more than his
nature, his past experience, his education, and his spiritual perception (if any),
make possible. Another aspect of the same law is that we find what we seek,
for our desire, often mixed, expresses what we are; but it may take time to find
what we seek, while we find what we bring, instantly.”
“Explain yourself”, said Smith. “I do not want to make my audience dizzy.”
“Why not?” was the reply. “If you explain everything, you will give them
nothing to think about.”
“You leave that to me”, said Smith. “It is in any case your business for the
moment not to make me dizzy. Explain yourself.”
“Really you ought to supply something”, the Philosopher protested. “How¬
ever: ex nihilo nihil fit. I was of course referring to expectation, which is part
of what we bring, but often is different from what we desire. H.P.B. is reported
to have said that when Bradlaugh, the avowed materialist and atheist, died
expecting the annihilation of consciousness, his expectation would control, and
that, until he reincarnated, he would remain in a state of stupefaction or
lethargic sleep. But his was an extreme case, and, properly to understand what
happens, we must again turn to our own experience. You meet someone, ex¬
pecting to dislike him intensely, having been told by your friends that he is
conceited, arrogant, insufferable; and you do dislike him, until slowly it dawns
upon you that he is not what he seems to be, and that his bad manners are a
deplorable artifice to conceal his lack of self-confidence and his timidity. His
vanity, you discover, is of the negative, not of the positive type,—and there¬
after pity, and a sort of sympathy, take the place of your earlier dislike. The
same thing is true of places: you may have been prejudiced against them, only
to find that first-hand acquaintance reveals them as most attractive. Expecta¬
tion governs at first; it is part of what we bring to the encounter of any situa¬
tion; but if there be stronger elements at work, these soon gain the ascendancy,
and we begin to find what we seek,—what we really desire.
“Incidentally, expectation in its creative aspect, is a very interesting subject.
Without expectation, faith is a mere figure of speech. You might enlarge on
this if you have time.”
“Time!” exclaimed Smith. “First you annihilate ft, then you fill it to the
bursting point, and now expect me to have some of it to spare. Time! The
last of it disappeared several paragraphs ago.”
“To return to our muttons”, said the Philosopher blandly; “if a man dies,
either fearing or desiring a life hereafter, but not expecting it, he will find
what he brings, and, like Bradlaugh, may at first pass into unconsciousness;
but in most cases this will not last: his desire, whether for good or evil, will
wal^jjim,—and then he will find what he seeks. In other words, he may go
to TM 1 , or he may go to some kind of Heaven.”
This was too much for one of our visitors. “Hell!” he said; “you don’t mean
to say that you people believe in hell!”
“I never met anyone”, replied the Philosopher, “who did not believe in hell
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
150
on earth; and if in the body, why not out of the body ? Hell on earth is a state
of consciousness, is it not? We speak of a man as in hell because he is consumed
with envy, hatred, malice, or some other devilish feeling. Why should this
cease at death ? Are you assuming that because a man sheds his physical body
he suddenly becomes a saint, or that he leaves his dominant desires and obses¬
sions behind him? Once more let us examine our experience. If a man who is
possessed by some feeling of resentment, goes to sleep praying with all his heart
to be delivered from it, there is every likelihood that he will wake up in the
morning, morally cleansed at that point. He has escaped from his hell. But if,
as so often happens, instead of hating the evil that is in him, and praying for
deliverance, he clings to it, and goes to sleep justifying and fostering it, he
must inevitably wake up in the same if not in a worse condition. You must
surely have known someone who lived on his grievances—whether real or
imaginary makes no difference—and who brooded on them incessantly, cursing
his fate, and imagining, perhaps, with what eloquence he will accuse his enemies
‘before the judgment seat of God’. He was in hell if ever a man was, and, when
he dies, will naturally remain in the same state of consciousness until he rein¬
carnates. He will then bring his sense of grievance with him, instinctively
seeking those whom formerly he regarded as his enemies, and also seeking to
revenge himself on society in general, possibly as an anarchist, more likely, as
things now are, as a communist.”
‘‘But where is this place, with its burning pit and devils with barbed tridents?”
‘‘Nowhere”, was the reply. ‘‘In the first place, your suggested furnishings
are not in line with modem expectation. In the second place, have you ever
had a nightmare, asleep perhaps in New York or London, but dreaming that you
were tottering on the very edge of a precipice, with a wild torrent in the gorge
below you, drawing you down, down, down? Where was that ‘place’? You
know that in terms of waking consciousness it was not a place, though, in the
world of dream, it was as vividly real as any experience of earth.”
‘‘Do you mean that life hereafter is just a dream?”
‘‘Begin, if you will, by deciding to what extent our present existence is real,
and to what extent it is made up of fancies,—some painful, as when we dread the
future, some agreeable, as when a girl thinks she is marrying a hero or a mil¬
lionaire who is actually nothing of the kind. Then try to realize that some
people are closer to reality than others, depending upon the stage of evolution,
that is, the degree of spiritual perception they have attained. Discrimination
between the real and the unreal is, as Shankara said, the first step on the
path of attainment.”
‘‘But what has that got to do with life after death?”
“Everything; because if we seek reality here, we shall find it there, while
those who now cling to their fancies, to their illusions—illusions about them¬
selves, or about the source of happiness—will carry their dreams with them.”
“Reality”, said our visitor, “strikes me as out in the cold, and lonely.”
We laughed; but the Philosopher by this time was too busy to laugh. “Would
you feel that way about it”, he asked, “if beauty as we know it here, were merely
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
i Si
the shadow cast by the transcendent beauty of things in the real world? If
reality meant the perfection of all that you, in your better moments, truly love
and desire?”
“I suppose not”, our visitor replied; “but I should like to think it over.” He
seemed uneasy. “What are these illusions you were talking about?”
“Their name is Legion”, the Philosopher answered. “Even the wise man,
who knows them for what they are, has to fight them, in some form or other,
to his dying day. There is the illusion of Time, of which I have already spoken,
—if only he had more time! There is the illusion of results, of judging his past
efforts by visible results. But we need not worry about his illusions. Our con¬
cern is with our own. We have outgrown, let us hope, the idea that a plentiful
supply of ‘wine, women, and song’ would insure our happiness, or that unlim¬
ited opportunity for playing golf or bridge or even for reading, would content
us. But have we rid ourselves of other illusions,—do we still desire popular
acclaim, or exalted position? Do we think that money alone, or ample leisure,
or bodily health, or any other of the world’s ‘good things’, would make us
happy? Finally (for this afternoon!) do we attribute our failures to ‘bad luck’,
or to the enmity or stupidity of others, and do we imagine that we love when
actually, though unconsciously, we are self-seeking and selfish? All these and
innumerable other illusions, depending upon the hold they have on us, will
tend to create the character of our life hereafter, because, once more, we find
what we bring: our present life, made up, as it is, of states of consciousness,
will be continued ‘in our next’, except for those states which are entirely physi¬
cal in origin,—and it would be a great mistake to suppose that ‘the lusts of the
flesh’ are necessarily left behind, seeing that, in so many cases, they are the
off-spring of a diseased imagination and inhere in the psychic nature.”
“But they cannot be satisfied apart from the body!”
“Exactly; that is why one definition of hell is,—a state of burning, unsatis¬
fied, evil desire.”
Smith by this time was restless. “All very interesting no doubt, but you are
forgetting my talk; the thread of it is in such a tangle that-.”
“In that case the sooner you untangle it the better”, the Philosopher inter¬
rupted; “that is, unless you prefer to leave it to your audience to do so for you.”
“Not a bad idea”, said Smith. “After all, an audience ought to do something
besides listen. You suggest, as I understand you, that a certain amoujAof
muddle stimulates thought.”
“Iam suggesting nothing of the kind. You should be crystal clear.”
“That is just what I want to be”, said Smith. “Please proceed. Where did
you leave off?—with me, I mean.”
“I did not leave off with you. Our visitor asked about hell, partly on your
behalf, because voicing a question any audience would ask.”
“But in that case you left me with no reply to other questions, inevitably
resulting from what you said. Is hell everlasting? If not, how can you get
out of it?—and so forth.”
“How can hell be everlasting? Nothing is everlasting which involves separa-
152
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
tion from divirfe unity. The Greek word means aeon-ian, or age-long. It has
been mistranslated,—although to anyone in that state of consciousness it may
seem everlasting. How escape from it? Dante explained that: by reversing
the polarity of desire. How absurd you are! How many times in your life
have you said to yourself,—this is hell! Examine your own experience.”
“No”, said Smith. “I am here as a questioner, and while that involves some
thought, and no little worry in this case, it is part of the understanding that
you are to do the bulk of the thinking for me. Please proceed. Examine your
own experience. How did you escape?”
“No”, said the Philosopher in his turn; “but I will tell you how you did:
sometimes by realizing, at last, that the torment was of your own creation;
that you alone were responsible both for its origin and continuance. Then, by
effort of will, you forced yourself to pray that you might see things truly, and
when that prayer was answered, as it always is, you prayed for forgiveness,—
and escaped. In that case you entered temporarily a sort of heaven-world
(still speaking in terms of states of consciousness). More often, however, in¬
stead of fighting to escape, your emotional and mental obsession merely wore
itself out, in which case, instead of entering a higher state, you just drifted back
into your less insane, but very ordinary selfhood.”
“Thanks awfully”, said Smith. “What next?”
“Make it clear, even if you have to repeat yourself, that none of this is new
doctrine, but is simply the less exoteric explanation of the teaching of Christ
and of all the Avatars. When Christ said, ‘In my Father’s house are many
mansions’, and when he told the story of the rich man, and of Lazarus in Abra¬
ham’s bosom,—he revealed in a few marvellous sentences, the substance of all
that Theosophy has to say on the subject of what happens after death. The¬
osophy, as the common source of all the great religions, explains and elaborates
the symbolism and parables which the Avatars employed when they addressed
‘them that are without’. And how few, even to this day—even among the clergy
—see and rejoice in the significance of those words: ‘I go to prepare a place for
you’. Truly, heavenly death is also well provided for!”
“What next?” asked Smith.
The Philosopher laughed. “Don’t be absurd”, he said. “In one breath you
complain that I have filled your thirty minutes to bursting point; in the next,
ask for more. Is the thread still in a tangle?”
Smith stared into the fire; then, ruminatively: “The newspapers recently
announced that there had been a bad earthquake in Poland, particularly in
Plszkhowski. Someone asked what was the name of the town before the earth¬
quake. I feel rather like that too.”
“Cheer up!” was the reply. “You’ll feel better when you set your own brains
to work. What is that about ‘in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread’?
So far as I am concerned, it is The End.”
“What comes next?” the Recorder now asked, turning from one to another
of his contributors. “Have you anything on your mind?”
“A protest”, the Student volunteered. “The American Museum of Natural
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
i53
History in New York is supported, in large measure, out of city funds, that is,
by those who pay municipal taxes. To this, there can be no possible objection,
but I do object when an institution of that kind assumes the function of public
educator, especially when the instruction it fathers is not only grossly material¬
istic, but when it proclaims surmises, and the speculations of a sect of scientists,
as unquestionable facts. On the cover-page of the March issue of Natural
History , which is the official magazine of the Museum, there is a picture of a
rat-like animal with a tuft at the end of its tail. Beneath this is the description.
‘Your Rat-Like Ancestor’. An article in the same issue tells you all about him,
and supplies a pictorial genealogical tree showing the same creature as the
common ancestor of monkeys, orang-outangs, gorillas, chimpanzees, and men.
The creature is known as Ptilocercus. The article states: ‘At the foot of the
ladder leading up through monkeys and apes to man, this first ancestor of
ours, however reluctant we may be to admit it, looks much like a rat. 1 he
article itself will be read by very few. The trouble is that it repeats the lesson
inculcated throughout the Museum, and especially, of course, in its biological
departments, where the exhibits are designed to demonstrate the animal descent
of man. Troops of children from the Public Schools of the city schools in
which the teaching of religion in any form is prohibited—are marched through
the Museum that they may be impressed by pictures, or the stuffed forms, of
their alleged ancestors, and may thus be imbued with the doctrine that they
themselves are merely little animals.
“This is a monstrous misuse of taxpayers’ money; it is deliberately anti-
religious, only one degree removed from the exhibits in Soviet Russia, the
avowed purpose of which is to bring religion into contempt by ridicule and
‘demonstration’; and it is inherently dishonest and unscientific, seeing that
there is no proof whatever that the theories advanced as facts are true, while
all the evidence tending to disprove those theories is carefully suppressed.
“Those who are responsible for this sort of subversive propaganda have
doubtless persuaded themselves that their motive is above suspicion, the
enlightenment of the human race; but the truth is that there are hidden motives
in a great many cases, sometimes known though not acknowledged; sometimes
subconscious. The dictum of Karl Marx, the prophet of Socialism, that ‘Reli¬
gion is the opiate of the People’, accounts for much of what is being do^lo
undermine religion surreptitiously, as a preliminary to the establishmen^uy
force if necessary, of the Socialist State. ‘Parlor pinks’, though they would
prefer to avoid the use of force, share the same dreams as those of the red
variety.
“The motive which actuates others, sometimes subconsciously, is the desire
to justify their own conduct, and to lead their acquaintances into the same
habit of giving free rein to their rat-like and other animal propensities. We
are only one stage removed from apes’, they say; ‘therefore what is natural and
( right for apes, cannot be wrong for us: all this talk about the moral law is super¬
stition, from which it is our duty to escape. Do what you feel like doing; express
yourself and your “natural urge”,—and you can’t go wrong.’ I repeat: such
i 5 4 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
efforts to justify self-indulgence, account for much of this animal-descent
propaganda.
“For all of which reasons, and because the teaching in itself is false in prem¬
ise as in conclusion,—I protest against the use of museums supported by public
funds, not only in New York but throughout the country,—I protest against
their use for purposes which at best are sectarian, and which, in their re¬
sults, cannot fail to be demoralizing/*
“I second the motion”, said the Engineer, “but with this addendum: that
whenever Ptilocercus or some other Lemuroid is displayed in Museums as the
ancestor of man, the notice shall in no circumstances read, ‘Your Rat-like An¬
cestor’, but ‘My Rat-like Ancestor’, and that this shall be signed by the Curator
who is responsible for the exhibit. After all, as opinions not facts are at issue,
the way to settle things amicably is to agree with our adversaries quickly that
they are the descendants of rats, toads, or any other animal, with the manners
and morals of which they feel particularly in sympathy, or of which, in any
case, they believe themselves to be the kin. On the other hand, those of us
who are convinced that we can trace our descent to man as he was before the
Fall—before the animal kingdom materialized—and who have not forgotten
our birthright, must necessarily infer that we are of a different and vastly better
breed than our animally-inclined opponents.”
‘‘Well”, concluded the Recorder, ‘‘having settled that matter to our satisfac¬
tion, if not to theirs, what, may I ask, have you been reading,—less ex cathedra
in tone, perhaps, than the finalities of Museum and similar scientists?” And
the Recorder turned to the Historian, who is always reading something.
‘‘I thought you would be asking me that question”, was the response, ‘‘so I
brought with me a book, Twenty Years as Military Attache, by Colonel T. Bentley
Mott (U. S. A.), which, in addition to much that is entertaining, contains re¬
minders of truths which most people either try to forget, or have refused even
to recognize. If I may, 1 will read an extract as an illustration of what I mean.”
Whereupon the Historian read aloud as follows:
On my way to Fayolle’s H.Q. at Saarbriicken, during this trip, I passed through
Morhange, now once more French territory. At this place Robert Bacon and I had
spent a horrible night while travelling to join General Pershing for the solemn entrance
into Strasburg, and the memory of what we had then seen arose to poison my present
satisfaction. The vast military hospital appeared like a charnel house; for immediately
upon getting news of the Armistice, the Germans had smashed all the radiators, cut
the water-pipes and the toilet-drains, taken their food, medicines, doctors and nurses,
and left the poor English and French prisoners that filled the place to die at their leisure.
Before help could arrive many of these weakened men were beyond revival, and the
horror of the spot, the very stench of it, remains with me to this day.
1 could not but remember this spectacle of useless cruelty when I lunched with General
McLaughlin on the Rhine a few days later. He occupied part of a large house in a smil¬
ing German town and he told me of his efforts to defend himself from abasing politeness on
the part of the inhabitants. The owners of tl e house and their daughters were sending
delicacies to his table and manifesting their friendly spirit in various ingenious ways.
Finally McLaughlin had been compelled to send for them. ‘‘We are still at war with
your country”, he told them. “I am occupying a part of your house in consequence of
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
i55
this situation. I desire to cause you the least possible annoyance, but our personal inter¬
course must be limited to what is strictly necessary. I thank you for your presents but
I beg you to send no more.”
McLaughlin went off the next day to watch the Christmas sports of his command.
On returning for dinner he found the table decorated with little Christmas trees and a
note from the lady of the house! I feel sure that had the situation been reversed, these
same persons would have taken keen delight in doing to McLaughlin’s men what their
brethren had done to the poor devils in Morhange six weeks before. These are things
that decent people the world over ought to keep in mind, even though their rulers are
impelled by policy not to refer to them publicly. The German has an innate love of
cruelty which creeps out whenever he is in the saddle, just as his cringing in the presence
of superior force seeks to soften the blows which he naturally anticipates will be handed
him. That his people in the Rhine Provinces were not kicked about by the Allied troopers
surprised him completely. He knew what his soldiers would have done had the shoe
been on the other foot.
“There would be no need to remind the world of such things”, the Historian
continued, “if it were not for the obstinate incredulity of some people, and the
ceaseless propaganda of others whose purpose it is to show that the English
and French were just as bad as the Germans. The Irish in this country over¬
flow with that sort of poison, and even in England there are Pro-Germans and
Pacifists who adopt a similar attitude.”
“I am not sure that Colonel Mott has diagnosed the German psychology
correctly”, the much-travelled Engineer now remarked. “Somebody once
said that senseless atrocities are usually committed by people who are trembling
with fear, in order to reassure themselves. Germans differ greatly. Prussians
are one type; Hanoverians and the people of the Rhine Provinces are another;
and the Prussians dominate. We know in any case that all peoples are inclined
to judge others by themselves, and as it is indisputable that Germans believe in
a policy of schrecklichkeit —in terrorization—in times of war, and even in times
of peace within their own borders, it is a fair inference that they know the treat¬
ment which would be effective if employed by other nations against themselves;
that, in other words, the German General Staff, realizing the native timidity
of most of their own people, infer that the English, Belgians, French and Ame
icans must be similarly constituted. However, there can be no question
Colonel Mott’s facts, while the question I raise is more or less academic/
one thing I am positive: that the Germans, throughout the War, behaved like
fiends in Belgium and Northern France, and that, because of England’s attitude
of ‘Forgive and Forget’, and of American indifference, Germany is determined,
when she breaks loose again, to employ even worse forms of ‘frightfulness*
than before.”
“I agree with you under that head”, said the Historian. “The worst of it is
that England, France and America have learned no more than Germany as a
result of their War-time and subsequent experience. There will be no peace
S the world until someone of the stuff of Genghis Khan outdoes the Germans
*their own game,—in Germany. No Armistice then!”
“I am sorry for the Lodge”, the Student commented. “What with its
stupid but well-meaning children—nations and individuals—and its cunning,
Amer-
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
156
unscrupulous and self-assertive children, shouting their contempt of God and
man, it must still be a case of ‘the Son of man hath not where to lay his head’.”
“You are right”, said the Ancient. “The best of us are stupid in many ways,
but we need not let our stupidity go so far as to lead us to forget that faith and
love and aspiration are gifts which the least of us can offer, and which the Lodge
will not only accept with gratitude but can use for the salvation of the race.
I do not mean that we ought to accept our stupidities as inevitable, for clearly,
by study and thought we should do our utmost to draw the lesson from each
day’s experience, that we may learn the laws of life, and the difference between
the real and the unreal, between right and wrong in their wider reaches and
deeper significance; clearly, too, we should pray for common sense and for the
elements of wisdom: but, meanwhile, let us rejoice that, in spite of our limita¬
tions, we can look up and believe and trust,—and give thanks. It must seem
to us, often, that our love and gratitude are so thin as to be almost invisible;
but in that case, if you are dealing with the Master Christ, remind him of the
Widow’s Mite; say to him: ‘Master, you accepted her gift, next to nothing
though it was, because it was her all, and if we give all the love of which we are
now capable, you will accept that too, and perhaps will multiply it, as you
multiplied the loaves and fishes, and will turn it into something strong and
beautiful.’
“We are still deceived by the god of the western world,—Success, though in
no department of life is success attainable, seeing that it for ever recedes. Suc¬
cess is a step towards success,—or failure: it is never a finality. This is as true
of spiritual attainment as it is of money, worldly position, or human love.
Therefore, as Judge used to say, let us offer up the results of all our efforts,
realizing that the effort alone concerns us, and that the Lord will take care of
results.
“It is of such things that our annual Convention reminds us,—and we need
to be reminded of them, living as we do in a world which sees only the fleeting
as real, and which would persuade us, if it could, that our ideals are both un¬
attainable and impotent. Unattainable they may be in this life, if only for the
reason I have already suggested,—that the nearer we approach them, the greater
the heights which become visible; but impotent, No! The very fact that we
recognize the ideals which the Lodge has revealed to us—the ideals of ch£laship
and of all to which that may lead—the life of the unconquerable Warrior and
Master—that recognition alone is a power in the world which makes evil trem¬
ble; and if to recognition there be added honest effort to be and do as the ideal
demands, we shall be serving the Lodge as it is given to few to serve it; we shall
be making ready the way for the coming of a Kingdom on earth, which already
is, thank God, in heaven.” T.
HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY
I understand , Socrates. It is because you say that you always have a divine sign.
So he is prosecuting you for introducing new things into religion. And he is going
into court knowing that such matters are easily misrepresented to the multitude,
and consequently meaning to slander you there .— Plato.
I FIRST met dear old “H.P.B.”, as she made all her friends call her, in the
spring of 1887. Some of her disciples had taken a pretty house in Norwood,
where the huge glass nave and twin towers of the Crystal Palace glint above
a labyrinth of streets and terraces. London was at its grimy best. The squares
and gardens were scented with grape-clusters of lilac, and yellow rain of la¬
burnums under soft green leaves. The eternal smoke-pall was thinned to a
gray veil shining in the afternoon sun, with the great Westminster Towers
and a thousand spires and chimneys piercing through. Every house had its
smoke-wreath, trailing away to the east.
H.P.B. was just finishing her day’s work, so I passed a half-hour upstairs
with her volunteer secretary, a disciple who served her with boundless devotion,
giving up everything for her cause, and fighting her battles bravely, to be
stormed at in return, unremittingly for seven years. I had known him two
years before, in the days of Mohini Chatterji, the velvet-robed Brahman with
glossy tresses and dusky face and big luminous eyes. So we talked of old times,
and of H.P.B.’s great book, The Secret Doctrine , and he read me resonant stan-<
zas about Universal Cosmic Night, when Time was not; about the Luminous
Sons of Manvantaric Dawn; and the Armies of the Voice; about the Water Men
Terrible and Bad, and the Black Magicians of Lost Atlantis; about the Sons of
Will and Yoga and the Ring Pass-Not; about the Great Day Be-With-Us, when
all shall be perfected into one, re-uniting “thyself and others, myself and thee.”
So the half-hour passed, and I went downstairs to see the Old Lady. She
was in her writing-room, just rising from her desk, and clad in one of those
dark blue dressing-gowns she loved. My first impression was of her rippled
> B^Charles Johnston, from The Theosophical Forum, Vol. 5. No. 12, April, 1900, page 221; and Vol. 6, No. 1,
May^^po, page 2.
157
i 5 8 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
hair as she turned, then her marvellously potent eyes, as she welcomed me.
“My dear fellow! I am so glad to see you! Come in and talk! You are just in
time to have some tea!” And a hearty handshake.
Then a piercing call for “Louise”, and her Swiss maid appeared, to receive a
voluble torrent of directions in French, and H.P.B. settled herself snugly into
an armchair, comfortably near her tobacco-box, and began to make me a
cigarette. The cuffs of a Jaeger suit showed round her wrists, only setting off
the perfect shape and delicacy of her hands, as her deft fingers, deeply stained
with nicotine, rolled the white rice-paper round Turkish tobacco. When we
were comfortably alight, she told me a charming tale of Louise s devotion. She
had got away from her base of supplies somewhere, in Belgium I think, and
things were rather tight for awhile. A wealthy gentleman called to see the
famous Russian witch, and tipped her maid munificently. As soon as he was
gone, Louise appeared, blushing and apologizing: “Perhaps madame will not be
offended”, she stammered, “but I do not need money; enfin—madame consen-
tira ...” and she tried to transfer the douceur to her mistress.
Louise’s entry cut short the story, and H.P.B. turned with a quizzically
humorous smile to another theme: “Of course you have read the S.P.R. Report?
—The Spookical Research Society—and know that I am a Russian spy, and the
champion impostor of the age?”
“Yes, I read the Report. But I knew its contents already. I was at the
meeting when it was first read, two years ago.”
“Well”, said H.P.B., again smiling with infinite humour, “and what impres¬
sion did the frisky lambkin from Australia make upon your susceptible heart?”
“A very deep one. I decided that he must be a very good young man, who
always came home to tea; and that the Lord had given him a very good conceit
of himself. If he got an opinion into his head, he would plow away blandly,
and contrary facts would be quite invisible. But your case was not the first
on the list. They had a paper on modem witchcraft, at which another of your
accusers proved that pinches and bums could be sent by thought-transference
to a person miles away. It was quite gruesome, and suggested ducking-stools.
Then you came on. But as far as I could see, the young Colonial had never
really investigated any occult phenomena at all; he simply investigated dim
and confused memories about them in the minds of indifferent witnesses. And
all that Mr. Sinnett says in the Occult World seems to me absolutely unshaken
by the whole Report. The Poet, the third of your accusers, came down among
us after the meeting, and smilingly asked me what I thought of it. I answered
that it was the most unfair and one-sided thing I had ever heard of, and that
if I had not already been a member of your Society, I should have joined on the
strength of that attack. He smiled a kind of sickly smile, and passed on.”
“I am glad you think so, my dear”, she answered in her courtly way, “for
now I can offer you some tea with a good conscience.” Louise had laid a white
cloth on the comer table, brought in a tray, and lit the lamp. The secretary
soon joined us, receiving a tart little sermon on being unpunctual, which he
was not. Then we came back to her friends, the Psychical Researchers.
HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY
i59
“They will never do much”, said H.P.B. “They go too much on material
lines, and they are far too timid. That was the secret motive that turned them
against me. The young Colonial went astray, and then the bell-wethers of the
flock followed in his wake, because they were afraid of raising a storm if they
said our phenomena were true. Fancy what it would have meant! Why it
would practically have committed Modem Science to our Mahatmas and all I
have taught about the inhabitants of the occult world and their tremendous
powers. They shrank at the thought of it, and so they made a scapegoat of
this poor orphan and exile.” And her eyes were full of humorous pity for
herself.
“It must have been something like that”, I answered, “for there is simply
no backbone in the Report itself. It is the weakest thing of the kind I
have ever read. There is not a shred of real evidence in it from beginning to
end.”
“Do you really think so? That’s right!” cried H.P.B.; and then she turned
on her secretary, and poured in a broadside of censure, telling him he was
greedy, idle, untidy, unmethodical, and generally worthless. When he ven¬
tured an uneasy defence, she flared up and declared that he “was bom a flap¬
doodle, lived a flapdoodle, and would die a flapdoodle”. He lost his grip, and
not unnaturally made a yellow streak of egg across her white tablecloth.
“There!” cried H.P.B., glaring at him with withering scorn, and then turn¬
ing to me for sympathy in her afflictions. That was her way, to rate her dis¬
ciples in the presence of perfect strangers. It speaks volumes for her, that they
loved her still.
I tried to draw a red herring across the track,—not that there were any on
the table. We were limited to tea, toast and eggs.
“The funny thing about the Psychical Researchers”, I said, “is that they
have proved for themselves that most of these magical powers are just what
you say they are, and they seem to have bodily adopted, not to say, stolen,
your teaching of the Astral Light. Take the thing that has been most made
fun of: the journeys of adepts and their pupils in the astral body; you knj
how severe they are about poor Damodar and his journeys in his astral
from one part of India to another, and even from India over to London,
they themselves have perfectly sound evidence of the very same thing. I know
one of their Committee, a professor of physics, who really discovered thought-
transference and made all the first experiments in it. He showed me a number
of their unpublished papers, and among them was an account of just such astral
journeys made quite consciously. I think the astral traveller was a young
doctor, but that is a detail. The point is, that he kept a diary of his visits, and
a note of them was also kept by the person he visited, and the two perfectly
coincide. They have the whole thing authenticated and in print, and yet when
^>u make the very same claim, they call you a fraud. I wonder why?”
“Partly British prejudice”, she answered; “no Englishman ever believes
any good of a Russian. They think we are all liars. You know they shadowed
me for months in India, as a Russian spy? I don’t understand”, she went on
i6o
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
meditatively, yet with a severe eye on her secretary, “I don’t understand how
these Englishmen can be so very sure of their superiority, and at the same time
in such terror of our invading India.”
‘‘We could easily hold our own if you did, ventured the patriotic
secretary, pulling himself together, but evidently shaky yet, and avoiding her
eye. She was down on him in an instant:
‘‘Why!” she cried, ‘‘what could you do with your poor little army? I tell
you, my dear, when the Russians do meet the English on the Afghan frontier,
we shall crush you like fleas!”
I never saw anything so overwhelming. She rose up in her wrath like the
whole Russian army of five millions on a war footing and descended on the
poor Briton’s devoted head, with terrific weight. When she was roused, H.P.B.
was like a torrent; she simply dominated everyone who came near her; and
her immense personal force made itself felt always, even when she was sick and
suffering, and with every reason to be cast down. I have never seen anything
like her tremendous individual power. She was the justification of her own
teaching of the divinity of the will. ‘‘But H.P.B.”—hesitated the secretary.
But she crushed him with a glance, and he desperately helped himself to more
buttered toast only to be accused of gluttony.
Again I attempted a diversion: ‘‘There is one thing about the S.P.R. Report
I want you to explain. What about the writing in the occult letters?”
‘‘Well, what about it?” asked H.P.B., immediately interested.
‘‘They say that you wrote them yourself, and that they bear evident marks
of your handwriting and style. What do you say to that?”
‘‘Let me explain it this way”, she answered, after a long gaze at the end of
her cigarette. ‘‘Have you ever made experiments in thought-transference? If
you have, you must have noticed that the person who receives the mental pic¬
ture very often colours it, or even changes it slightly, with his own thought,
and this where perfectly genuine transference of thought takes place. Well,
it is something like that with the precipitated letters. One of our Masters, who
perhaps does not know English, and of course has no English handwriting,
wishes to precipitate a letter in answer to a question sent mentally to him.
Let us say he is in Tibet, while I am in Madras or London. He has the answer¬
ing thought in his mind, but not in English words. He has first to impress that
thought on my brain, or on the brain of someone else who knows English, and then
to take the word-forms that rise up in that other brain to answer the thought.
Then he must form a clear mind-picture of the words in writing, also drawing
on my brain, or the brain of whoever it is, for the shapes. Then either through
me or some Chela with whom he is magnetically connected, he has to precipi¬
tate these word-shapes on paper, first sending the shapes into the Chela’s mind,
and then driving them into the paper, using the magnetic force of the Ch£la
to do the printing, and collecting the material, black or blue or red, as the case
may be, from the astral light. As all things dissolve into the astral light, the
will of the magician can draw them forth again. So he can draw forth colours
of pigments to mark the figure in the letter, using the magnetic force of the
HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY
161
Ch61a to stamp them in, and guiding the whole by his own much greater mag¬
netic force, a current of powerful will.”
“That sounds quite reasonable”, I answered. “Won’t you show me how it
is done?”
“You would have to be clairvoyant”, she answered, in a perfectly direct and
matter-of-fact way, “in order to see and guide the currents. But this is the
point: Suppose the letter precipitated through me; it would naturally show some
traces of my expressions, and even of my writing; but all the same, it would be
a perfectly genuine occult phenomenon, and a real message from that Mahatma.
Besides, when all is said and done, they exaggerate the likeness of the writings.
And experts are not infallible. We have had experts who were just as positive
that I could not possibly have written those letters, and just as good experts, too.
But the Report says nothing about them. And then there are letters, in just
the same handwriting, precipitated when I was thousands of miles away. Dr.
Hartmann received more than one at Adyar, Madras, when I was in London;
I could hardly have written that.”
“They would simply say Dr. Hartmann was the fraud, in that case.”
“Certainly”, cried H.P.B., growing angry now; “we are all frauds and liars,
and the lambkin from Australia is the only true man. My dear, it is too much.
It is insolent!” And then she laughed at her own warmth, a broad, good-
humoured Homeric laugh, as hers always was, and finally said:
“But you have seen some of the occult letters? What do you say?”
“Yes”, I replied; “Mr. Sinnett showed me about a ream of them; the whole
series that the Occult World and Esoteric Buddhism are based on. Some of them
are in red, either ink or pencil, but far more are in blue. I thought it was pencil
at first, and I tried to smudge it with my thumb; but it would not smudge.”
“Of course not!” she smiled; “the colour is driven into the surface of the
paper. But what about the writings?”
“I am coming to that. There were two: the blue writing, and the red; they
were totally different from each other, and both were quite unlike yours. I
have spent a good deal of time studying the relation of handwriting to char¬
acter, and the two characters were quite clearly marked. The blue was evi¬
dently a man of very gentle and even character, but of tremendously strong
will; logical, easy-going, and taking endless pains to make his meaning cle^p
It was altogether the handwriting of a cultivated and very sympathetic matl^
“Which I am not”, said H.P.B., with a smile; “that is Mahatma Koothoomi;
he is a Kashmiri Brahman by birth, you know, and has travelled a good deal in
Europe. He is the author of the Occult World letters, and gave Mr. Sinnett
most of the material of Esoteric Buddhism. But you have read all about it.
“Yes, I remember he says you shriek across space with a voice like Sarasvati’s
peacock. Hardly the sort of thing you would say of yourself.”
“Of course not”, she said; “I know I am a nightingale. But what about the
« er writing?”
_ The red? Oh that is wholly different. It is fierce, impetuous, dominant,
strong; it comes in volcanic outbursts, while the other is like Niagara Falls.
162
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
One is fire, and the other is the ocean. They are wholly different, and both
quite unlike yours. But the second has more resemblance to yours than the
first.”
‘‘This is my Master”, she said, “whom we call Mahatma Morya. I have his
picture here.”
And she showed me a small panel in oils. If ever I saw genuine awe and
reverence in a human face, it was in hers, when she spoke of her Master. He
was a Rajput by birth, she said, one of the old warrior race of the Indian desert,
the finest and handsomest nation in the world. Her Master was a giant, six
feet eight, and splendidly built; a superb type of manly beauty. Even in the
picture, there is a marvellous power and fascination; the force, the fierceness
even, of the face; the dark, glowing eyes, which stare you out of countenance;
the clear-cut features of bronze, the raven hair and beard—all spoke of a tre¬
mendous individuality, a very Zeus in the prime of manhood and strength. I
asked her something about his age. She answered:
“My dear, I cannot tell you exactly, for I do not know. But this I will tell
you. I met him first when I was twenty,—in 1851. He was in the very prime
of manhood then. I am an old woman now, but he has not aged a day. He is
still in the prime of manhood. That is all I can say. You may draw your own
conclusions.”
“Have the Mahatmas discovered the elixir of life?”
“That is no fable”, said H.P.B. seriously. “It is only the veil hiding a real
occult process, warding off age and dissolution for periods which would seem
fabulous, so I will not mention them. The secret is this: for every man, there
is a climacteric, when he must draw near to death; if he has squandered his
life-powers, there is no escape for him; but if he has lived according to the law,
he may pass through, and so continue in the same body almost indefinitely.”
Then she told me something about other Masters and adepts she had known,
—for she made a difference, as though the adepts were the captains of the occult
world, and the Masters were the generals. She had known adepts of many
races, from Northern and Southern India, Tibet, Persia, China, Egypt; of
various European nations, Greek, Hungarian, Italian, English; of certain races
in South America, where she said there was a Lodge of adepts.
“It is the tradition of this which the Spanish Conquistadores found”, she
said, “the golden city of Manoah or El Dorado. The race is allied to the an¬
cient Egyptians, and the adepts have still preserved the secret of their dwelling-
place inviolable. There are certain members of the Lodges who pass from
centre to centre, keeping the lines of connection between them unbroken. But
they are always connected in other ways.”
“In their astral bodies?”
“Yes”, she answered, “and in other ways still higher. They have a common
life and power. As they rise in spirituality, they rise above difference of race,
to our common humanity. The series is unbroken.”
(To be continued.)
Make Life Worth Living , by the Rev. Dr. Joseph R. Sizoo; The Macmillan
Co., New York, 1938; price, $1.75.
We cannot too highly recommend this book as a defence of religious prin¬
ciples against the irreligion and materialism of to-day. Dr. Sizoo, who is of
French Huguenot extraction and of Dutch parentage, is at present the minister
of the well-known Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas in New York. He is also
Vice-President of the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America,—
which is, incidentally, the only good thing we know of that Council. How he
can get along with his associates, considering the difference between his phi¬
losophy and theirs, is not easy to imagine; for his philosophy, though not mys¬
tical, is in most respects theosophical, while theirs seems to be: Give them
plenty to eat, and lots of leisure, and religion will take care of itself.
The following extracts will give some idea of Dr. Sizoo’s attitude:
[The church] does not stop with social justice, but with divine justice. It does not
put man, but God, in the centre. It is not concerned with the distribution of wealth,
but with the stewardship of wealth, which is infinitely higher and more difficult.
It is the function of the church to establish an order in which men shall see more than
the eye can see, hear more than the ear can hear, feel more than the hand can touch.
It is something that begins on earth, but does not end here. It is born in time but will
take eternity to unveil and unfold. It is something that begins with God and ends
with God. Its goal is neither political, social nor economic reform, but the redemp¬
tion of man from sin through the cross of Christ. . . .
The causes of God are never lost causes. The great moral ventures men make, the
holy aspirations to which they cling, the unrequited love through which they live, ai^
the high dreams for which they agonize, are never in vain.
Like most Protestants, Dr. Sizoo has no respect for the purely contemplative
life of certain Roman Catholic religious orders,—an attitude with which it is
difficult for a student of Theosophy to sympathize, considering what we know
of the contemplative side of the Lodge, and of the creative power of prayer
when really spiritual. But he is liberal in his outlook, and, after pleading that
the church should make it easy for people to find God, and hard for them to
forget Him, and that “it must increasingly develop a technique which will foster
that sense of reverence”,—does not hesitate to add: “The Catholic Church
made that contribution, and all too often has the Protestant Church failed
miserably in that respect.”
163
I
164
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
The chapters entitled, “We shall Live and Meet Again”, and “Standing up
to Life”, are particularly valuable. The only blemishes on the book, as we see
it, are that the author is too much inclined to “write down” to the level of his
readers, and descends at times to ordinary journalese (as we have done, in the
use of that word!), while, in one instance, he is distinctly misleading in his his¬
torical summary, implying, as he does, that St. Augustine introduced Chris¬
tianity into England (a.d. 596), thus ignoring the successful labours of St.
Patrick in Somerset and elsewhere, of St. Columba in the north, the evidence of
the early chronicles of the Roman, Eastern, Gallic and Spanish churches that
Joseph of Arimathea established a congregation of Christians at Glastonbury
not long after the Crucifixion, and the narratives of William of Malmesbury
and others, which show that in the second century, under the great-grandson
of Caractacus, a large part of England had accepted Christianity. But these
are trifles in comparison with the merits of a book which, once more, we cannot
praise too highly as a counterblast, within Protestantism, to the materialistic
humanitarianism which is reducing our churches to the equivalent of social
welfare clubs. T.
Souvenirs d’un Journaliste , in three volumes, by Lucien Corpechot; Librairie
Plon, Paris, 1936; price, 13.50 francs a volume.
Figures de Chefs , by Henry Bordeaux; Librairie Plon, Paris, 1937; price, 20
francs.
Some of us love France. We love her so much that her present desperate
plight bears down upon us like a nightmare. We are deeply troubled in our
hearts and minds by the spectacle of a great and noble nation reduced to ap¬
parent impotence by the experiments of ideologues , the intrigues of demagogues,
and the self-seeking of politicians. No American can afford to throw the first
stone, after what has happened here, but there are some Americans who are
peculiarly distressed by the French “new deal”, because they expected better
things of France.
However, those who truly love the genius and inner life of France have not
lost faith in the destiny reserved for her, nor in the recuperative power which
has saved her so many times in the past and which must save her again. She
has the “karma” of many errors which must be exhausted, but so much spiritual
force has been poured into her very soil, that we can conceive of no war and
no revolution which will destroy her before her appointed work is done. The
Lodge does not lightly abandon its “investments”. It can provide those who
will restore the values which seem to be utterly lost. Let us remember Jeanne
d’Arc, Henri IV, Richelieu, Napoleon, and the multitudes who have rallied
again and again, to convert the appearance of complete disaster into certain
victory and peace.
The latest of the saving “miracles” of France, as has been often said, was the
Battle of the Marne, although in truth this “miracle” began before the Great
War and lasted until the Armistice. It is this “miracle” which is the real sub-
REVIEWS
165
ject of these books. M. Corpechot writes, in particular, of the group of men of
letters and men of science, who laboured without rest, during the two decades
before the War, to awaken the conscience of the nation. He was an intimate
friend of Marchand (of Fashoda fame), Quinton, Barr£s, Bourget and many
others. Some of us may have become so cynical, that it is not easy to under¬
stand how public opinion could at any time or in any place be inspired
and directed by men of such culture and temper, but, in that case, all the more
reason for recalling, in these dark times, how before the War, the way of sacrifice
and death in the cause of civilization was prepared, in a certain sense, by a group
of truly civilized people whose love for la doulce France was so intense, so vital,
that it revitalized the heart of the nation by a sort of “contagion of conscious¬
ness”. Who will measure the degree in which these enlightened souls made
possible the glories of the four “terrible years”? Incidentally, as Marchand
and Quinton—to mention only two—amply proved, they were eager and ready
to practise the doctrine of sacrifice and selfless devotion which they preached.
Quinton on the battlefield was as magnificent as a hero of Homer or Plutarch,
or a figure from a romance of chivalry.
Quinton often said: “War is a passion of the soul.” He experienced this passion with
the ardour which he carried into all his feelings. There can be no doubt. He loved war.
He spoke of this love to me when he was dying. He loved war, “because he loved risk,
danger and effort, because he felt the need of spending himself for others, because he
held in horror a life of ease, the life which kills the gods.” He knew the fatigue which is
sometimes “so great on the battle-field, that it makes us desire the release of death”;
he knew privations, cold, extreme danger, wounds, illness. But he loved all that be¬
cause “hunger, combat, sleeplessness raise to the highest degree the moral force of the
man who serves, because a divine soul inhabits the harassed body, because the soul is
purified when the body is exhausted.”
Let us not confuse this heroic version of war, which makes explicit—as it
were—the spirit of the true warrior caste of France, with the blood-lust of the
“militarist”, nor with the pompous boasting of the adventurer. The hero is
neither a murderer nor a clown.
One very real value of M. Corpechot’s book is that it brings consolation and
hope. The human race is not always and necessarily governed by “morons’ll
and barbarians. Barr&s actually sat in the Chamber of Deputies! Such things
happened before: they can happen again. Meanwhile, if the student of The¬
osophy really believes in re-incarnation and in the abiding union of souls who
have loved and worked for the same cause, he cannot doubt that the devotion
of these men to France is a living power in the world beyond death, and that it
will lead them to incarnate again, when cyclic law makes this possible, to defend
the land to which they have dedicated their service. Can we imagine that the
Master, whom they served in serving France, would deny them this privilege?
M. Bordeaux’s work, in a sense, supplements M. Corpechot’s, for it is an
adAtaable and sober study of the military leaders whose strategy, and whose
chanrcter, even more than their strategy, guided France through crisis after
crisis, during the War. He has devoted special attention to Joffre, Fayolle,
Maistre and Serret. All these commanders illustrated qualities which mark
i66
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the traditional French officer. These cannot be easily defined, because what is
paramount but undefinable is the individuality which makes each of them real.
M. Bordeaux, excellent artist as he is, makes manifest the characters of his
heroes by telling the story of their trials and aspirations. Each of them was
an individual, a unique personage, but the foundation of their prestige was the
same for all,—fortitude, vigilance, the will to command and the desire to serve,
uncompromising rigour towards the foe conjoined with paternal kindness
towards all those, even the humblest, who were in their charge. One recalls
the fact that the French military unit is, in a very real sense, a “family”; that
the relation of the captain and the private is that of father and child.
The last chapter of this book contains one of the most beautiful passages to
be found in any account of the Great War. Bordeaux quotes from the diary
of the sous-officier Chambri&res, the account of the death of General Serret on
the scarred and blasted slope of Hartmannsvillerkopf in Alsace. Chambri&res
was devoted heart and soul to the General, whose “standard-bearer” he was.
His simple narrative has the poignant quality of an ancient ballad. We quote
a few sentences, although it is impossible in translation to preserve the moving
force of the original:
From the moment when the General was struck until we found shelter in the shell-
hole, he lost much blood. His trench-helmet served as a pillow and I covered his head
with my dragoon’s casque. I said to him: “General, you must be suffering a great deal.”
He replied: “There is a noble thought in the Imitation of Christ: ‘If you cannot suffer
with joy, suffer at least without complaint.’ ” And he did not complain. His eyes were
closed; I kissed his hand. He opened his eyes and said to me: “I have faith, I am at
peace.” . . . We arrived at last at the dressing-station. The General’s helmet had
fallen on the stretcher; an orderly replaced it. The General said to him: “Not like that,
the stars in front, always.”
Les etoiles en avant toujours. As M. Bordeaux remarks, those words, among
the last which the General spoke, are an inspiration to the lovers of France,
who only in their weaker moments ever lose faith in her destiny and her im¬
mortal genius. S.V.L.
Design in Nature , by James Ritchie, M.A., D.Sc., Professor of Natural His¬
tory in the University of Edinburgh; Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, and
Country Life Limited, London, 1937; price, $2.50.
Professor Ritchie uses as an epigraph a sentence from the writings of Sir
Thomas Pope Blount: “The deeper insight any Man hath into the affairs of
Nature, the more he discovers of the Accurateness, and Art, that is in the
contexture of things.” These words sound the key-note of this delightful book.
We recommend it to all lovers of country life, to all who find the society of birds
and flowers more restful and more entertaining than the society of not a few of
their “fellow-humans”. Professor Ritchie says that his object is “to explain
in simple language the ways in which the living world has been moulded by some
of the forces in inanimate nature—the all-prevailing influence of the sun, the
succession of the seasons, the rhythm of day and night”. He has been
REVIEWS
167
successful, not only because he has mastered his subject, but because he writes
with a clarity and wit which distinguish him from the vast majority of the
popularizers of science.
He states his thesis as follows:
Study any example you like—here for variety we have taken as examples, life in a
wasp’s nest, the spring migration of birds, the significance of song, life in a pond, and so
on, and the impression grows that an understanding of the lives of plants and animals
can be gained only through an understanding of the designs which the rhythms of nature
have imposed upon them.
This is confirmed by observation and experience. All the cycles of the Uni¬
verse collaborate in the shaping of every creature, including man himself.
Recollection of this central fact in Nature should never leave us, for constant
reference to it will illumine much that would otherwise be unintelligible in ex¬
istence. And it is pleasant to witness, in our contacts with our humble brethren
of the fields and forests, countless illustrations of the “Accurateness and Art”
which distinguish the operations of cyclic law. We can take advantage of an
excursion into the country to strengthen our too feeble faith in the deep wisdom
and fitness of the nature of things.
Professor Ritchie is careful to point out that the living creature does not play
a wholly passive r 61 e in the shaping of its destiny. The voice of creative Nature
is lost in the void, unless the creature reply to it. As he remarks, “Life is a
responsive thing”, and its responses are infinitely varied. It is as if Nature, in
all her processes, sought above all to produce a race, not of slaves, but of
collaborators.
Natural selection cannot make an animal fitter, any more than an eliminating round
of a golf tournament makes a man a better golfer, unless it be that, since failure here does
not bring annihilation, fortunately for us, a man may benefit from his experience of the
test. And perhaps in that sense, in impressing the lessons of experience, natural selection
does help to make animals fitter. Even so, and this is the point I wish to be at, the
animal or the golfer is not made fitter by any outside condition; it is himself or itself, the
living creature, which makes the change. There can be no selection unless there are
differences to select, and it is part of the unique character of living matter that it sup¬
plies the differences or variations, some of which lead to increased fitness and so to
survival.
It is interesting to note that The Secret Doctrine defines Kundalini Shaktig
the “universal life-principle”, as the power which brings about both “the conJ
tinuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations”, and the “con¬
tinuous adjustment of external relations to internal relations”. When the
great mystic, Meister Eckhart, affirmed, “God has need of me”, he was stating
a principle which is effective wherever there is life,—which means, according
to Theosophy, everywhere. It is the law that the creature, in order to sur¬
vive, must become in some degree a creator, a co-worker with Nature.
B.D.
Lost Horizon , by James Hilton; William Morrow & Company, New York.
TJ|g novel of adventure in the East has been a best-seller for four years.
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
However, there would be no reason for reviewing it here, if it had not become a
cause of some confusion of thought. It is an excellent “mystery” story; but
there is no evidence whatsoever that its author intended to emulate Bulwer
Lytton and to write an “occult novel”. Nevertheless, undisceming readers
have read into it “occultness”, “spirituality”, and a host of other qualities
which are not there.
It is an original story. A British official and a small group of nondescripts
are kidnapped in an Indian frontier station and transported by aeroplane to
Shangri-La, an earthly paradise in the wilderness of Tibet. Here they find a
community of cultivated men and women of many races, who have solved the
problem of human well-being, and who still appear youthful at the age of a
hundred. The Grand Lama of this happy valley is a French priest who arrived
from Pekin in 1734! “It was his way to accept from native life all that it of¬
fered which he found harmless and pleasant, and to give in return the spiritual
treasure of the West. . . . He even embarked upon the study of certain mystic
practices that the Indians call yoga , and which are based upon various methods
of breathing.” He has kept himself and his disciples alive, by means of “drug¬
taking and deep-breathing exercises”. However, Nature imposes limits, even
in this Tibetan Utopia, and his body finally wears out, though not before he
has time to choose the English hero as his successor. Unfortunately or for¬
tunately, according to the point of view, the Englishman feels constrained by
his sense of duty to run away; but he returns to civilization only to disappear
again, for the call of Shangri-La is too strong. He wants peace and quiet, a
haven of refuge from a storm-tossed world. Not a few people in real life cherish
similar desires,—which may partially explain the popularity of the book.
It would be idiotic to complain that all this is a tissue of impossibilities. Fic¬
tion does not have to be the servant of the possible. But it would be worse
than idiotic to take the plot seriously. It does not give the prescription for the
“elixir of life”. “Drug-taking and deep-breathing exercises” are not the basis
of the true Indian yoga. Shangri-La may resemble some views of Devachan;
it is not, in the remotest sense, a vision of the Trans-Himalayan Lodge. Some¬
thing more than narcotics and a misconceived yoga and a lovely climate, is
required to make the actual physical body of man outlive the centuries. No
one, in the present cycle, can grow fabulously old and, at the same time, live
comfortably, his mind and senses constantly soothed by every delicate pleasure
which nature and art can contrive. Candidates for occult training are not
conscripted at random; nor is it reasonable to expect even a British empire-
builder to fit himself by a few days’ residence in a luxurious lamasery to head a
community of centenarian sages. These propositions are so elementary, so self-
evident, that the reader is justified in wondering whether the reviewer who
repeats them has any sense of humour. Certainly it is not Mr. Hilton’s fault
that such an analysis has seemed necessary. He does not pretend to be a mystic
and seer. He is an entertaining novelist who happened to choose Tibet as the
background of one of his tales.
Many who did not read the book, have seen the “movie” with the same
REVIEWS
169
title. The less said about this, the better. There are some magnificent pano¬
ramas of mountain scenery; but no amount of landscape can redeem the
banality and vulgarity of the characters and their actions. An incredibly silly
love-story has been added to maintain intact the Hollywood tradition. If any¬
one has seen the movie ’ and has liked it, let him look up in any standard
dictionary the definition of “glamour”. y g
The Citadel, by A. J. Cronin; Little, Brown and Co., Boston, 1937; price,
$2.50.
This reviewer dislikes novels. At best they are but psychic reflections of a
psychic reflection of life. But partly because most people will read nothing else;
partly because a good novel broadens the mental outlook, especially of those
who have not seen much of the world, and partly because The Citadel has be¬
come a best-seller both in England and America, and is avowedly a novel with
a purpose, we read it, and on the whole are glad to have done so. The author,
with an established reputation as a novelist, is an M.D., M.R.C.P., and, in this
novel, shows himself as a man with a mission, and manages, while doing this,
to add to, instead of detracting from, the interest of his story. It is the story
of a young doctor with high ideals of his profession, who marries a girl with
ideals as high as his, and whose character is far more stable. She loves him
devotedly, with the whole of her nature, he loves her, but loves himself better.
Desire for success and for money—at first they are very poor—gradually turns
him from his original purpose; he compromises with his conscience and adopts
the unscrupulous professional practices which formerly he had condemned. His
wife realizes this; pleads with him and is roughly rebuffed. She is heart-broken
—for his sake; he resents this against her, and becomes bitterly unkind. It
would not be fair in a review to tell of his awakening and repentance, nor of
their renewed but brief happiness together. She, through her suffering, saves
his soul.
The story is full of dramatic incidents, well told, and, morally, is the cleanest
modem novel we have read in English (there are outstanding French novelists,
such as Henry Bordeaux, who put all our authors to shame in this respect).
But why does Dr. Cronin, who handles matters of sex with such unusual and
welcome refinement, use words in other connections which are needlessly, offen¬
sively vulgar? Once more in these columns we protest: the photography of
hard, sharp outline is not art; it is not even artistic photography. Why should
decent women-readers be affronted by the language of dirty little school¬
boys?
None the less, the book will do good. The character of Christine, the wife,
is in many ways beautiful; and the author’s exposure of commercialized medi¬
cal practice, with its tricks for extracting extra fees, its superficial knowledge,
its intense narrow-mindedness, should be illuminating to those who were not
disillusioned long ago. He does not condemn the profession as a whole. To do
that 'vo^ be both unfair and absurd. There are many doctors whose motives
170
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
and ethical ideals are beyond reproach. Even they, however, are terribly handi¬
capped by the instruction they received when passing through the medical
schools, for that instruction was based upon a purely materialistic if not mech
anistic philosophy, and as that philosophy is false, darkness, not light, flows
from it. And because this is something which Dr. Cronin, with all his learning,
evidently does not realize, his criticisms are less fundamental than he thinks
they are,—except when he upholds honesty, fearlessness, and intellectual in¬
tegrity against their prevailing opposites. There, of course, he is on safe ground,
and we are heart and soul with him; but we cannot follow him in his respect
for “the latest” in scientific development, believing, as we do, that a very small
percentage of “the latest”, whether in theory or method, will survive the expe¬
rience of the next ten years; believing also as we do, that the percentage of
superstition in the medical theory and practice of ancient China, India, Egypt,
or, in later times, of Paracelsus, the two Van Helmonts and other “mystics”,
was probably lower than the percentage of superstition in the orthodox text¬
books of to-day. Wonderful progress has been made in certain directions, but
in other and perhaps more important directions the movement has been retro¬
grade,—and the medical profession is too conceited to be able or willing to
admit this. Girolamo Cardano, the Milanese, knew much that the modern
physician does not know (his autobiography is fascinating reading), even as the
modem physician knows a thousand things of which Cardano knew nothing;
but where is the modem physician or medical student who is capable of turning
with respect to the recorded experience of that sixteenth-century celebrity,
expecting to learn from him, and remaining open-minded when the doctrine
of that day conflicts with the orthodoxy of our present schools? Where is the
medical student of six months’ standing who does not look with pity or mild
amusement upon the “blind gropings” of his predecessors of five hundred or a
thousand years ago? It is not the student’s fault; it is the fault of his instruc¬
tors, whose acquaintance with superficial phenomena is astonishing, but who
fail utterly to grasp the significance of the principle that the cause of all visible
things is in the invisible. So long as they ignore the medium between mental
and emotional states and nerve reactions, they will remain blind leaders of the
blind. A right philosophy is their greatest need, and they will never accept
this if thrust upon them. They can acquire it only by slow assimilation result¬
ing from a study of ancient authors, whom they must approach, not for the
purpose of increasing their own sense of superiority as at present, but with an
honest desire to discover as much truth as possible in the recorded experience
of those who thought more, even though they read less, than we do to-day.
(When will people learn that reading without intelligent and deep thought, is a
hindrance rather than a help to the attainment of understanding!)
In brief, the basis of a sound medical education is not now provided. It will
consist of a study of the history of medical philosophy, which must be taught
by those who will honestly try to help their students to think for themselves,
and to revere the principle: “There is no religion higher than Truth.” Obe¬
dience to that principle will in time lead to the conviction that man is a soul,
REVIEWS
171
functioning through psychic, astral, and nervous bodies of which the physical
is merely the rind or casing,—the outermost expression of the inner, and im¬
portant as the means of contact and communication with the outer world, and
as the instrument through which alone the soul can gain experience and con¬
trol of objective existence. Only when that conviction has been gained by the
majority of those who practise medicine, will Dr. Cronin’s true aims become
possible of attainment. T.
Return from the U.S.S.R., by Andr6 Gide; translated from the French by
Dorothy Bussy; Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1937; price, $1.00.
M. Andr6 Gide is considered one of the greatest living novelists by some
critics, and his opinions carry much weight with the intelligentsia. He is also
a member of the Communist Party. This is the opening paragraph of his book
on his visit to Soviet Russia:
Entering into direct contact with a people of workers in factories, workshops and
yards, in gardens, homes of rest, and “parks of culture”, I had moments of intense joy.
1 felt the establishment of a sudden sympathy between these new comrades and myself;
1 felt my heart expand and blossom. This is why I look more smiling—more laughing
even—in the photographs that were taken of me out there, than 1 am often able to be
in France.
If the reader can bring himself to go on after this exhibition of Gide’s egotism
and lack of humour, he can probably live through the rest of the book. Why
was Gide unable to view French workmen with an equal sympathy and joy, or
with such a beaming countenance? The reader will ask himself this question
not only at the beginning but at the end of the book. We suspect that
Communism is a disease which destroys the faculty of logic as well as the sense
of humour.
M. Gide was full of enthusiasm for the “unprecedented experiments” being
carried out in Soviet Russia. On his return, he ventured to criticize a few of
the results of these experiments—not that he is out of sympathy, of course,
with the principles of Communism, but, because, like many people who approve
of any experiment until it affects themselves, he suffered pain when he came
into contact with the restraints laid upon his own profession, that of Letters.
I believe that a writer’s value is intimately linked to the force of the revolutionary
spirit that animates him—or to be more exact (for 1 am not so mad as to believe, ypat
only left-wing writers have artistic value), to the force of his spirit of opposition.IrT.
For the question arises: what will happen if the transformation of the Social State de¬
prives the artist of all motive for opposition? What will the artist do if there is no reason
for him to go against the current, if all he need do is to let himself be carried by it?
Evidently M. Gide’s idea of revolution is to keep on dancing and shouting
in the same spot, as in a squirrel cage. He does not seem to realize that if
someone who always opposes the government, starts out as a Communist,
eventually he will “revolute” to extreme “ultra-bourgeois” conservatism.
There seem to be signs of this even in the Russian Utopia. “We cannot doubt,
^las, that bourgeois instincts, degraded, greedy, self-centred, slumber in many
172
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
people’s hearts, notwithstanding any revolution (for many can hardly be re¬
formed entirely from the outside); it disquiets me very much to observe, in the
U.S.S.R. to-day, that these bourgeois instincts are indirectly flattered and
encouraged by recent decisions that have been alarmingly approved of over
here.”
“Comrade” Gide’s logic is sometimes positively weird. In one place he says
of Soviet Russia: “I doubt whether in any other country in the world, even
Hitler’s Germany, thought be less free, more bowed down, more fearful
(terrorized), more vassalized.” Later on, in a lucid moment, he admits: “And
as it always happens that we recognize the value of certain advantages only
after we have lost them, there is nothing like a stay in the U.S.S.R. (or of
course in Germany) to help us appreciate the inappreciable liberty of thought
we still enjoy in France—and sometimes abuse.” He does not explain how
France could have developed this liberty of thought during the rule, for a
thousand years, of Capetian “tyrants”. However, he cheers up, and ends
with this thought: “The help that the Soviet union is giving to Spain shows
us what fine capabilities of recovery it still possesses. The Soviet Union has
not yet finished instructing and astonishing us.”
The descriptions of parks of culture and state farms drip with sentimentality.
Gide even achieves an unconscious humour when he tells us of the beauties of
Bolshevo, a large town inhabited entirely by criminals, now all reformed char¬
acters! He attended a meeting where some of them spoke, and says: “It all
reminded me oddly of the series of edifying confessions that I heard at Thun
two years ago during a great meeting of adepts of the Oxford Group.”
Unfortunately, the sentimental and false maunderings of M. Gide’s mind
are those of too many people who ought to know better. The test of our present
era would seem to be that of discrimination between the false and the true, a
discrimination rendered infinitely difficult by the scrambled state of men’s
minds and all national affairs. M. Gide’s book will scarcely carry any illumina¬
tion, but it may well serve as a horrible example. St.C. LaD.
Great Contemporaries , by Winston S. Churchill; Thornton Butterworth, Lon¬
don, 1937; price, 215.; Putnam, New York; price, $4.00.
Winston Churchill’s peculiarities as a politician have been mentioned more
than once in the pages of the Quarterly; often brilliantly right, he is as often
glaringly wrong, both practically and ethically. But he writes as few can, with
perfect clarity, with humour, in a style ideally adapted to his subject. There
is not a dull or superfluous paragraph in these 300 pages, which are delightful
and stimulating reading, and which might well serve as an example to the mul¬
titude of contemporary writers whose utter lack of refinement and poverty of
imagination lead them into the vulgarities, impudicities, and what seems to be
a preference for coarse words, which decent people find revolting, and against
which the Quarterly will never cease to protest. In his most bitter invective
CORRESPONDENCE
i 73
—and Churchill does his best in Great Contemporaries to rend Trotsky limb
from limb—there is not an expression which offends the canons of good taste.
The portraits of the Earl of Rosebery, of Asquith, of F. E. Smith (first Earl
of Birkenhead), of Curzon, of Clemenceau, all based on close contacts, are
masterpieces of character-drawing. His passing references to Kitchener are
unfair and prejudiced; but this was to have been expected, as Kitchener was
several sizes too big for Churchill’s comprehension. Kitchener, for one thing,
was extraordinarily impersonal and detached, while Churchill is nothing if not
vividly personal, without a notion, we suspect, of what detachment means.
That, however, is incidental. We strongly recommend the book to those of
our readers who are interested in men who helped to make European history
during the past fifty years. H.
CORRESPONDENCE
England and Germany
To the Editors oj the Theosophical Quarterly:
As a comment on what is going on between England and Germany to-day,
may I remind your many English readers of something which doubtless they
learned when at school, but which they may have forgotten? I refer to the
procedure of Ethelred, sumamed the “Unready” (a significant name), who
attempted to buy off the incursions of the Danes, and who, for that purpose,
instituted, in 991 a. d., the tax known as Dane-geld,—with the inevitable re¬
sult that the Danish pirates, finding how profitable their demands, threats, and
ravages were, renewed these with increasing success until, in 1017, the Danes
became supreme throughout the greater part of the country.
May those of us who are of English descent, venture to hope that Hitler-
geld, or Deutsch-geld, will not now be levied for a similar purpose?
A suggestion of this kind from America may seem ungracious, if not im¬
pertinent; but the Theosophical Quarterly, although published in New York,
is an international magazine, and may well claim that its repeated condemna¬
tion of the selfishness of the United States in matters of foreign policy—a self^
ishness as short-sighted and inexpedient as it is morally wrong—should
sufficient evidence of your impartiality to justify the insertion of my reminder.
Old Member.
March 9th , 1938.
Try first thyself , and after call in God;
For to the worker God Himself lends aid .— Euripides.
Question No. 406. —What is the difference between a saint, a disciple, and a chUa?
Answer. —There are various grades of saints, disciples and chfilas. Often, a saint’s de¬
velopment, though truly splendid, is along one main line, that of holiness. A disciple’s devel¬
opment is more rounded, and leads to a better balanced and clearer idea of his Master’s
requirements of him. The chfila must develop his whole nature wisely, putting it, in toto, at
the disposal of his Master; becoming at one with him in mind, in heart, in strength, so that
he instinctively, and with understanding, carries forward the plan and purpose of his spiritual
Father. G.M.W.K.
Answer. —The lives and writings of the saints reveal an almost overwhelming sense of their
own sinfulness and unworthiness, thereby displaying great humility, which is the basis of all
the virtues. Another outstanding characteristic of the saint is intense love and devotion to his
Master. These qualities are essentials to discipleship and to ch&aship, but are by no means
all that are needed by the aspirant to either. The disciple has these qualities of the saint,
plus others, chief among which is a certain degree of understanding, but minus the limitations
of creed and dogma which narrow the vision of the saint. Discipleship has been described as
the preliminary step to ch&aship, which is the completion of discipleship. The disciples of
the Master Christ, in spite of their close association with him, failed for the most part, during
his lifetime, to understand his nature and mission. St. Paul and St. John, on the other hand,
are said to have been initiated chSlas; and it is clear that there was a great change in all the
disciples following Pentecost. Discipleship means self-surrender, and many who think they
desire it fail to realize that they have not surrendered their own wills, which in many cases is
due to inability to judge their motives correctly through lack of self-knowledge.
The chdla becomes; he is not made. The process of becoming involves growth in self-
knowledge, which enables him to use his entire nature wisely, and also growth in understanding
of the laws of Nature, of the Universe, and of the spiritual world, which are, in reality, one
and the same. He also grows in likeness to his Master, until he becomes an “accepted chfila”,
when his mind and heart and will are united with his Master’s. G.H.M.
Answer. —A saint is one who has attained to a certain degree of holiness. A disciple is one
who has attained that, and also a certain degree of understanding. One description of chfila-
ship is as follows: “Chfila (literally ‘child’) is usually translated ‘disciple’, but the word means
much more than this. The steps of the evolutionary scale between man as we know him, and
Masters, are filled by ch£las of various grades, lay-ch£las, probationary chfilas, accepted
chSlas, etc. Its higher grades are said to involve a closeness, a degree of union with the chela’s
Master beyond anything in our experience. Such ch£laship, in addition to the attainment of
first-hand knowledge of the Divine, implies a higher, richer and more selfless state of con¬
sciousness, a 'change of polarity’ in which the centre of the chela’s interest is transferred from
himself to his Master and his Master’s work. It is not an outer condition and cannot be
conferred, but must be attained by the man himself as the result of his own inner develop¬
ment. The rules governing this development constitute the scientific basis for ethics. Its
attainment is possible in any outer circumstances. ... It is the next step in human
evolution.” J.F.B.M.
174
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
i 75
Question No. 407 .—When in doubt as to what course to follow, and when one honestly seeks
inspiration or guidance and cannot find it, what is wrong?
Answer. —When we seek, do we at the same time ask? If we have asked, do we then listen?
If we listen, do we continue to listen, intently and with faith, or do we become impatient and
self-centred, and so impair and dull our true power of hearing? What kind of an answer do
we await? Do we expect to see, in a blinding flash, our entire future course mapped out for
us in the most minute detail? Or are we content and satisfied to go step by step, acting upon
such guidance as we are able to recognize, first at one point and then at another, until, as we
slowly build, we finally realize that each separate act is becoming part of an harmonious and
ordered whole? Let us ask ourselves as well whether it is that we want to do the right thing,
or whether what we really desire is, that the right thing should be done and that we may
merely do our part in it aright. C.R.A.
Answer. —Those above us are always eager to give all the inspiration and guidance we
need, and which we have made ourselves capable of receiving. Our failure to find guidance
may be due to many different causes. Perhaps the answer to our problem is written clearly
in our own experience, and what we are wanted to do is to examine that experience to learn
its neglected lessons. Good teachers help a pupil, but do not solve his problems for him.
Life sets us problems to teach us how to live.
It is not generally recognized that to perceive truth is supremely difficult,—as difficult as
to live rightly. In fact, perception depends on right living, for only those who live the life
can know the doctrine. Every fault we have, obscures or distorts our perception of truth.
No vain man, for example, can ever give a true, justly proportioned account of any incident
in which he himself was concerned. The skill of the mind in altering and colouring its picture of
events for reasons of vanity or self-justification, is a matter of every-day observation. Guid¬
ance from above is received from a much higher level than that of our mental processes, and
must be interpreted to our every-day consciousness by the mind. To the extent to which
the mind is "impure”, is under the habitual domination of self-love, self-will, self-indulgence,
etc., there is danger that the guidance will be distorted or perverted. Failure to recognize
the difficulty of interpreting divine guidance through polluted human minds, is one of the
great errors of Buchmanism. The probability of misinterpretation must often make it impos¬
sible for Masters to supply the guidance they long to give. One essential is a genuine desire
on our part for the truth, irrespective of vanity, hurt feelings, personal predilections, or any¬
thing else. A test is the way we receive criticism. When we have learned to welcome it, we
have gone a long way toward earning guidance. J.F.B.M.
Answer. —The trouble may be lack of practice. Spiritual faculties, like physical and
mental ones, require development and cultivation and constant use. If one habitually ide^k
tifies himself with his personality, obeys the commands of self-love, self-indulgence, and sa|^
will, and is guided by worldly wisdom rather than desire for Truth, his intuitive powers hfWe
little opportunity to manifest themselves. He does not recognize or value them. Is it surprising
that when, in time of trouble, he does seek guidance, he finds only uncertainty? C.M.S.
Answer. —It is questionable if one who honestly seeks guidance, will fail to find it. We
have the promise: "Seek, and ye shall find”. The lower nature employs many wiles to keep
us from our goal: over-scrupulousness may be used to screen timidity and vanity; laziness
and mental inertia may cause us to wait for someone else to solve our problems. A motto in
an office reads: "He who never makes a mistake, never does anything.” G.H.M.
Answer. —Our understanding is not sufficiently awakened to grasp what is before us, for
^tepiration and guidance are always at hand. Doubtless our blindness at this point is a result
^previous disobedience, our refusal to follow and act on light that was revealed. To regain
our lost estate, and to quicken our awareness, we can be humbly and meticulously obedient
to such spiritual truth as we can see. It is said that obedience invariably brings understanding.
G.M.W.K.
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 30th, 1938, 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 are 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, May 1st, at 4 p. m., tea will be served at 64, Washington Mews, to dele¬
gates, members, and their friends.
I. E. Perkins,
Secretary , The Theosophical Society ,
P. 0 . Box 64, Station 0 , New York, N. Y.
February 15th, 1938.
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 will be meetings on,—
April 9th and 23rd, May 7th.
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.
176
tKf)t GTfjeojSopfjtcal ^ocietp
Founded by P. Blavatsky at Dew 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 '"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 expected to aceord 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 Theosophies 1 Society in America by its delegates and
members in Convention assembled, does hereby proclaim
fraternal good will and kindly feeling: toward all students of
Theosophy and member* of Theosophical Societies wherever
and however situated* It further proclaims and avers its
hearty sympathy and association with such persons and
organisations 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 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 eoa-.
firm a scientific basis for ethics .
“And lastly, it invites to its membership those who, seek*
fng a higher life hereafter, would learn to know the path to
tread in this,”
Applications for membership should be addressed to the
• Secretary T. S., P .O. Box 64 , Station O, New York.
XXXV, No. 3 JULY, 1938
PUBLISHED BY
THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
THE THEOSOPniCAL 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,
caste or colour. The subsidiary objects are: 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 Theosophical Quarterly is the official organ of the original
Theosophical Society founded in New York by II. P. Blavatsky ,
W. Q. Judge and others , in 1875.
We have no connection whatsoever with any other organization
calling itself Theosophical , formerly headed by Mrs. Besant, nor
with similar bodies , the purposes and methods of which are wholly
foreign to our own.
Editors, Tiie Theosophical Qcarterlt.
JULY, 1938
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.
Omne Vivum Ex Ovo
0 science would be possible, if the universe were not one , a cosmos, in
which all events are linked together and somehow correspond to one
^ 1 another. There are many planes and modes of existence, and each
being regards the Whole from a different point of view; but there is no contra¬
diction between various aspects of the one and indivisible Truth. Natura
non facit saltum: Nature does not proceed by leaps and bounds. If the future
were not continuous with the present and the present with the past, we could
trust no calculation and plan no action. When something unexpected, like
a “miracle”, seems to disrupt the natural order, its occurrence merely proves
that we do not understand Nature as completely as we may have assumed.
The unexpected is as normal as the expected; and the wise man, admitting
the vastness of his ignorance, ceases to be surprised by anything which hap¬
pens. Moreover, reasoning from the known to the unknown, he comes to the
conclusion that everything which seems ordinary by dint of repetition, must
have at one time appeared extraordinary. The laws of Nature are consent,
but the laws of Nature are also laws of growth. The extraordinary iarfon-
tinually growing out of the ordinary. The process is as natural and also as
mysterious as the leafing of a tree in May.
It is sufficiently extraordinary that anything whatsoever should exist. How¬
ever, materialistic habits of thought are so ingrained to-day, that many find
it easier to imagine the normal order of existence as lifeless rather than as
living. A stone or a lump of clay, which is rashly assumed to be “dead matter”,
appears to be more “natural” than a plant or an animal or a man. Indeed, the
apparition of what is called organic life on this planet, literally offends the
majority of scientists, because it does not fit into their ideas as to what ought
to take place in a neat and tidy universe.
f The trouble is that organic life cannot be manufactured, like steel or soap,
in a laboratory. Omne vivum ex ovo; everything living is bom from an egg or
179
i8o
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
germ; life alone can produce life. Thus the biologist is faced with a variant
of the old riddle: Which came first, the hen or the egg? And as so often hap¬
pens in the case of riddles, he has given up the attempt to answer it and has
changed the subject. What else can he do, as long as he persists in the notion
that life is nothing but an abnormal conjunction of chemical and physical
factors? Following, in imagination, the lines of evolution backwards, he ap¬
proaches a point in time when the physical state of the earth must have been
radically different from what it is to-day. The organisms which exist now,
could not have existed then. How then did life originate, when there could
be no “hen” and no “egg”? As can be easily seen, this riddle is even more
exasperating than the one which it has displaced; for ex nihilo nihil fit: nothing
can be created out of nothing. All that is left for the biologist to do is to as¬
sume that life is virtually nothing at all, since it is merely the “epiphenomenon”
of a preposterous chemical accident. More than one scientist has not hesi¬
tated to affirm that Nature herself has never duplicated this “accident”; that
our little earth must be the only life-bearing orb in space. Thus it has become
conventional to represent life as so utterly insignificant that, in any compre¬
hensive description of the Universe, it can be completely ignored, as even
the most meticulous housewife takes no account of an infinitesimal speck of
dust on an otherwise spotless surface.
Life Alone Can Produce Life
The age of blind and stubborn dogmatism did not come to an end, as some
have fondly supposed, when modem science superseded mediaeval theology as
the supreme arbiter of human opinions. No schoolman ever clung more tena¬
ciously to his preconceptions than does the typical modern biologist. The
biologist does not reason from the known to the unknown, for wherever he
bas studied life, he knows that it has proceeded from something living. No
•one can propound a just theory of organic evolution, unless he accept this
attested truth as his starting-point. The difficulties of the scientist arise,
because he arbitrarily defines life as the unique attribute of the “organic”
kingdoms, of vegetables and animals and the human species; because he de¬
claims against the possibility of any forms of life under conditions different
from those which accompany the formation of terrestrial physical organisms.
The idea of living beings with spiritual or astral bodies, dwelling upon planes
where our consciousness is not at present objective, is of course wholly mean¬
ingless to him; the worlds inhabited by angels and nature-spirits, by the Gods,
Demi-Gods and Heroes of ancient mystagogy, are for him as incredible as
■“Alice in Wonderland”. But he finds almost equally fantastic the theory
that there may be life on other planets, like Venus or Mars. How can this
be, he asks, if their climatic conditions are evidently unlike ours, and carbon,
oxygen, hydrogen and nitrogen do not occur there in the same proportions as
on earth? What is even more to the point, he recognizes no evidence of living
activity, that is to say, of purposeful activity, in the mineral kingdom, in spite
of the behaviour of crystals, in spite of the fact that the study of filterable
NOTES AND COMMENTS
181
viruses proves how difficult it is to draw the boundary between the inorganic
and organic realms.
The student of Theosophy ventures to suggest that physical, terrestrial or¬
ganic life is only one of the infinite number of the “forms” of life in the great
Universe; that life is co-extensive with Nature; that life is as omnipresent as
Being and is identical with Being. Wherever there is any “organization” of
“matter” in any kingdom, in any dimension, on any plane, there the universal
life-force is at work, building for itself some vehicle through which it can attain
some measure of expression, some degree of what Leibniz called “apperceptive
consciousness”. Thus the aphorism, onine vivum ex ovo, has universal meaning,
applying not only to the birth of individuals but to that of species and classes
and kingdoms: each “form” necessarily emerges from a germ developed within
the matrix of another “form”.
Doubtless, at one time, when the earth was young, “organic” life —as we
understand it —did not exist. Then, to use the jargon of contemporary biology,
a “mutation” or “emergence” presumably occurred, and something which
might be described as an “organism” was bom. But why do we assume that
such an event must have been an outlandish and unheard-of thing? We are
constantly experiencing “mutations” in our own lives, whenever, in fact, our
consciousness is impressed by any new or unfamiliar sensation or idea. If
the “organic” developed out of the “inorganic”, this must have been because
the promise and potency of the “organic” was present in the “inorganic”.
The Possibilities of Life Cannot Be Exhausted
If life be as universal as Nature, it is as beginningless and as endless as Na¬
ture, proceeding—as Theosophy teaches—through cycles of Pralaya and Man-
vantara, alternately exfoliating from unity to multiplicity and indrawing
from multiplicity to unity. It would seem that the path of life is figured by
an endless climbing spiral, not by a straight line that either stops or continues
indefinitely in one direction. Its possibilities cannot be exhausted, as the
biologist pretends, by a single “organic” evolution which terminates in the
production of physical man. If the mineral contain the germ or potentiality
of all plant and animal life, we may logically infer that the animal maiyn
turn contains the germ or potentiality of a superior form of being, the spir^hl
man.
Some scientists have suggested that physical organic evolution has spent
its force. There is evidence that the tendency to multiply species has been
decreasing in intensity since the early Tertiary; that in a certain sense the
fauna and flora of our globe have approximated to their definitive forms in
the present great cycle. In spite of their eagerness to find their ape-like an¬
cestors, anthropologists are obliged to testify that the physical appearance
of man has scarcely changed during a period of more than a million years.
Not unnaturally the spectacle of a world in which evolution has stopped, does
^ot provide a reassuring outlook for the future. What will happen to man?
Most of those who speculate upon this problem are quite ready to admit that
182
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
they do not know, but many are inclined to expect the worst. It is fashion¬
able to offer an alternative between two prospects: either Nature herself will
destroy man by a series of catastrophes, or man by his ineradicable folly will
destroy himself.
The student of Theosophy sees no reason for indulging in a blind optimism;
but he does not share the notion that the creative force of life on this planet
is diminishing. Evolution has not stopped. It has changed its direction.
There is a theosophical hypothesis that many millions of years ago evolution
passed a “mid-way point”, when the human kingdom became definitely es¬
tablished as part of the physical order. At that moment, it is said, the major
tide of the life-force turned, and, after flowing downwards and outwards into
“matter” for aeons, began to indraw upwards, to return, as it were, to Spirit.
It created physical man at the climax of the “descent into matter”; but the
physical man, the mortal, was designed to be the matrix from which could
be born the spiritual man, the immortal. According to the theosophical teach¬
ing, the next stage of evolution is, or should be, the emergence and growth of
new and higher forms of human or “superhuman” life.
We know how absurd this must sound to the scientific ear. But there is
ample testimony that such new and higher forms have already appeared. The
qualities of mind and heart which we regard as most distinctively human—
such as self-sacrificing love for values that are neither personal nor physical—
cannot be adequately described as specializations of ordinary animal qualities.
Nor can we explain, as a mere by-product of animal evolution, the nature
of the Slite of mankind, of those who, like the Buddha and the Christ, have
completely proved that it is possible for the human being to transcend him¬
self, to immortalize himself, to liberate consciousness from the personal and
physical limitations that are so familiar to us. Since the universe is one, the
“spiritual” is doubtless foreshadowed and prepared by the “animal”, but
the “spiritual” is not a “species” of the “animal”. Although a spiritual being
may be said to come into manifestation through a transformation or transmu¬
tation of animal nature, it grows and evolves in its own distinct “kingdom”.
Theosophy therefore proposes the doctrine that the cycle of evolution has
turned inwards from multiplicity towards unity, from the phenomenal to¬
wards the noumenal world. The emphasis of creation has been shifted from
the outer to the inner world, and this transfer would seem to be intimately
connected with the development of man as a self-conscious, responsible indi¬
vidual, whose first mission is to co-operate with Nature in the creation of him¬
self as a living soul.
The Mystery of Transformation
If the laws of transformation and growth be consistent and constant, the
passage from potentiality to realization in every kingdom must illustrate the
same fundamental principles. When we observe the growth of a plant from
a seed, we are witnessing the way in which every potentiality unfolds, the way
in which all that is invisible in Nature exfoliates into a visible form.
The study of vegetable growth should make clear one simple fact. The
NOTES AND COMMENTS
183
seed will never grow of itself; it must receive a stimulus from external forces.
The potential plant will remain potential for ever, unless the life within it be
quickened. There must be contact with earth and water and air, and there
must be enough heat to start and maintain organic action. Above all, the
growing plant must be placed where there is light; for without light it cannot
build its body, it cannot convert “inorganic” into “organic” substance, it
cannot “diligently separate the subtile from the gross”. To recapitulate, in
order that a plant may come to maturity, three factors are indispensable.
There must be the seed, containing potentially the form of the plant and the
spark of life; there must be the substances of earth and air and water which
are integrated into the form as it develops, and which constitute the elements upon
which the spark of life feeds; and there must be the immaterial agencies of
light and heat, directly or indirectly derived from the Sun, the cosmic energies
which ignite the spark—so to speak—drawing it out of its latent condition
and interacting with it. However we may explain it, it is by virtue of this
interaction between the active force of radiation and the potential force within
the seed and the growing plant, that the essential vital organic activities are
carried on.
Theosophy points to one underlying cause of the dependence of organic life
upon radiant energy. “The Sun is the store-house of Vital Force, which is the
Noumenon of Electricity; and it is from its mysterious, never-to-be-fathomed
depths, that issue those life-currents which thrill through Space, as through
the organisms of every living thing on Earth” (The Secret Doctrine , ed. 1893,
I* 579 )- Elsewhere it is suggested that from or through the Sun proceeds “that
vital and intelligent Force which informs the seed and develops it into the
blade of grass, or the root and sapling. It is the germ which becomes the Upadhi
of the seven principles of the thing it resides in, shooting them out as the latter
grows and develops” (op. cit. } I, 311). It may be assumed that in its aspect
as the reservoir of life or prana , the Sun is not simply the shining orb which
we see in the sky, but is the body of its radiance filling the solar system in its
entirety; and that the planets and all their creatures live within it, as tissues
or cells of that body. That is why for any organism on earth, insulation from
radiant energy is equivalent to death.
Potentiality and Realization
According to an old definition of the mystics, matter is “crystallized spirit”.'
It is, as it were, spirit without the clear consciousness that it is spirit. But
because it is still spirit, as Plotinus says, there is always, even in the deepest
abyss of material existence, an essence which is an “obscure contemplation”
and which dimly yearns towards the Good. It would seem that it is this in¬
herent quality of yearning or contemplation, which expresses one aspect of
what is called the Monad in theosophical literature. The presence of a Monad,
or “atom” of spirit, if one may so describe it, endows a thing of matter with such
reality as it possesses; and this reality appears to be, in part at least, identical
with the potentiality of the thing of matter to be transformed into something
184
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
superior to that which it now is, whatever that may be. Thus, the real man—
as defined, for example, by the Upanishads—is not his “self” as it exists, but
the Higher Self which he can become.
One begins to understand why, in so many mythologies, the Sun-God is rep¬
resented as a sacrificial victim, like the “All-seeing Vishvakarma” of the Rig
Veda , who “sacrifices himself to himself”, in order that the “Spiritual Egos”
of mortals who are of one essence with him, may be released from their prisons
of flesh and, through conscious union with him, participate in his freedom.
The Monad, the potentiality of the growing plant, realizes itself, according
to its measure and degree, by its response to the outpouring of life from the
Sun, which may be not inappropriately called its “Father in Heaven”. But
this vitalization of the plant is surely a sign and symbol of the universal sacrifice
of the higher to the lower in every kingdom and department of Nature, the
sacrifice which alone endows the lower with the power to transcend itself. So
the Master, the Perfected Man, spends himself endlessly to bring life and
light to his children, to all who exist within his “body of radiance”.
Lower Nature Unaided Fails
There is a passage from The Secret Doctrine which refers to an early dis¬
turbed period in the earth’s history when our Mother, the Earth, “would call
no Sons of Heaven, she would ask no Sons of Wisdom. She created from her
own bosom. She evolved Water-Men, terrible and bad.” To some this may
sound senseless or rather quaint, like an episode from a fairy-story; but Ma¬
dame Blavatsky’s comments are singularly pertinent to the present day, which
is producing its own breed of “Water-Men, terrible and bad”.
Thus Physical Nature, when left to herself in the creation of animal and man, is shown
to have failed. She can produce the first two kingdoms, as well as that of the lower
animals, but when it comes to the turn of man, spiritual, independent and intelligent
powers are required for his creation, besides the “coats of skin” and the “breath of animal
life”. 1 he human Monads of preceding Rounds need something higher than purely
physical materials with which to build their personalities, under the penalty of remain¬
ing even below any “Frankenstein” animal (II, 55 , 59 ).
One may deduce this general law, that no being in the Universe, no matter
who or what it may be, can transcend its actual state by its own efforts alone.
It must call to its aid the “Sons of Heaven”; it must invoke the aid of potencies
higher than itself. As we are told, this is the law obeyed by Masters. How
much easier it should be to recognize that it is the law prescribed for the mortal
and unregenerate man! Yet it is the law which he most persistently distrusts
and defies, both collectively and individually. Every good and perfect thing
in the long annals of human history has indeed come down from above, for
there have always been in existence individuals and groups capable of some
real response to the radiance from Heaven. But every civilization has suc¬
cumbed to decay and death, because after the peak of each cycle has been
passed, the ruling classes, those who really mould public opinion, have lost
faith and interest in their “higher selves” and in Divine Powers, and have
NOTES AND COMMENTS 185
become absorbed in the concerns and passions of the body and of the “per¬
sonality” that haunts it.
Under such conditions, as should be obvious, the Monad or divine poten¬
tiality in man, that which in response to the radiance from above can become
the conscious Higher Self, must be virtually incapable of growth and exfolia¬
tion. According to Theosophy, once the human stage of evolution is reached,
the Monad can only respond and become active in the measure that its “ve¬
hicle”, the conscious, thinking, “free-willing” human Ego itself, obeys and
conforms to the intimations of man’s divine destiny. Not until the human
Ego has learned in completeness the lesson that in the Divine Will is its peace,
will the “spiritual man” be capable of growing “as the flower grows, uncon¬
sciously, but eagerly anxious to open its soul to the air”.
The Building of a City
One may illustrate the tragedy of man’s “self-will” by reference to a recent
book, which is none the less interesting because one may disagree with many
of its conclusions ,—The Culture of Cities , by Mr. Lewis Mumford. The author
is concerned with the terrible paradox that no civilization can grow and flourish
without a highly developed urban life, although it is the horrible corruption
of urban life which infects and destroys civilization. “Here in the city”; as
he says, “the goods of civilization are multiplied and manifolded; here is where
human experience is transformed into viable signs, symbols, patterns of con¬
duct, systems of order.” But in what measure does the typical city of the
machine age realize such an ideal? Mr. Mumford describes the growth of
these “urban masses”:
The brakes of tradition and custom were lifted from the exploitation of land; there
was no limit to congestion; ... no standard of order or decency or beauty to dictate
the division and layout and building of urban structures. . , . The two main elements
in the new urban complex were the factory and the slum. By themselves they consti¬
tuted what was called the town. . . . Such urban masses could and did expand a hun¬
dred times without acquiring more than a shadow of the institutions that characterize a
city in the sociological sense—that is, a place in which the social heritage is concentrated,
and in which the possibilities of continuous social intercourse and interaction raise to a
higher potential the activities of man.
It is evident that the tone and quality of a city are ultimately determined
by the dominant motives which draw men to live together. Doubtless, that
explains why a city like Paris has an “atmosphere” wholly unlike Detroit, in
spite of the fact that both may become famous for “sit-down strikes”. Of
course, most people probably live in a given place because they were bom
there, but why were they bom there and not elsewhere? A student of Theos¬
ophy would suggest that for good or bad reasons they wanted to be bom
there, and that such was the karma of their past acts and desires. We greatly
doubt^fhether many sociologists will be impressed by this argument, but
they will probably admit that when the average man migrates from the coun¬
try to the town, it is most frequently because he wants to make more money
i 86
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
and to find more amusement and excitement. Greed and the love of pleasure
can certainly be numbered among the ‘‘dominants” which determine the des¬
tiny of the average modem town. There have been other dominants , as
the evidence assembled by Mr. Mumford makes clear. There have been cities
designed primarily to glorify their builders. There was the mediaeval city
which he seems to prefer to most others, and which was certainly partly founded
in response to the natural need of the surrounding countryside for a centre
of protection from marauding barbarians and for a regional market-place.
Also, even to-day, there are those who settle in great metropolitan centres
because they seek an intelligent society and hope to improve their minds, if
not their characters.
However, none of these motives can suffice to build a real city or to pre¬
serve the community which they establish from convulsions and ultimate
ruin. The earth is a graveyard of ‘‘urban masses”, most of which have not
even left a name. Ancient Babylon and Rome were probably not very un¬
like modern New York and Chicago. Only a city literally founded and con¬
tinuously governed with the aid of ‘‘Sons of Wisdom” can permanently prevail.
What does that mean? Madame Blavatsky suggests an answer in a quota¬
tion from Ragon’s Magonnerie Occulte:
Do we not know that the ancient initiated poets, when speaking of the foundation of a
city , meant thereby the establishment of a doctrine? Thus Neptune, God of reasoning,
and Apollo, God of hidden things, presented themselves as masons before Laomedon,
Priam’s father, to help him to build the city of Troy—that is to say, to establish the
Trojan religion {The Secret Doctrine , II, 840).
In brief, the only true human community is one that is animated by a com¬
mon service and worship of the Eternal. The only real city is a centre of the
Mysteries, because it alone is capable of a real growth, of a real unfoldment
of its potentialities, in response to the inspiration which comes to it from a
centre of yet Greater Mysteries, from the Lodge, from Masters of Wisdom.
Very seldom, indeed, has this condition been approached by mortal man,
perhaps never more closely during our historical period than at certain mo¬
ments, in certain places, during the Middle Ages. This may, indeed, account
for a certain charm and harmonious proportion which Mr. Mumford admires
in the mediaeval town and which is so painfully absent from its modem successor.
The mediaeval town was not ‘‘planned” in the deadly contemporary sense
of that term. Its design was not arbitrarily imposed upon an unwilling or
indifferent population. Its outer form was, in greater or lesser degree, the
expression of an inner religious life which was almost universally accepted
as the ideal ‘‘pattern of conduct” for the citizen. Its ‘‘master-builders” brought
to a focus the aspirations and inspirations of a multitude. Its veritable nucleus
was not the market-place but the cathedral.
Mental Revolt and Physical Disease
The building of a personality is analogous to the building of a city. As
certain physicians are at last beginning to recognize clearly, there is a direct
NOTES AND COMMENTS
187
relationship of cause and effect between states of consciousness and the func¬
tions of the body. It seems too good to be true, but there are actually some
“orthodox” medical practitioners who now practically affirm that a particular
disease is often caused by a particular idiosyncrasy of character,—which ex¬
plains why each individual is more susceptible to some diseases than to others.
We quote from The New York Times , April 23, 1938:
Emotional and mental activities of everyday life play an important part in physical
disease, and in extreme cases may actually induce changes in the structure of the human
body, according to six of the nation’s neurologists and pathologists who yesterday took
part in a symposium on neuropsychiatry at the Academy of Medicine. An adverse
environment can no longer be considered as the sole cause of disease, and destructive
causes within man may reduce the environment to secondary importance as a factor in
maintaining health, it was pointed out. . . . Dr. George Draper [of the College of Physi¬
cians and Surgeons] asserted that although man has had sixty million years to adapt
himself to space and time, it is only within recent years that “we have begun to ration¬
ally face the humiliating realization that even the camouflage of an outraged Deity is no
longer sufficient to obscure the truth that man’s most destructive forces are within his
own soul”. Dr. Draper explained that a person’s susceptibility to a particular disease may
be determined by his individual make-up. Gradations in differences of personal identity
often paralleled the varying severity of an attack of infantile paralysis in each child, he
pointed out. Two entirely different types of mankind are susceptible to the two diseases
of cataract and peptic ulcer, he said. . . . Dr. Oscar Dietheim [of Cornell University]
urged the need of studying the philosophical, religious and ethical aspects of both normal
and sick persons in order to guide medical and psychiatric treatment. There is increasing
recognition of the importance of considering the integrated personality as a whole in
prescribing treatment, he declared.
This seems like plain common-sense to a layman. Our only quarrel is with
the assumption that the human race has had to wait “sixty million years” for a
rational science of self-knowledge to be bom. Unless some psychiatrists take
care, they will themselves catch one or another of the diseases which are pro¬
duced by an excess of self-satisfaction. Century after century there have
been wise men who have proclaimed the simple truth, that a physical disease
is primarily an extemalization of a mental or emotional disorder; that the
human will and imagination can both heal and kill the organism. To mention
a single example, the Indian doctrine of Karma, in one of its aspects, is nothings
but a formulation of the working hypothesis that Nature moves from withii^
outwards, and that her method of purging the human soul of sin is to make
its consequences felt in some malady of the human body. By sin is meant
any act, great or small, which is instigated by self-will or sensuality. It was not
a modern psychiatrist who devised the axiom: mens sana in cor pore sano: a
sound mind in a sound body. Deus non fecit mortem: God did not create death.
Death is the handiwork of the creature which separates itself in imagination
from the Divine Radiance, and which disintegrates, since without the con¬
stant reinforcement of that Radiance it is incapable of that constant self-
transformation which is the essence of real life.
Good and Evil in Art
“Left-wing intellectuals” often profess admiration for M. Andr6 Gide. M.
188
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Gide is a novelist of exceptional talent, but his work has been vitiated by a
tendency to champion many subversive and immoral causes. In recent years
he has become an avowed communist of the sentimental atheistic type. It
is quite probable that his works have done incalculable harm, if only because
they are in large part dedicated to the doctrine that any effort towards moral
or spiritual betterment is useless and a waste of human energies that should
be devoted to “self-expression” and physical pleasure.
M. Claudel, who believes that only the Spirit has “survival-value”, made a
terse and caustic comment upon the counterfeit quality of all immoral art.
Le mal ne compose pas: evil does not create. M. Henri Massis undertook the
almost impossible task of explaining to M. Gide what this sentence means. We
paraphrase a few sentences from his letter (La Revue Universelle , January i, 1938):
For a Catholic, like Claudel, evil is a pure deficiency, a privation, a lack y and can there¬
fore have no positive existence. Human evil is, indeed, nothing else but the lack of one
or many of the factors which condition the presence of good, together with the conscious¬
ness of this lack. Man must remain in the order of the Good, in order to be, in order to
develop according to his nature; if he commit evil, he diminishes himself, he ceases even
to be really a self, he robs himself, even while he imagines that he is adding something to
himself. It is not in so far as it is itself that a being, issued from God, is the source of
evil; but in so far as it is limited, in so far as it is “non-being”.
It is interesting to apply these considerations to art, to the works of man’s
heart and brain and hands. It is as if there were a rigorous law of “natural
selection” which determines the “survival-value” of each work. To take
literature for instance; it is a fact that only the scriptures and the classics
really survive in the memory of humanity from generation to generation.
Not only do they survive, but in some way they seem to contrive to illumine
consciousness, even when they are not read. How many people read little
or nothing except trash, and yet some uncorrupted instinct causes them to
throw the trash away, while they keep the Bible and Shakespeare in the book¬
case! So it appears that the durability of a particular work is actually pre¬
scribed, not by its “public” which may be always small and at certain intervals
actually non-existent, but by the purity of the motive which impelled its author
to compose it. If the motive be primarily a “consuming need of order and
love”, something will be brought into being that will continue to exist as an
inspiration to others. In our opinion, it will continue to exist as an inspira¬
tion, even if the composition itself be engulfed in the ocean of physical time.
After all, time is an illusion, and any creation, great or small, eternally is, as
a life-giving fact in the real world. Let us not think with despair of all the
monuments of man’s spirit which have disappeared from the earth. What
is real in them has not vanished from the Universe, for that reality is of the
spirit and not of matter.
What we have sufficient cause to bewail to-day is the multiplication of trash.
“Evil” may seem to be a big word to apply to the average “best-seller” in any
department of letters. But there is no other word to apply, if we think of evil
as privation and non-being, for these works are as empty of substance as the
NOTES AND COMMENTS
189
reflection of a reflection. Moreover, although evil is non-being “under the
form of the Eternal”, on the planes of illusion it can take on the semblance of
a powerful force which attracts and fascinates. The most miserable of literary
concoctions, in so far as it stimulates and justifies the lower nature of the reader
and denies the reality of any higher Nature, contributes to the work of Satan
and all his host.
Evil cannot create, but on the planes where it is active it can destroy. That
is the supreme danger at this moment. Nations and multitudes have been
persistently instructed by both “art” and “science” in the doctrine that man
has no reality apart from his body and the so-called “self” which depends for
its existence upon the body. Is it any wonder that this age is not rich in the
production of classics? A classic is not produced by the author alone. It is,
so to speak, the fruit of a collaboration of the author with potencies higher
than himself and which he draws to himself from the “causal world” by the
force of faith and strong desire. In the arts, as in every phase of existence,
“lower nature unaided fails”. Nothing can make any work a classic—neither
technical skill nor the most accomplished craftsmanship—if it be not illumined
by a light from on high.
The Creation of Living Souls
The supreme art, of which all others are reflections, is the art of creating a
real self, the fashioning from one’s own being of a living soul. This is the task
which sooner or later every man must set himself to fulfil, or perish. There
can be no escape from the tyranny of evil and illusion, until the human being
recognizes his “individuality as not himself, but that thing which he has with
pain created for his own use, and by means of which he purposes, as his growth
slowly develops his intelligence, to reach to the life beyond individuality”.
That recognition can only come in its fulness as the effect of a love which at¬
tracts the fire from Heaven. The human ego must turn away from itself as an
object of contemplation towards the Divine Power which gave it birth and
to which it belongs. Or, to state the same idea less abstractly, joy and peace
and power will come to him who sets forth with an indomitable will to find
his Master, his spiritual Father, in the real world.
To the world, as at present constituted, such words must doubtless seem
unintelligible or, at best, mere “counsels of perfection”. However, students
of Theosophy have no longer the least excuse for doubting the “divine possi¬
bilities” in man. Living souls can be created within the matrix of our physical
existence. The way to ch£laship, to the Great Lodge, is open; and it is seen
to be the normal way for man, the continuation of the road along which Divine
Nature has guided the “Pilgrim”, the Monad, throughout the long aeons of
evolution and involution. As the plant grows by responding to the rays of the
physical or pranic sun, so the Higher Self, which is potential in mortal man,
can become active and conscious if the human being respond without reserva¬
tion to the radiance of the Divine Sun, streaming down upon each soul from and
throughthe Master on whose ray it is.
CONVENTION, 1938
W E HAVE all come from a Convention that was vibrant with a call
to ch£laship. I have considered what the reactions, in the weeks
that have followed, may have been.
The stimulation of those hours having passed, the great wave of force that
swept through that assembly-room having gone forth into the world beyond,
where are we? And how is it with us, as we look back on those hours, reflecting
on what was said, and on our impressions and response?
To that question each will make his own reply.
There must be those, I fancy, to whom it now seems like a beautiful dream,
too lovely, too iridescent with the lights of heaven, to last upon this drab and
weary earth,—at least to last for such as they (they say). Yet in some inner
shrine, where are treasured sweet and sacred things, they cherish its memory,—
the memory of a moment when they seemed to touch the heights, and hear
the music of the very spheres. 0 friends, cherish those memories for ever¬
more, since in that winged moment you really lived. It contains the promise
of a future, which a stronger faith, to be won some day, please God, will give
you. Remember it, remember it: do not let the noise and rush of ordinary life
put it from your minds. It is well for a man to have really lived, if only for
an hour; well for him to have discovered his true longing, to have had a glimpse
of that for which he exists.
There will be others too—though one turns with sadness from the thought—
who have rather a sense of shame when they remember. They fancy they
were carried away, beyond the level of their normal common sense, in a mo¬
mentary excitement, permitting their feet to be lifted from the safe, firm ground
of rational behaviour. Maybe we can say that was a natural reaction, es¬
pecially in such of them as were young and inexperienced, still under the glamour
of the notion that the world is balanced, and that the earth is firm. They will
need to live longer, much longer, many incarnations probably; but the fulness
of the time having come, when the burden of their experience will be crushing
them, there will be for them also the memory of a call. Then, we shall dare
to hope, they will turn from the emptiness of what they have sought and found,
to the richness of life immortal.
For, if ch£laship means anything, it means the beginning of immortality.
No wonder that a man faces it awe-struck and trembling. Like one bom in a
190
CONVENTION, 1938
191
cavern, he stands dazed and frightened at the revelation of a noon-day sun,
and shrinks back into the accustomed darkness with a sense almost of relief.
When the Divinity within him stirs, claiming its birthright, he sees himself
about to launch upon a perilous sea. And so in truth he is.
But then, 0 then is the test of him,—whether he be a man , with a man’s
love of adventure and glad willingness to strive and risk for a coveted goal,
a man’s wish to step up and out from the commonplace into wider fields and
higher positions; or whether he merely be the ghost of a man, that, under an
appearance of such feelings, seeks the well-beaten paths and the safety of old
ways. It is all a question of vision, of realization, of his point in evolution,
and whether he be pressing forward or slipping back.
Untold millions to-day are refusing to evolve—for this is a crucial time,
the new race is forming; and in ages to come their masses will be rotting on the
shore, where the tide of life and spiritual progress left them.
In all justice we cannot expect that there could be many for whom chelaship
would have the least attraction. It is in fact meaningless, save to the very few.
There are those, however, to whom chelaship means everything,—the call of
it, the lure of it, commands whatever they are; and this by no outer compulsion,
but as the flaming desire of the heart. The “small, old path” leads on from
one prospect, to another still more lovely; and all that nourishes the heart
and enriches the mind and exalts the whole nature, floods over it. Danger,
yes; struggle and sacrifice, yes; sharp conflicts and suffering, yes. What of it?
For the Radiance is there, and the Glory just beyond. Above all, one Presence
is to be found there—there only in completeness—whose beauty is worth any
price, and who makes the music and the meaning of the world.
*******
Many times has this call been sounded, notably in 1922. Must that Voice
once more call in vain?
In God’s name come over and help us. The need is so great.
K.
FORCE AND ITS MOULDS
NE of the most common and one of the most unnecessary causes of
unhappiness in the world is the sense of life as purposeless and futile,
a meaningless, dull routine. Everyone knows how the presence or
absence of purpose completely alters the aspect of identical actions. Set a boy
on a summer’s day to digging a ditch the reason for which he cannot under¬
stand, and the shovel will weigh a ton. Set him to digging for buried pirate
gold, and the earth will fly. A mother will go without sleep for night after
night with a joyful heart, if thereby she is enabled to help her sick child. Take
away the motive, and the sleeplessness would be unrelieved torture. Our pur¬
pose—or lack of it—determines the spirit in which we approach all things. In
fact, to find one’s soul is, among other things, to find one’s purpose in life, the
reason why one incarnated.
One of the glad messages of Theosophy is that no life need be purposeless,
that any and all circumstances, no matter how narrow and restricted they
appear, can be used both for the benefit of the world and for the personal spirit¬
ual growth of the individual concerned. A bed-ridden invalid who never leaves
her sick-room, a hard working farmer on an isolated farm, a woman living alone
in a cottage, may all be, if they will, powerful centres for good in the world. Few
things would do more to transform their lives than the realization of their
opportunity.
Ever since the time of Zoroaster, some ten thousand years ago, life has been
described as a battle, a never-ending warfare between the powers of righteous¬
ness and the powers of evil, with every man, whether he be aware of it or not,
a soldier on one side or the other. This fight goes on, not only in the world
around him, but inside each man, a constant struggle between what he knows
he ought to do and what he thinks he wants to do, the better against the dearer,
a battle a great deal older than the hills. In view of his centimes of experience
with it, it is extraordinary how little man knows of the nature of the fight, or of
the weapons with which it is waged on his behalf. For, fortunately for him, it
is waged not only by him but also for him by those far greater than he, else he
had long ago been overwhelmed.
Weapons are two-edged, and so long as men fight as often or oftener for evil
than for good, it is not hard to see why they have not been permitted to know
more of spiritual weapons and of the way they may be used. Nevertheless,
there are hints in theosophical writings that enable us to get a glimpse of what
is going on, and of how those who wish to do so may take their part in the battle.
Behind all life and all cosmic processes, Theosophy sees, in place of chaos and
the play of blind forces in the universe, a plan designed by infinite love, wisdom
and compassion, a plan overseen and carried out by a hierarchy of great spiritual
Beings, a hierarchy stretching all the way from the Supreme to man. Man
192
FORCE AND ITS MOULDS
i93
himself is, or ought to be, a part of this hierarchy, with his own function to per¬
form in the evolution of the universe. The leaders in the battle against evil are
the Masters of Wisdom, the “just men made perfect”. In that battle, every
man is given, with fine courtesy, the opportunity to help those above him, and
so to repay some tiny part of all they have sacrificed for him throughout the
ages. Consciously or unconsciously, every one helps or hinders, for it is eter¬
nally true that “he who is not with Me is against Me”.
In “War Seen from Within” (Theosophical Quarterly, January, 1915).
Mr. Griscom, writing under the pen name of Men-Tek-Nis, pictured each act
of nobility, self-sacrifice or devotion, as providing force which the Masters of
the White Lodge can use in their ceaseless warfare against the powers of dark¬
ness. Masters may draw on limitless power from above, but, under the law for¬
bidding any interference with man’s free will, this force can be used on earth
only at the risk of dangerous reactions, since, if rejected or perverted, it releases
an equal amount of energy for the use of the evil powers. Force of the right
type, created by men themselves through faithfulness, devotion or sacrifice,
can be used and multiplied many times with safety and without reactions. In
this law that men must themselves provide at least a portion of the force needed
for their salvation, would seem to lie the answer to a number of problems, among
them to the question that has puzzled so many people: “Why pray for others
when surely a loving God will give them all that would be for their good with¬
out prayers from us?” The fact that man must attain by his own efforts, must
earn his own advance in evolution, is fundamental in the universe, and the
Masters do not interfere with that law. But vicarious atonement is also a fact
in the universe. Power provided by one man through prayer, one of the most
potent of forces, may be used to help another over a hard time. Doubtless it has
to be repaid in the course of the ages, just as in double figure-skating each of
two partners provides his own momentum, yet each is able to give his partner
support at the weak point of his stroke, receiving support at his own weak
point later.
That prayer is a force is difficult for many people to realize, as their idea of
force is too often limited to the tangible, with no conception at all of different
kinds. They may grant the existence of mental force, but probably feel that
the word is being used figuratively. To understand life, it is essential to grasp
the truth of the theosophical tenet that force, substance and consciousness are
all aspects of the same unity, that there is no force without some kind of con¬
sciousness, and no consciousness without its own form of force and its own
vehicle of matter. The type of consciousness determines the type of force.
Anger evokes one kind of force, compassion another, and so on. What we might
call the raw material of force in the store-house of the universe is constantly
being transmuted by man into higher or lower forms and sent out into the
atmosphere of the world, for good or evil, as the case may be. The letters of
the Master K. H. in the Occult World are illuminating on this point:
In conformity with exact science you would define but one cosmic energy, and see
no diffeiL jnce between the energy expended by the traveller who pushes aside the bush
194
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
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 there is a world of
difference between the two. The one uselessly 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 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. Please
do not consider me vaguely metaphysical. The idea I wish to convey is that the result
of the highest intellection in the scientifically occupied brain is the evolution of a subli¬
mated form of spiritual energy, which, in the cosmic action, is productive of illimitable
results; while the automatically 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.
1 he 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 Aeons of time to come.
Parenthetically, we have here the answer to the theories of modem science
in regard to “Entropy” and the “running down” of the universe. Left to itself,
the “random element” does tend to increase, and force tends to return to the
low, brute potential of nature. These tendencies are constantly being coun¬
teracted by the purposeful and selective action of life in its various manifesta¬
tions. The soil around the roots of a tree, for example, is a more or less random
mixture of a number of elements. From these the living roots of the tree select
the nitrogen, the carbon or the moisture which the tree desires and which are
then built into the highly complex structure of the wood, reducing the “random”
element and raising the potential of force correspondingly. All life does this to
a greater or less extent.
Intellection, as Master K. H. points out, refines energy to a high degree, and
love, “the only power that moves the spiritual world”, raises it to its supreme
form. If scientists would abandon the quite arbitrary limitations which they
place on the existence of life and consciousness in the universe, and adopt, as a
tentative hypothesis, the theosophic viewpoint, they would obtain the answer
to a number of the problems that now baffle them. Why, for instance, can the
sun radiate energy at the rate of billions of ergs per second, and yet suffer
no diminution of its mass ? Regard it as living and the problem is greatly simpli¬
fied or disappears altogether. But to return to our main point.
The letter goes on to speak of the “vast difference between the two qualities
of two equal amounts of energy expended by two men, of whom one, let us
suppose, is on his way to his daily quiet work, and another on his way to de¬
nounce a fellow-creature at the police station. . . . Still less does exact science
perceive that while the building ant, the busy bee, the nidifacient bird, accumu¬
lates each in its own humble way as much cosmic energy in its potential form
as a Haydn, a Plato, or a ploughman turning his furrow, in theirs; the hunter
who kills game for his pleasure or profit, or the positivist who applies his intel¬
lect to proving that + X + = —, are wasting and scattering energy no less
than the tiger who springs on his prey. They all rob nature instead of enriching
FORCE AND ITS MOULDS
i95
Not only does each action, in accordance with the motive that actuates it,
refine and store, or coarsen and scatter, energy, but nature is also enriched or
robbed by every thought of man, for each thought “upon being evolved passes
into the inner world, and becomes an active entity”, enduring for a longer or
shorter period in accordance with the original intensity with which it was
generated. “Thus a good thought is perpetuated as an active, beneficent
power, an evil one as a maleficent demon.”
The fact that men on their way to their quiet daily work, and, in truth, birds,
ants and bees as well, are all in their way and degree storing force and enriching
nature, alters one’s entire picture of life, and reveals something of its possibili¬
ties and significance. It further deprives the most obscure of any excuse for
feeling that his life is futile and purposeless. There is no life that does not give
its opportunity to “store force and enrich nature”, thereby leaving the world a
little better than it found it. All that is needed is right motive and desire, doing
whatever ought to be done, because it ought to be done, offering it, as Mr. Judge
wrote, “on the altar of the heart”, for love of one’s Master and the enrichment
of the world.
Imagine, for example, a grey-haired New England woman living alone in a
little house in an elm-shaded village street. She had, perhaps, nursed an invalid
father until his death left her, at fifty, with no relatives, few neighbours, no
apparent duties, and just enough money to live with rigid economy in the old
house. There are thousands of women in situations like that, and many, per¬
haps most of them, feel that they have little or nothing to live for. It would
transform their lives to realize their opportunity, and that the quiet perform¬
ance of their daily work, if done with a right motive, in itself enriches the world.
But they can do far more than that. One of the purposes of life is to incarnate
spirit in matter, taking spirit as the Platonic trinity of truth, beauty, goodness.
Every man who speaks the truth, every noble action, every creation of true
beauty, is to that extent an incarnation of the spirit. Something is drawn down
from heaven and made manifest on earth. When a woman turns a neglected
front yard into an orderly, beautiful garden, she may make it an act of far-
reaching spiritual effect. What is needed is love, an intensity of desire to serve,
and a clear realization of why she is doing it.
It is very difficult for us to realize the power of such acts, yet we have analo¬
gies. It does not matter where a poem is written, or on how small or old a piece
of paper. A printer can reproduce it, and it may move millions through cen¬
turies of time. Our thoughts, desires and actions make moulds in the astral
light, and endure according to the intensity put into them. Like the loaves
and the fishes with which a small boy provided the Master Christ, they can be
reproduced and used to feed, or to harm, thousands. Every time a man plays
with a temptation, even though he knows that he will not yield to it, he is adding
to the power of that temptation in the atmosphere of the world, and may be
adc^g just the additional force to push over the brink a waverer who other-
wisS^ould have stood firm. Conversely, every temptation resisted, every
right thought and action, adds to the power of resistance in the world, and pro-
196
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
vides a fund on which others in need may draw. Just as with the radio, so
minds pick up and are influenced by thought waves from other minds tuned to
the same level, high or low, as the case may be.
The subject of astral moulds is a fascinating field for speculation. The world
in its present confusion and blindness, desperately needs models for right action.
The originals, the ideal manner in which given circumstances should be met,
must be made by the Masters themselves, but it would seem that to be effective
with men on earth, these moulds must be incarnated, as it were, must be repro¬
duced in the outer world by men acting in accordance with them. Each such
reproduction on earth has tremendous spiritual potentialities. One can imagine
that, when the world needs such moulds, ch£las may incarnate for the express
purpose of making them, by living through experiences planned to call forth
the exercise of the particular qualities needed, in the particular way desired.
These can then be impressed on the consciousness of men, leading them to emu¬
lation. In their lesser degree, aspirants for chelaship may be given similar
opportunities more often than they realize. Let us suppose, for example, that
a great nation is about to pass through a period of hard times and difficult
readjustments. Suppose, too, that there are those whose ardent desire is to
serve. It might well be that the outer circumstances of their lives would be so
arranged as to bring them in advance through great financial strain and critical
situations that call for the exercise of the high courage, the quiet poise, the
indomitable energy, and the faithful reliance on eternal principles, with which
the Lodge desires the nation to meet its crisis later on. Of course, no voice
from heaven tells them of their privilege and opportunity. They must find
that out for themselves.
It is essential to realize that it is the type of force, and not the apparent outer
importance of the occasion, that is controlling, and that the type is determined
by the motive with which the act is done. “A little leaven leaveneth the whole
lump.” It is a right spirit that the world needs, not a violent rearrangement
of outer circumstances, which, after all, are only a reflection of the inner atti¬
tude. The spirit may be the same irrespective of the scale of the action that
draws it down from heaven. Something is wrong in the Masters’ world, and,
with high resolve to make it right, Sir Gareth rides forth from King Arthur’s
court, Saint Louis leads a crusade to the Holy Land, or a New England woman
scrubs her kitchen floor. It may be the angels see little difference between the
three acts. If the motive be love, love of right and hatred of wrong, love of the
Master at the head of one’s ray and passionate desire to carry out his will, that
is the spirit that is brought into the world, no matter whether it takes one form
or another. The form passes, the spirit remains. The scale of an act is of no
importance to the universe,—that is, scale as we measure it. Logically, it
cannot matter to the universal creative forces whether it be a galaxy of stars,
millions of light years across, or the exquisite, microscopic texture of a gnat’s
wing that they are moulding. Perhaps the true scale is determined by the
intensity and purity, in the occult sense, of the motive, its nearness to the
central light of love, the heart of the Eternal Rose. Even in the physical world,
tHF> SCREEN
199
OF TIME
—• -r Urt+Vl USC
FORCE AND ITS MOULDS 197
the size of the shadow is determined, not by the object, but by its nearness to
the light.
It follows from what has been said, that anyone, in any circumstances, can
supply force that may be multiplied and used in the age-long battle of the
White Lodge against the Black. If that be true, there is no life that need be
dull or futile or purposeless. Our New England woman, never stirring from
her village, can supply power that may turn the scale and affect the history of
nations. She perhaps refuses to countenance one known to be guilty of shame¬
ful immorality, and, in doing so, helps to make a mould in accordance with
which, later on, a great nation rejects an unworthy king. The potency of such
an act is determined by the degree of understanding and selfless love with which
it is done. Neither the understanding nor the love is easy to acquire or often
found. If they were, the world had long ago been made the paradise it is des¬
tined to become. Nevertheless, they can be acquired. It takes faith to begin,
perseverance to continue, and whole-heartedness to succeed. One of the chief
difficulties is that we ourselves rarely see results from what we try to do. Re¬
sults must be left to Masters. Yet we may be certain that no sincere effort
ever fails to bear fruit. It has been said that one ch£la, meditating alone in
his room, can change the atmosphere of a great city. One beginner, honestly
striving, will assuredly accomplish far more than he realizes or believes pos¬
sible, and each effort will bring greater power, and its own reward.
J. F. B. Mitchell.
God demands rather our effort than our success; provided that ue labour for
his glory , the result is his affair .— Gouraud.
A little lifting of the heart suffices; a little remembrance of God , one act of inward
worship , though upon a march and sword in hand , are prayers which , however short,
are nevertheless acceptable to God .— Brother Lawrence.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
HE Convention: all of us were full of it when we next assembled.
There could be no question as to the remarkable response of those who
had been present in the Studio; great demands had been made on their
devotion to the cause of Theosophy and the Lodge, and, with very few excep¬
tions, they had adopted a Resolution which embodied those demands in the
most explicit and binding terms. While the Resolution in no way committed
the Society or the members who did not vote, all of us felt that the way in
which it had been received should prove a turning-point in the history of the
Movement,—“should”, but not necessarily “would”; for the real result, in the
nature of things, would depend upon its unseen effect later, when members had
resumed the ordinary tenor of their lives. The Convention had lifted us to high
levels of endeavour; would the reaction be recognized as the inevitable protest
of lower nature, and be brushed aside, or would the reaction come to be regarded
as more reasonable—more real—than that which had caused it?
We discussed this question at some length, agreeing, finally, on the safe
basis of “who lives will see”. One of us, who had so often seen enthusiasm
evaporate in cheers, found promise in the fact that the intense feeling of the
Convention had been quiet and self-contained: he could not imagine, he said,
anything more satisfactory. “How wonderful it will be”, he added, “if the
dynamics, the underlying occultism, of what members undertook to do, is
understood,—the creation of a reservoir, a pool, of endeavour, fed from many
different sources, in many different ways, by members widely scattered physi¬
cally, but each of them ‘offering up’ the fruit of his efforts—yes, and the fruit
of his failures—wholly without self-seeking, for the common purpose which
the Resolution sets forth: the flowering of chelaship in our midst. Masters
would be able to do almost anything with such a reservoir to draw upon, fed
like that from below.”
“What do you mean by ‘fed from below’?” asked a younger student.
“I mean that a prayer from hell is worth many prayers from heaven, seeing
that in heaven it is impossible not to pray, while in hell it is very difficult,—
except for personal ends. I mean that the Lodge can supply unlimited spiritual
force from above, but that the lower the level from which force ascends to
them, and is placed unreservedly in their hands, the more they can accom¬
plish on the planes where chelaship starts , that is, on the planes of worldly
existence.”
“It is not easy to believe that an unregenerate like myself can supply the
Masters with force”, objected the younger student.
The Philosopher now broke in, partly from exasperation, but not without
amusement. “O faithless and perverse”, he began, half laughing, “what do
you do when you walk upstairs, when you dress in the morning, when you
198
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
199
masticate your food (if you do masticate it, which I doubt)? You both use
and generate force, and do so without any thought of its ultimate destination.
Give it a destination in your mind and heart; say, in effect, ‘May this energy,
or the fruit of this act, or this effort to do my duty, go into the “pool” for T.S.
chelaship, and be used by the Lodge for that purpose’,—and you will be sup¬
plying the Masters with force that they can use, but which they cannot gener¬
ate because they are not low enough down, as it were, in the world of matter.”
‘‘If that be true, and the gulf between them and myself be so great, how
can they make contact with my offering?”
This question evidently pleased the Philosopher. ‘‘You have got the idea”,
he said, ‘‘or in any case an important part of it. The answer to your question
is that the point of contact will be the unselfishness of your motive. And that
will be one of the magical features of the Convention Resolution if it be really
lived. Efforts for individual chGlaship are so often tainted with elements of
self : the desire to shine, or to be superior, or to gain the Masters’ recognition
and favour, or to derive the satisfaction of having attained,—all wrong, and
not only wrong, but complete barriers to ch&laship and to any sort of spiritual
progress. Efforts on the other hand, such as the Resolution requires—efforts
which involve sacrifice, not that you may attain, but that someone, anyone
among us, may be helped to reach that stage of love and self-forgetfulness at
which chelaship begins,—such efforts almost of necessity will spring from
pure charity; and we know what St. Paul said of that.
‘‘I ask myself whether it has ever happened before: that so many men and
women, living in the world, amidst the inevitable trials, tribulations and
distractions of earthly life, have collectively affirmed their belief in the exist¬
ence of Masters and the Lodge, and in chelaship as an immediate possibility,
and then, setting self aside, have promised to do their utmost to dedicate their
lives, and to give their hearts and minds, to the purposes of the Lodge, ‘while
always praying that some among us, by the completeness of their self-giving,
may make themselves acceptable as ch£las, and may thus become able to
complete the Work begun by H.P.B. and Judge’ as Lodge agents. If it has
been done before, history does not record it so far as I am aware: recognition,
followed by the surrender of personal attainment for the sake of a collective
good,—a gift of pure love. The idea itself, of course, is as old,as the hills. Ther^
was Judge in the Letters That Have Helped Me: ‘Never, never desire to get
knowledge or power for any other purpose than to give it on the altar.’ But
now we have an opportunity consciously to work together—not just the few,
but the relatively many—not merely as a private, limited endeavour, but
as the avowed purpose of most of our members—to offer the fruit of all their
efforts on that altar which is the heart of the Lodge. The marvel is that the
rank and file of our membership responded with such obvious intensity of de¬
sire. Will it last? you say. Naturally, everything depends upon that. There
will be forgetfulness and ‘backsliding’ of course; but I believe that these will
beiollowed by determined struggle to recover what ground has been lost, es-
pe<Sfcy when it is realized that the slackness of one will be a drag on the effort
200
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of others. Members should mark any passage in the Convention Report that
particularly appeals to them, and should re-read those passages at fixed inter¬
vals as part of their resolution. No matter what we undertake to do or strive
for, weariness is certain to prove an obstacle, for lower nature quickly tires,
even of its pleasures. It is only charity (which means love) that never faileth
—which ‘beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth
all things’. We should, therefore, anticipate weariness, and fortify ourselves
against it in advance, just as a man would do if training for a race or when
undertaking any task requiring perseverance.”
“Discouragement”, said the Historian, “is likely to prove as serious an obstacle
as forgetfulness. We need to remember that it springs from looking for re¬
sults, and, behind that, from vanity. Are we so superior that we expect never
to fail! ‘Jumpin’ at it belongs to me; gettin’ through it belongs to the Lawd’,
as the darkie said of the stone wall. And while on that subject, let me quote
from Jacques D’Amoux. Some of you read his Paroles d'un Revenant , an
extraordinary book, published in 1925. He appears to have devoted the
intervening years to the study of heroism, particularly in its religious as¬
pects, for he has now written a book of even greater value, entitled Les Sept
Colonnes de I'H&roisme , the Seven Columns of Heroism, which shows immense
erudition and, better than that, prolonged experiment, meditation, experi¬
ence. It will doubtless be reviewed in the Quarterly in due course. I refer
to it now because of something he says which bears directly on discourage¬
ment,—that defeat invariably begins in the imagination; that once you are
in a fight (he is speaking of inner warfare), the man who stops to measure his
adversary, to calculate the chances of success, is already half defeated; that,
unless he shuts ‘with violence’ his inner eye against all the phantoms of dis¬
aster—if he so much as considers them with the idea of driving them away—
he lays himself open to his enemy. If ‘angels of evil’, he says, can deprive
you of the hope of victory by exhausting you through the anticipation of troubles
yet to come, they will have gained their objective. Discouragement is often
the failure of future courage. ‘The way of triumph is long; but he who follows
it from minute to minute, and never permits himself to measure its distance,
will not be crushed by it.’ Finally, this very helpful warning: Make ready
to do with the fire of your will, everything that you dreamed of doing with the
fire of enthusiasm. . . . D’Amoux’s advice is based on universal experience,
and therefore is purely theosophical.”
“But how can you prepare for battle if you do not ‘measure your adversary’ ?”
asked the younger student.
“You prepare for battle before you come to grips; once at grips, it is fatal
to think of defeat as possible. Think of yourself as fighting a burglar, or a
lunatic: you will realize that the moment you question the outcome, you are
nearly done for,—that is, unless the thought of it arouse in you a fury of determi¬
nation, a greater fury than that of the lunatic. The spiritual combat is not
for weaklings, who (to quote D’Arnoux once more), slaves of instinct and
fancy, may be recognized infallibly by their inability to say, No.”
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
201
“May I suggest”, the older Student now volunteered, “that a simple method
of keeping the Resolution we are discussing, will be to act upon the principle
summarized years ago as a ‘Filler’ in the Quarterly in these words: ‘Really
to serve and to please Him, we must perform not merely the minimum re¬
quired, but the maximum that loving zeal can discover.’ The individual who
wrote that, let me add, was one who knew what he was talking about, and
if it were adopted as a rule of life, and were acted upon in the performance of
our ordinary duties—the extra attention and effort involved being offered up
on behalf of the Resolution s objective—I do not know how the ‘reservoir’
could more effectively be kept filled.”
“We should not forget either,” said the Philosopher, “that all efforts for
an unselfish and spiritual end, will of necessity be reinforced by the Spiritual
Powers. Those who really make this Resolution their own, are likely to re¬
ceive inner help such as they have never experienced before.”
“Both the Convention and the Resolution were expected to serve more
than one purpose”, the Ancient now said; “only Masters know how many.
\ ou have been discussing the appeal to the gratitude and generosity of mem¬
bers to contribute, not money, but their desire, thought and will to a common
spiritual fund. They did not bind themselves to try to become ch£las, but
to make sacrifices that ch£las might become. None the less, much that was
said at the Convention, and that some of you have elaborated this afternoon,
bears directly on the Four Qualifications for chSlaship of which so much is
said in Shankara s Crest Jewel of Wisdom: Discernment between the real
and the unreal, between the eternal and non-eternal; Freedom from self-in¬
dulgence in the fruits of works; Quietude, Control, Cessation, Endurance,
Faith, Concentration; and Desire for Liberation from self.
“On the understanding that this does not necessarily apply in the least to
those who adopted the Resolution, but only to chSlaship itself, I want to em¬
phasize the importance of Cessation among Shankara’s Qualifications, partly
because it is so little understood. Shankara explains it as ‘the condition of
refusing to lean on external things’. Translating that into terms of Western
thought, it means (as Ignatius of Loyola phrased it) not counting the cost; it means
whole-hearted, uncalculating indifference to any risk which others see, but which
the aspirant himself does not even think of unless his attention be called to it;
it means—once an opportunity to serve is recognized, with the belief that our
Master is willing for us to attempt it—it means care-free indifference to all the
hazards involved, a sort of divine (not human) recklessness. It is not the spirit
of a gambler, because a gambler anticipates his gains. The ch£la thinks neither
of gain nor loss, of life nor death; he simply hurls himself into the fray.
“Too many, in the spiritual combat, instinctively keep one eye on a ‘safe’
place somewhere—a place of solid earth—to which they can retire in case of
need, and thus unconsciously refuse to detach themselves from the anchorage
which is their bane. Love is the remedy; love of one’s Master, and the com¬
plete self-giving which that love alone achieves.”
T.
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION OF THE
THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
Morning Session
The Annual Convention of The Theosophical Society was called to order at
64, Washington Mews, New York, at 10.30 a.m., on Saturday, April 30th, 1938,
by Mr. Hargrove, Chairman of the Executive Committee, who served as Tem¬
porary Chairman of the Convention. A Committee on Credentials was ap¬
pointed, consisting of Mr. H. B. Mitchell, Miss Perkins, and Mr. Kobb£, to
confer and report.
Address of the Chairman, Executive Committee
Mr. Hargrove: As Temporary Chairman it is my great privilege once more
to welcome you to a Convention of The Theosophical Society. That I do so
with all my heart, you will believe I am sure,—welcoming those who are
present, and the many others whose hearts are with us so completely that their
physical absence hardly counts. Collectively we welcome and greet also those
who have passed to a life of greater intensity—Clement Griscom, Charles John¬
ston, Archibald Keightley, General Ludlow, Julia Keightley, Katharine Hillard
and a host of others—whose love of Masters and the Work unites them in¬
separably with the Society and with us. Masters would see to it that they are
in communion with us to-day.
Then, speaking for those members who believe in the Great Lodge, we rev¬
erently salute and greet those of the Masters who, from the beginning, have been
with us,—Masters who, after launching the frail bark of the Society in 1875, have
not only steered its course from that day to this, but, by their continued sacrifice,
have brought it through stormy seas with timbers strengthened and masts
renewed. We owe everything to them, and perhaps at this Convention as never
before, we shall have an opportunity to show that we are grateful.
Because it is as Chairman of the Executive Committee that I greet you, it
has been thought best that I should make my report in that capacity at this
time instead of later. You will hear of the Society’s outer activities from the
report of the Secretary, from the Letters of Greeting, and from the speeches of
delegates. I shall confine myself to the Society’s inner work, and should like to
202
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
203
remind you that our annual Conventions are the synthesis, the culmination, of
the work done, both inner and outer, by Branches and members during the
previous twelve months. Now, that work, since the last Convention, has been
one of indrawal in the true sense,—that is to say, both members and Branches
have tried harder than ever to find and to work from their real centre: and we
to-day must crown that effort; we must enter, so far as we can, the world of the
Real, our true home; we must breathe, so far as we can, its rarefied atmosphere;
we must feel as much as we can of its joy, must see something of its beauty, must
draw as close as we can to its spirit and to those Great Ones who are that spirit
and who reveal it; and, instead of losing ourselves in a “cloud of unknowing”,
must check the present manner of our lives by what ought to be; must test our
working Table of Values by the Table of Values which is changeless, and which
all denizens of the Real world accept.
The Real world! Deep in the hearts of all men who are not spiritually dead,
there persists a blind longing which they do not understand, and which, as a
rule, they try to forget because it lies so close to tears. It is the longing for our
true home, the home we forfeited,—to lead us back to which is the purpose of
life, and of all joy and sorrow. So many songs that have gripped the hearts of
men—songs often trivial in themselves—have done so because they aroused
echoes of the soul’s desire. Sometimes the music has done this; sometimes the
imagery of words. Think, for instance, of the war-time favourite, “It’s a long,
long way to Tipperary”: how few if any of the millions who sang it, had any
thought of the Irish county or its Golden Vale. The secret of the song’s appeal
was that in those days of war, it served to bring to the surface the submerged
but ceaseless yearning of the human soul for Paradise. Think of that other song,
of greater and more enduring worth (some of you should remember it better than
I can): “But we are exiles from our fathers’ land. . . . Mountains divide us,
and the waste of seas. . . . Yet we in dreams behold the Hebrides.” Yes,
behold ,—which is what this Convention should make possible.
I purpose to use the help of Gautama Buddha to lift us from our present
world of shadows to that world of the real, that “land 0’ the leal”, that place of
peace and light and refreshment of which I have been speaking, and which, prav
heaven, some of us will never leave interiorly again.
It was not long before the Buddha died, and Ananda, the beloved disciple,
was urging him not to die in the insignificant village where they then were, but
to move to some important city like Benares, where the Buddha had many
followers, some of them rich, and where fitting honours could be paid him after
his decease. Those of you who have read the Sutta (the Mahd-Sudassana Sutta)
will remember that the Buddha rebuked Ananda for this, telling him that what
was then a village had once been the capital of a great Kingdom, and that he,
the Buddha, had been its King, known to his subjects as the Great King of Glory.
He told Ananda something of the life, both inner and outer, of that long-dead
King, and described, among other things, the King’s habitual method of in-
m’awal to the Real world,—described, in effect, the first step of your indrawal
as you entered the Studio not many minutes ago, and your still further indrawal
204
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
into that world as this Convention will proceed. Follow, please, here and now,,
the path of the Great King of Glory.
Now the Great King of Glory, Ananda, ascended toward the inner chamber, and when
he had come there, he stood at the door, and there he broke into a cry of intense emotion::
“Stay here, O thoughts of worldly craving!
“Stay here, O thoughts of ill-will!
“Stay here, O thoughts of hatred!”
And when, Ananda, the Great King of Glory had entered the inner chamber, having
put away all unrighteousness, he passed into, and remained in, a state of joy and ease,
born of seclusion, full of reflection, full of inner seeking,—self-possessed, a state of intense
elevation of mind and heart.
And then, Ananda, there appeared to him the heavenly Treasure of the Wheel; and
the Great King of Glory, holding in his left hand a pitcher, with his right hand reverently
sprinkled water up over the Wheel, as he said:
“Roll onward , 0 my Lord> the JVheel! 0 my Lord f go forth and overcome /”
You, as you entered this inner chamber—this chamber of your heart—did
not say, I imagine, what the Great King of Glory cried out with such emotion:
there was no need, because your eager expectation in itself was magical, and
brought about the same result. You were looking forward, expectant, and
dropped without effort the cares, temptations and evils of the world and lower
nature, thus making it possible for you to find something at least of what the
Great King of Glory found: a state of joy and ease, a state of intense elevation
of mind and heart. And you are realizing already, I think, that you are sharing
that state of mind and heart with others, with all your fellows; that you are ex¬
periencing unity as perhaps you have never experienced it before,—unity of will
and purpose, reinforcing marvellously your own determination (because this
Convention would be a failure indeed, if it did not condude with an indomitable
determination). Then, as you enter more and more into the spirit, into the being
of this Convention, as you partake of its substance and its gifts, I hope and
pray that you will discover for yourselves how truly Masters are present with
us. You may even feel their aura surrounding and containing this assembly;
may even discover for yourselves that within that aura this place sings and
throbs with prayer,—with the prayers of those present, and of those absent,
and with prayers inherent in the Movement itself. Imagine, if you will, what
those prayers are. It will in any case need no psychic or spiritual power, and
but little imagination, to hear the prayers going forth from here, whether you
are aware of the response or not. “Send us fire from heaven, 0 my brothers!
Send us fire from heaven!” And you can imagine, if you choose, that some
member of the Lodge, perhaps fighting his way over the Andes, pauses as he
hears that cry for reinforcement, and turns to look, and sees this assembly,
and hears the same cry repeated,—“Send fire from heaven, 0 my brothers;
send fire from heaven!” And like an arrow from the bow he sends a shaft
of himself, of his Kundalini, to set our hearts on fire, to give us something of
his courage, that we may go forward as he went forward, to victory.
Then, if you will listen again, I am certain you will hear a prayer for final
perseverance,—a cry far-reaching, insistent: “Give us final perseverance, oh
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
205
you who have overcome, you who are compassionate, you who are strong
through suffering; give us the power to fight, unwavering to the end!”
There are other prayers, part of the life of the Movement, part of its fibre,
which we have inherited from the distant past, and which a Convention such as
this makes present and immediate,—vibrant in our united aura: the prayers of
Buddhist Arhats, of Hindu sannydsis, of Sufi mystics, of Christian saints and
martyrs, and of Adepts of every nation and period. All these prayers are yours,
if you will make them yours; they are yours through your membership in the
Society which is the link the Lodge has established with the world. Many of
these prayers you will remember.
This day we have a Father, who from His ancient place rises, hard-holding His course,
grasping us that we stumble not in the trials of our lives. ... If it be well, we shall
meet, and the light of Thine eyes make mine glad. . . . This much I make prayer to
Thee: Go Thou on Thy way!
The prayer of a Stoic, some would say; yet, though in Zuni Indian form, it is
the prayer of the Christian Master, “Thy will be done”.
Perhaps, however, of all the prayers that belong to us by right of inheritance
(if we will claim our inheritance), that which best epitomizes the spirit and pur¬
pose of our Convention is the heart-broken cry of St. Rose of Lima, “Ah Love,
thou art not loved, thou are not loved!”—the cry of all those who, having been
brought to their knees by some sense of their Master’s love, and having felt in
their hearts the abiding sorrow and humility of those terrible words of the prophet,
“Oh my people, what have I done unto thee? Wherein have I wearied thee?”—
have risen from their knees possessed by one desire, one determination: This
shall no longer be! Fie must and shall be loved. He, the Beloved, who has given
all things, forgiven all things, endured all things for love of us, can no longer
be left to beg the leavings of our lives and hearts; hereafter he must and shall
come first, must and shall be King in fact as well as in name,—King, to begin
with, of our own small kingdom, of all we have and are; and then, working from
that reconquered centre, we must go forth to live and labour to bring his King¬
dom to him,—to make him King for ever of that vast domain which to-dajd
rejects him.
To make our wills steadfast at that point, and to understand once for all
that the obstacles in our path are of our own making, to be swept aside with
comparative ease, once we recognize their origin,—these two steps forward will
be taken by all of us, I pray, before this Convention ends. Further, as a result
of that better understanding and more resolute will, and because of our united
and vivid realization that the spiritual world is our true home, that it is here
and now—surrounding us, penetrating us, lifting us, blessing us—a realization,
let us hope, never to be lost again—there should arise from this Convention
such unity of purpose, such one-pointed aspiration, such invincible determina¬
te^ that H.P.B.’s last prayer on earth will be answered—that we keep the
link unbroken; answered because it will no longer be her prayer only, nor ours,
but yours ; answered in the one way possible,—by the flowering once more of
4
206 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
ch£laship in our midst, for the salvation of the Society and for the salvation of
the race.
The Report of the Committee on Credentials was then called for, presented,
and accepted, after which, Mr. H. B. Mitchell was elected Chairman of the Con¬
vention, and Miss Perkins and Miss Chickering, Secretary and Assistant
Secretary.
Address of the Chairman
The Chairman: It is significant of the guidance that has been given the
Society from its inception, that we find, year after year, as we listen to what is
said in these Conventions, that we have all been moved by a common inspira¬
tion. It is so to-day. What I had planned to lay before you is in essence the
same as what we have just heard, and what, doubtless, will be repeated later,—
the same needs and truths being reflected from different minds, so that they
stand out boldly in being thus viewed from such varying angles.
All that I have to say may be summed in a single question, though to its
implications I can set no limit. Can we, members of The Theosophical Society,
to whom has been given a vision of Theou Sophia , Divine Wisdom,—can
we respond to it with love? For love is the only response that is effective.
The root of all other powers, and able to generate them from within itself, it is
the only one that can meet our need. The question is, therefore, Can we
love the Divine Truth and Beauty and Goodness that have been shown us
through the years?
That is all; but it will be found far-reaching. It is not a new question. We
have heard it voiced with steadily increasing insistence at Convention after
Convention. It is voiced with even greater insistence to-day. And the reason
for this is, that, year by year as the cycles advance, the issues involved in this
question become more momentous. It becomes more pressing, more impos¬
sible to postpone.
We all remember what H.P.B. wrote of the hundred-year cycle, in accord¬
ance with which The Theosophical Society was founded by the Masters, the
cyclic law permitting them to make a special effort, in the last quarter of each
century, to bring to mankind knowledge of its true heritage and divine poten¬
tialities. She told us that that outgoing and outgiving from the Lodge had to
come to an end with the close of the century, and that the Masters could not
send again, in the same way into the world, until the last quarter of the next
century. Some of our members gave considerable study to tracing these cyclic
outgivings from the Lodge; and in the old volumes of the Quarterly we shall
find a number of articles by Mr. Griscom dealing with the history of the Move¬
ment in past centuries, and showing how dominating was the cyclic law.
It required no study to recognize the action of the law in our own Society and
experience. Precisely as foretold, there came the crisis at the end of the cen¬
tury, between 1898 and 1900. But for the first time in the age-long history of
the Movement, the shattering force of the crisis was met by a greater power of
love, which, holding fast to the Lodge, carried the Movement over the close
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
207
of the cycle, so that it entered ground it had never entered before. It did not
disintegrate as in the past, when the direction of the cyclic current changed,
but, maintaining the link unbroken, gave to the Lodge what it had never before
had in our western civilization, a focal point in the world from which to work in
the in-breathing phase of the cycle.
From 1900 on, therefore, our continued existence has created wholly new
conditions. Year has been added to year, each a unique achievement, keeping
open the door of opportunity and a path from the world to the Masters. How¬
ever thin our line of connection may at times have been, we have still kept it
unbroken, and still pressed forward into unexplored territory. Seventy-five years
separated us from the time when we might expect a new Messenger or group
from the Lodge to take over the work that has been ours. Do we realize that
to-day half of that seventy-five years has passed ? A full twenty-five year cycle
and half of another ? Our Society was founded in November, 1875. The twenty-
five years of its “expectation of life” brought it to November, 1900. To May,
1938, is just thirty-seven and a half years more, and brings us to the dead-
centre of our course.
It is easy to see how crucial this point must be for us, when we think of the
way in which an engine works. The expanding power of the steam or gas, within
the cylinder, drives the piston back and forth, and by means of a connecting
rod and crank, this back and forth motion is turned into circular motion, im¬
parted to the wheel. But when the piston is at the extreme limit of its stroke
in either direction, at the point where it ceases, let us say, to move forward and
turns back,—at the point where the piston-rod and the connecting rod and the
centre of the wheel are all in one line,—there the engine can exert no force upon
the wheel to turn it. If the wheel were to stop at that point, neither push nor
pull of the piston, no matter how powerful, could move it. Over that point it
can be earned only by a force acting from a different angle, or by its own mo-
men turn. That is why single-acting engines are built with heavy fly-wheels, to
increase the momentum, and to take care of sudden shocks and variations in load.
The analogy shows clearly the nature of the test our Society is now facing: Are
we of sufficient weight, have we of ourselves enough momentum, to carry us
past this dead centre, so that the great engine of the Lodge force may again
energize and move us?
The Theosophical Society was founded to be a bridge between the inner
world and the outer, or, in the words of Light on the Path } “a link between man
and his divine part, . . . between the stir of the market place and the stillness
of the snow-capped Himalayas”. Throughout the year we invite to our meet¬
ings all those, in the world, who, for any reason, even the most trivial
may be interested to come. On this day only, in its annual Convention, the
Society meets alone. The door which has been open to the knock of the world,
is to-da^opened only to our own members. We withdraw from the world
that, as clamour is silenced, we may hear more clearly the voice of the
Society’s own Soul, and the will for it of its “Father in the Heavens”. To-day
we meet and concern ourselves only with our own.
208
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Who are our own? What do we find as we enter here? Again Mr. Hargrove
has answered for us. We see the faces of old friends and new; those who have
been our comrades through the years, and those whose tests and battles still
lie before them. But I think there can be very few of us who are not seeing
also, with the inner eyes of memory and gratitude and love, comrades whom we
can no longer greet physically, but whose presence we none the less feel, whose
lives, given to the Work, still live in it. There can be few of us who can speak
of our Society, or our work, or our philosophy, and not be keenly conscious of
those from whose hands these came to us; who kindled with their own flame
such fuel as we could bring, and who are, whether in life or death, an indis¬
soluble part of our Movement. Mr. Hargrove called the names of some, per¬
sonally closest and dearest to us, whose pictures are here upon our walls.
But back of them, back of Judge and H.P.B., are those who sent them forth,—
rank upon rank of flame-bearers, the endless hierarchy of the servants of Divine
Wisdom and Divine Compassion, the Great Lodge of Masters and their ch§las.
We all know that The Theosophical Society has no dogmas nor official beliefs,
not even belief in the great Masters who founded it, and who have maintained
and guarded it through all the years of its life. But here, where we meet to
plan for the Society’s needs, in fulfilment of the trust that has devolved upon
us, each of us must base what he says upon the facts as he himself knows or sees
them. To very many of us the primary facts are these which I have just stated:
that our Society owes its being to the Great Lodge of Masters; that it was
founded at their direction, to serve as an instrument for their work, a link
between them and the world. There was nothing in the world capable of form¬
ing that link. It had to be made from above, from the Lodge, and be and remain
part of the Lodge. “All the road to heaven is heaven.” “I am the Way, the
Truth, and the Life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me”, can be said
only by the Master. It is true only of ‘‘man’s divine part”, of what pertains to
the Lodge and the Spirit, never of the personality or of anything of the world.
Thus the T.S. is a bridge, but the two piers of the bridge are not equal, nor do
they fulfil an equal function. We can, as to-day, shut out the world; and in that
exclusion find ourselves the more whole and complete. But to shut out the
Lodge would be to shut out all that has made, and that makes us what we are.
Shutting out its “divine part”, it would shut out the Society’s very Self. Our
Conventions bring this truth close home to us.
I do not think that any of us can put into words the vision that Theosophy
has brought him, but it is only as we realize something of the profound differ¬
ence it has made in our whole outlook, that we can understand the nature of our
responsibility. The recognition, of which I have just spoken, that our Move¬
ment emanates from the Great Lodge of Masters, involves the recognition, also,
that the true being of man, as man, stretches out to the Lodge, and includes
limitless divine potentialities of which the modem world has lost all conscious¬
ness. There is, for us, “no bar or wall” separating man from the Divine, and this
perception gives to human life a splendour of opportunity and purpose which is
in sharpest contrast to the despairing pessimism of material philosophy.
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
209
Through the twin doctrines of Karma and Reincarnation, we see justice and
mercy and love, where others can see only injustice and cruelty; and to us
death is no more the end, than is the sleep that separates our active days. How
are we to tell of these gifts which Theosophy has brought us, and of the new
life to which they lead? We have heard “unspeakable words”, and of their
truth have become the custodian.
I think of the opening of St. John’s Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word.”
It was so with us. In the beginning was the “Word” which H.P.B. brought us,
telling us of the theosophical philosophy, and of the laws of the inner world and
the soul,—intellectual doctrines that changed all our thinking, and opened long
vistas into unimagined possibilities. But that is not all. St. John goes on:
“And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory,
the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.” Per¬
haps we recognize in that phrase, “the only begotten of the Father”, the mys¬
tery characterization of accepted ch£laship.
It is not only the Word that has been given us; it is the incarnating Word,
and we have seen it incarnating. As we look back to our companions in the
past, our predecessors in the Movement, have we not a clear remembrance of
how, despite the veil of the personality, they showed us “grace and truth”, and
the transforming power of the theosophical doctrines that had been taught to
them and to us? Have we not had proof, in them, of the power and the beauty
of the incarnating spirit of Theosophy, of faith and courage, and the self-giving
to a Cause that swallowed up all thought of self? And have we not each felt,
in his own way and in his own nature, that same power of Theosophy contend¬
ing against all the meannesses and littlenesses in his personality,—the power of
the Perfect seeking incarnation in the imperfect, striving to make of it an in¬
strument it can use, struggling to lift it from unlikeness to likeness? We cannot
have knowledge and escape responsibility for its use. From such vision as is
ours, the question must inevitably arise that confronts us to-day. To us has
come light. Are we to prove that we prefer the darkness? Or can we genuinely
love the light, and turn to it with whole-hearted self-giving?
This is the crisis to which the cycle has brought us, where none can help us
but ourselves, since none can answer this question for another. I used thaj
mechanical analogy of an engine, as the stroke of the piston came to its deaa
centre. But living analogies are better and truer; for this is no mere mechanical
matter, but a question that goes to the heart of the individual life. Mr. Har¬
grove spoke of the prayers that arise from these Conventions. You remember
his words: “Send fire from heaven.” I suspect that very few of us have ever
come to these Conventions without some such prayer in our hearts. Yet as I
came here this morning, I realized that what was uppermost in my mind, and
dominant in my desires for the day, was not something that I could pray that
* reat Lodge might give us, but something which I prayed that we ourselves
; give the Lodge. Do we know how to ask more than they have given us?
Is there more of beauty that they can show us? More of holiness, more of
truth? Is there anyone who feels he has reached the limit of what was offered,
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
rather than the limit of his own ability or willingness to receive ? Is there more
of fire to kindle us, that they can send us? More than they have sent through
these sixty-two and a half years?
It is like the crisis in an illness, where doctor and nurse have done all that
medical skill can do until the patient himself makes some response, and the
issue rests with him, dependent upon his inner vitality and will to live. Or like
a General, in battle, who has thrown in his last reserves. The issue is now with
his men; in their past training; in their response to the present demand; in their
will to victory; and the ability to hold that will the minute longer than the
enemy, which achieves victory.
So, it has seemed to me, the issue of this day does not rest with the Lodge.
It rests with us.
But though great issues hang upon the answer, let us not complicate the
question itself. It is simply whether we really love the loveliness we have been
shown. The response asked is the response of love; that is all. If we love what
the Great Lodge loves, then we take our place with them. Otherwise we cannot
do the work which now must be done to maintain the link. It can be done only by
those who love what Theosophy stands for, and who have given themselves to it.
It is no question of our virtues or powers. We are not called to great acts of
heroism beyond our small capacities. We are not asked to be perfect. Our
question is not one of statics but of dynamics. We are asked only whether we
cannot love the Perfect. If we can, then we shall seek union; and desiring to
move toward what we love, we shall move. Drawn by what we have seen,
consciously and purposefully we shall move in accordance with it, pressing on,
in forgetfulness of all lesser things, to the reality and supreme worth which
Theosophy has shown us.
Nevertheless, as I have said, simple as the question is, great issues hang upon
the answer. The reason is that, in it, we are dealing with the inner, primal
and central powers of the Universe, so that a small effect, accomplished here,
becomes enormously magnified as it radiates through the outer world. Dante,
reaching the Ninth Heaven, beyond which is only the Empyrean, eternally
above all mutation, sees the Primum Mobile of all the worlds in the motion of
the Seraphim, responding with love and adoration to their vision of God, as the
Divine Light falls upon them. By that movement of love, which makes God its
centre, the whole universe is drawn in sweeping circles, that rise and narrow as
they revolve. And in this, Dante is shown the origin of all other forces and
motion,—the cause of evolution and of cyclic law, and the roots of time, which
measures them,—so that the entire system of Nature is revealed as one vast
movement of love and desire for union with God, as its final rest. There is more
than one lesson here that it would profit us to learn, but we are immediately
concerned to note that it is not the Seraphims’ own power that moves creation,
but the Light of God reflected in their love. So with us. It is not we that can do
the work, but the light of Divine Wisdom itself, the vision of Theosophy which
is ours, reflected in our love of it.
Sometimes I wonder whether the casual reader of the reports of our
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
2 11
Conventions in the Quarterly, must not think that we take ourselves with an
absurd seriousness. Does it seem like the delusion of grandeur to say, as we
do say, that the whole world may be altered by what is done in our small So¬
ciety? It is not so. We have no illusions about ourselves. Indeed, from one
point of view, the more commonplace and unimportant we are as individuals,
the more important might be our actions. For if we be a “run-of-the-mine”
sample of humanity, our present response to the light we see may predicate the
future response of all mankind. Moreover, the size of a shadow is not de¬
pendent alone upon the size of the object which casts it. It depends also upon
the closeness to the light, and to the light of Theosophy we have been drawn
close. Again, if we believe that the Society was founded by the Great Lodge,
we cannot avoid the corollary that all it does will prove archetypal, making
moulds which the future will fill. Or, to use another simile, we are like the
handful of earth into which a seed has fallen. The sower sows his seeds, and
they fall here and there. Until they have fallen, one handful of earth is little
different from another; but afterwards, the earth where the seed has lodged
becomes charged with all the potentialities of the seed itself. Not because of
anything of our own, but because of what has been given us, we, and what we
do, have become of vast significance. It is we who have been given the vision
of Theosophy; it is we alone who can respond to it.
We do not give the heed we should to the fragility of consciousness, nor com¬
monly realize how easily it may lose its hold upon any realm of being. You
very rapidly cease to be conscious of what does not interest you, and of which
you do not intend to make any use. Even in physical sight, experiments in
camouflage suggest that we “see” only what has significance for us, and this
is far more true of mental and spiritual sight, in the inner world of ideas and
ideals. Thus if we do not respond to such vision as we have, we lose it; and if
we lose it, it is lost to the world,—for in the world, we arc its custodians. If the
vision is lost, the possibility of realizing it is lost.
Once this truth comes home to us, we see it illustrated on every side. Wherever
we look in our civilization, we see the consequences of man’s loss of conscious¬
ness of spiritual realities, a loss that has been due to disregard. Religion is no
longer taught in our schools. It is beyond the pale of our science. In many of
the churches its name has been prostituted to a sentimental humanitarianism
that worships only material comfort. Everywhere it is ignored; and disregard soon
passes into denial. Without faith or knowledge of his spiritual heritage, man
turns his desires back to the mere animal gratifications that can never satisfy him;
and retrogression and disintegration spread through his nature and his works.
It was not for ourselves that Theosophy was given us, but that we should
preserve its truths for the need of the world. Our responsibility lies in this:
that truth can live only where it is lived. It is useless to enthrone it and lock
it away in the strong-room of dogma. When the need comes, and the door is
open^^the throne is found empty.
There is curious testimony that this is not a mere figure of speech. In his
Terry Lectures on Psychology and Religion , recently published, Professor Jung
212
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
adduces the evidence of the subconscious, revealing, through dreams, the his¬
toric symbols of the seat of Deity, but revealing that seat now as empty, or as
occupied only by an image of the man himself (p. 96). “As soon”, Professor
Jung comments, “as a god ceases to be an overwhelming factor, he becomes a
mere name. His essence is dead, and his power is gone.” Earlier, he points
out that our civilization has forgotten that man’s life, by its very nature, must
be sacrificial, offered up in service of something greater than itself,—failing
which it must inevitably disintegrate. His testimony here is the more note¬
worthy in that we can seldom share his point of view, but indeed no testimony
is needed to a truth we see exemplified on every side.
The value of the bodily organism is its ability to subordinate its own impulses
to the dictates of the will; and this same principle runs through all the person¬
ality, which, as Light on the Path says, each of us has “with pain created for his
own use”. Its value is never in itself, but only in its union with what is above
it,—a union that is realized through the utter self-giving which is love’s deepest
desire, but which, without love, can be seen only as self-sacrifice. The worth
of the Spirit is in the Spirit, realized, actual and active. But the worth of our
personal life is in its potentiality,—in our ability to respond and to give our¬
selves to the light and truth of the Spirit so as to become its vehicle. If this
potentiality cease, if the response be finally refused, nothing of value remains,
and the useless organism is swept away. Therefore in its deepest sense, the
question which we face to-day is quite literally one of life and death, for our
Society and for ourselves.
It is, I think, the form in which we face the supreme question that Being
itself poses to all creation. Scientists talk of entropy and the Second Law of
Thermodynamics, in which they have postulated that what we can all observe
in the flow of energy around us, is the manifestation of a universal law. As
water flows down hill, as heat spends itself in radiation, so the natural flow of
energy is from higher to lower potential, from above down. For a generation
past, physicists have spoken of this law as the death sentence of the universe;
for to such a ceaseless giving from what has to what has not, the only end must
be a dead level of neutrality, where all heat has cooled, all power been lost, all
difference obliterated, and all life become impossible.
No student of Theosophy can accept this doctrine of the physicists as more
than a half truth; but we cannot deny that wherever we look we see it illus¬
trated. In our own Society we have seen it through all the years of its existence
—the unstinted, unmeasured giving from the Lodge to us and to the world, from
the high to the low. Nor can we escape the conviction that this must ifievitably
spell death, if there be no giving back. In this proviso, all Being faces the ques¬
tion that we face, and in it is involved the mystery of the life of the soul.
That which proceeds from the Spirit must return to the Spirit. As there has
been descent, so must there be ascent; and it is with this ascent, the return
movement of love and self-giving from what is below to what is above, that true
religion and true occultism are alike concerned. To the soul, the Master that
hath, must be given; from the personality, the self, that hath not, must be taken
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
213
away even that which it hath; and he who surrenders his life shall find it. By
such laws as these, are the laws of physics counter-balanced, and the sentence
of death transmuted into the eternal, majestic procession of the cycles.
It is against this background, and into this frame, that we may place the
superb words that have been quoted: “Roll on, my Lord the Wheel,—go forth
and overcome.” May that be our prayer, and be answered in our response.
We have long since had to realize that it is very far from safe to adduce the
newspaper science of the day in support of any philosophical conclusion, for
to-morrow the scientific fashions will probably have changed. Yet in the New
York Times of three days ago there was a despatch from Washington, reporting
a paper read before the National Academy of Sciences, which is both pertinent
and suggestive. Doctors Osterhout and Murray, of the Rockefeller Institute
for Medical Research, described “a chemical model which imitates in many
important respects the behaviour of the mysterious, invisible fluid wall sur¬
rounding all living cells, and gives the appearance of ‘perpetual motion’ that
can go on for months”. It was added that “strange phenomena, observed in
the apparatus, indicate that life itself defies, to a certain extent, the second law
of thermodynamics”, as the flow, instead of being from high potential to low,
was reversed and moved from lower to higher activity. It was inferred that
only within such sacrificial walls, where the lower responds to the higher by
rising to it, could the cell continue to live.
I shall not need to point out the bearing this has upon our question. We
remember The Voice of the Silence , and the Guardian Wall, formed by the
Masters, by whose protection we, and the Society, and all mankind, have been
preserved. Can we so guard the life that has been entrusted to us? Can we
become, by our response to the Truth which we have seen, the Guardian Wall
that will enable that Truth to live?
The Chairman, having been duly authorized, appointed the following three
standing committees:
Committee on Resolutions: Mr. Hargrove; Dr. Torrey; Dr. Hohnstedt.
Committee on Letters of Greeting: Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell; Dr. Clark; Mrs. Regan.
Committee on Nominations Mr. Miller; Mr. LaDow; Mr. Mullinax.
The Report of the Executive Committee having been accepted with thanj^^
the Report of the Secretary was next called for.
Report of the Secretary T. S.
Miss Perkins: I have the honour to submit the following Report:
Branch Activities
The Branches report excellent meetings in which their younger members
have manifested a new sense of responsibility. They also record increased
unity, and better understanding of the mission of the Society at this critical
stage in world affairs. Believing that only the cure supplied by Theosophy
bring order out of chaos, they have undertaken to infiltrate its principles
and standards into the world by devoting themselves to living the “theosophic
214
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
life”, confident that use can be made of this unseen effort. While not intent,
therefore, on bringing recruits into the Society, the Branches are delighted to
welcome any newcomers who are fired by T. S. ideals and who desire to share
in its present endeavour. Since each Branch chooses material for its meetings,
there may be significance in the fact that a number have been studying the
Christian Bible, and, in the light of Eastern scriptures, discovering deeper
meanings and evidence of its harmony with other Lodge teachings. ‘‘This
serves”, one Secretary writes, “to emphasize for our members the identity of
the Mystery teaching and of the immemorial Wisdom religion, and reminds
them that Theosophy is always Wisdom-in-action.” The accomplishments and
hopes of each Branch are outlined in the reports, but instead of attempting
any summary of my own, I would refer you to the account of their stewardship
given in the “Letters of Greeting”, which are always a moving and inspiring
feature of our Conventions.
In Europe, the Branches have again contributed to some Allied Relief Fund
the amount they paid the Society in dues prior to 1929, and it has again received
from one of its American members a special donation that more than reim¬
burses the Treasury for the sum thus diverted from it.
The Theosophical Quarterly
Were each member asked to what extent his thought and actions had been
influenced by reading the Quarterly, we may readily imagine, with our own
experience as guide, that there would be numerous tributes to its value,—but
how form an impression of what it is doing for readers outside our ranks ? There
is an increasing number of them in the libraries all over the world. Occasionally
they write, telling, perhaps, of having read the magazine for many years until
it has become intimately associated with their lives,—and suddenly realizing
how much they owe to it; or the writer may give thanks for “conversion” to
the religion of his own country and race, through the deeper view of it gained
from theosophic interpretation. Thus preparation is being made—possibly for
active participation in the next “incarnation” of the Movement.
Contributors to the Quarterly, who put us under deep obligation by giving
there the results of their study, experiments and experience, frequently respond
to our thanks by declaring that in this giving their own rewards are great,—
one being the editorial assistance received: comment on some unconsidered
aspect of their subject which enables them to round out the treatment of it;
or the editorial pencil may insert, for their consideration, sentences that clear
up some obscure point and disclose its intimate connection with another fact
not before recognized as the key-stone of that particular arch. This is a side¬
light on the inestimable service done the Movement by those older members
who both edit the magazine and contribute generously to every issue.
Book Department
Since the “Standard Books” on Theosophy listed in each Quarterly provide
an excellent student’s library, the publication of additional titles has not yet
been thought desirable. Mastery of those listed would throw much light on
articles in our magazine, particularly those bearing on the devotional side of
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
215
Theosophy which is so little understood. Our books by Charles Johnston and
by “Cav6” are noteworthy in their exemplification of Theosophy as related to
Mysticism and the religious life; new editions of several of these have been
printed during the past year.
Secretary's Office
The Society necessarily has rooms equipped with facilities for filling book
orders, supplying the magazine, etc., but there are no longer, as in early days,
centralized quarters where officers carry on their work and local members
attend to such details as may be assigned to them. Consultation and co-ordi¬
nation are never overlooked, but at present each individual does his portion
of the work in his own home or office,—a method that is time-saving, and also
one that gives training of a highly desirable kind. At their request, I have
ceased to mention the names of those who assist in the activities here, but it is
a pleasure to report that the organization of them this year has been improved,
and that all who participate do so with the feeling that to serve the Society
in any way is the greatest privilege. The two younger members who volun¬
teered their time last year have shown such interest and capacity that the
number of their assignments has been steadily increased. Others are “on call”
whenever there is pressure of extra work; and the Assistant Secretary T. S., to
whom we owe so much for her full report of Convention proceedings, is always
helpful. The Society has occasion to thank these various members who give
liberally of their time, and to its thanks I should like to add my own.
Notwithstanding the increased labour that has devolved upon the older mem¬
bers with the death of those who once shared the responsibility, and in spite
of the unceasing pressure of this tumultuous era, they have exercised even
closer oversight of all that concerns the Movement. For example, many a
letter that goes out from the Secretary’s Office, in response to some appeal for
help, is based upon their perception of the querent’s real difficulty, and how
he can be given a clue that may enable him to discover for himself its cause
and cure. Their readiness to give aid is as unfailing as is their adherence to
Mr. Judge’s principle of action which he stated in the words of the Gita, “The
duty of another is full of danger”,—“danger” for the one who begs to be told
how to handle some problem that has arisen in his personal relations, and also
for the one who might venture to give such advice, because both of them would
be acting against spiritual law, and in ignorance of the plan of the Lor^pf
Karma. From this, and from many another tangent that might vitiat^^ur
efforts, the older members rescue unwary workers, patiently pointing out the
error, and the course that should have been taken. Only those who are the
fortunate beneficiaries of such supervision can realize how much they and the
Society owe to those who thus stand behind the Movement, and, as it was
put last year, make us lower links in that great hierarchical chain that stretches
upward beyond our boldest imagining.
Respectfully submitted,
I. E. Perkins,
Secretary , The Theosophical Society.
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THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
The Chairman, remarking that it is always one of the pleasantest moments
of the Convention when we thank our Secretary and her helpers for their un¬
failing work, invited the Convention to vote the acceptance of the Secretary’s
Report, which was done unanimously and with sincerest thanks. The Treasurer
then submitted his Report, which was accepted with thanks to him and the
Assistant Treasured.
Report of the Committee on Nominations
Mr. Miller, for the Committee, nominated Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell and Mr.
Auchincloss to succeed themselves on the Executive Committee; as Secretary
and Assistant Secretary, Miss Perkins and Miss Chickering; as Treasurer and
Assistant Treasurer, Mr. H. B. Mitchell and Mr. Kobb6. The Secretary of the
Convention was instructed to cast one ballot for the election of the officers as
nominated.
Report of the Committee on Letters of Greeting
Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell: It will not be possible to read all of the letters
received, but I should like to say that members of the Executive Committee
have read all of them, with the greatest interest and appreciation. The follow¬
ing are selections.
Letters, messages and telegrams from Branches and from individual mem¬
bers all over the world, were listened to with deep attention and frequent
applause. The Chairman then spoke of these Greetings as focussing the aspira¬
tion, desire and will of those whose hearts were with us throughout the
Convention. The Report of the Committee having been accepted with an
expression of appreciative thanks to the writers of the letters, the Convention
adjourned until 3 p. m.
Afternoon Session
Report of the Committee on Resolutions
Mr. Hargrove: As the Chairman of this Committee, I ask that Dr. Torrey
speak first on our behalf,—and I am going to give away a secret. One of the
oldest, if not the oldest member of the Society (not in terms of age but of mem¬
bership) has more than once said that she can listen to Dr. Torrey with delight.
No such remark has ever been made about my speaking, or Professor Mitchell’s,
or Mr. Miller’s speaking! And strange as it may seem, we are not jealous,—for
the very simple reason that we agree. Why do I say this in the presence of Dr.
Torrey? I have a motive, and the motive is that once in a while, when he is
in the mood and tired, he is inclined to say: “What’s the use, I can only echo!”
In these moods, he forgets that if any one of us con echo, we are doing pretty
well! I suspect that that is the utmost we can do anyway. Now we shall
have the pleasure of listening to him.
Dr. Torrey: There is probably no member of The Theosophical Society
who is not watching with keen interest the events of the world drama so rapidly
unfolding before us, and trying, at the same time, to understand them in the
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
217
light of the great principles which his studies have revealed to him. Therefore
any book which can aid him in his comprehension is always welcome. It need
not necessarily be a book written by theosophists. We have learned that
every man who intends his mind honestly and fearlessly upon a subject, will
discover something of value and of truth about it which we can use to com¬
plete our own truth, or to link together certain fragments whose connection
may have eluded us heretofore.
So it is that this afternoon I would speak of a book which I have recently
read with pleasure and profit. It is a volume of Gifford Lectures given at the
University of Glasgow in 1935-37 by W. McNeile Dixon, and entitled The
Human Situation. Already it is in a second edition, a fact which suggests that
it is being read.
The conditions of the Foundation under which the lectures are given appear
to preclude the appeal to revelation, and the philosophic and scientific material
must, so to speak, stand on its own human feet.
Before we have read very far we become aware that the author is dealing
with the present and most perplexing situation in which the human race finds
itself as regards its philosophical and religious beliefs.
Now I must confess that my first reaction, after a rather hasty reading, was
one of some surprise. I asked myself: Is this man living in the nineteenth
century or in the twentieth? For there, buttressed by space-time, quantum
mechanics, genes, hormones and fruit flies, is set forth the old, stark agnosticism
of the last century with its accompaniment of darkness and despair for the
sensitive soul and all represented as the preponderant testimony of science.
Dixon writes:
The worst is that the world, life, all things, should be wholly senseless, without mean¬
ing, and the worst has happened. For if you ask what is this power everywhere through-
° U j t i! le ur V verse the answer is, “It is doing nothing: it is a lunatic energy making
and breaking, building up and knocking down endlessly and aimlessly”.
To be sure, Professor Dixon quotes this cheerful scientific sentiment (and
the book bristles with parallel passages) only to combat it, but it appears to
me that his defence is none too strong or convincing. In fact the cumulative
power of the arguments drawn from the physical and biological sciences consti¬
tutes a formidable indictment of the world and of life. He is hampered in his
defence by his own temperament. He is all for Elizabethan gusto and adven¬
turous living. The heaven of his choice, he tells us, “would contain but few
saints or examples of moral perfection”.
Indeed I am not sure that it would contain any. It would be mainly peopled by
agreeable sinners, not too unlike myself for companionship. How sad are the virtuous,
and how cheerful and light-hearted so often the profane. . . . Holiness is a strong per¬
fume and a little of it goes a long way in the world. I have never been very clear whether
it was compatible with laughter. . . .
After this revealing self-portrait we can understand how the Eastern faiths,
Christianity included, are to him only “escape mechanisms” and anemic asceti¬
cisms. He finds Christianity singularly useless in the present world because it
2 l8
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
has nothing definite to say about financial and labour troubles, social and
political problems, education, criminology and the thousand and one other
matters that agitate us. He admits that Christianity was an other-worldly
religion, anyhow, and was never intended to deal with Caesar’s realm; that it
conquered the West only by making concessions, and now, when the folly of
the mesalliance has been exposed, we may not justly blame Christianity. All
of which is a mixture of irritating half-truths, though it probably represents
the prevalent academic view of the matter. But with blind spots like that,
can we wonder that Mr. Dixon is considerably tasked to prove a universe of
spiritual values? His Tennysonian faith that “good shall be the final goal of
ill”, and that a spiritual monadology of the Leibnizian pattern fits the facts
of the world as we know them, better than the alternative theory of materialism
propounded by science, is all to the good, though without the twin doctrines of
Karma and Reincarnation we ourselves should be hard put “to justify the ways
of God to man”.
I have said that science seems to have made small progress in its philosophy
of the world in the last century. Let us glance back to the year 1881 when
there appeared in the November Nineteenth Century a poem by Tennyson en¬
titled “Despair”, with a caption which tells us that a man and wife, beaten
down by suffering and full of the current agnosticism of the time, had resolved
to drown themselves. The wife dies but the man is rescued. He tells of his
thoughts as they faced the waves. A single stanza suffices:
And the suns of the limitless Universe sparkled and shone in the sky,
Flashing with fires as of God, but we knew that their light was a lie—
Bright as with deathless hope—but, however they sparkled and shone,
The dark little worlds running round them were worlds of woe like our own—
No soul in the heaven above, no soul on the earth below,
A fiery scroll written over with lamentation and woe.
That was written nearly sixty years ago, yet it appears to be in complete
accord with the generally accepted doctrine of the day. Strange, is it not, that
after sixty years of the most intense and laborious physical research which the
world has ever known, the agnostic doctrine is more firmly fixed in the saddle
than ever before? Surely in sixty years, if a theory had proved untenable, if it
had failed to accord with the later findings of science, it would have been quietly
discarded to take its place with the wrecks of other abandoned hypotheses.
Can it be possible that science has really discovered the final truth? Is the
world, indeed, a meaningless mechanism? Lord [Bertrand] Russell writes:
“Man is the product of causes which had no prevision of the end they were
achieving: his origin, his growth, his hopes and fears, his loves and beliefs, are
but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms.”
To which our irrepressible Mr. Dixon replies: “Wherever he got his informa¬
tion, he seems to know more about it than I do, or than any other man has
ever known.”
Similar dogmatic affirmations were in circulation in Tennyson’s day, but
they were used by college boys to shock the deacons of the church. To-day
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
219
they carry a more sinister ring. This is no callow, bad-boy philosophy; it is a
matured, reasoned doctrine of nihilism, because to-day the problem is more
subtly apprehended than it was in Tennyson’s time. Scientists have been
forced to become metaphysicians, and, in my opinion, granting their premises,
their position would appear to be impregnable.
The man of Tennyson’s “Despair” was a sensitive soul brought up in the
conventional religion of the period which, for generations, had provided him
and his ancestors with convenient lighthouses to guard their barks from ship¬
wreck on hidden reefs. The great wave which rose at the Renaissance had
swept away the lighthouses, and man was left unguided and crying in the
night. God, the heaven just above the clouds, with its streets of gold and its
gates of pearl, were gone, and science had set in their place its miles and miles
of empty space sown thinly with stars. Instead of a living soul, precious in
the sight of God, man saw himself as only a brute beast endowed by evolution
with a swifter intelligence and a greater capacity for suffering than his brothers
the anthropoids.
It was at this critical period, when the choice seemed forced between the
extremes of irrational superstition and rational agnosticism, that, in the opinion
of many of us, the White Lodge took a hand in the matter.
We who are gathered here to-day are living witnesses to the fact that the
universe revealed by expanding science might have been and should have been
greeted with enthusiasm and joy—not as destructive of faith and optimism,
but as revealing and confirming and fulfilling the deepest aspirations of the
human soul. But the learned world in its haughty self-sufficiency thought
differently; it rejected the Masters, preferring to walk its own various ways to
confusion. Left to itself, science became snared in the fatal and false natural-
supernatural antithesis from which it might have been saved by the ancient
teaching that the Natural is the all-inclusive, though the natural to which the
senses have access is only the outermost shell of the All.
Even as late as the first decade of the twentieth century the issue between
the forces of good and evil still hung in the balance. The work of the Masters
through Madame Blavatsky and Mr. Judge had told, and the beam was slo\^
swinging toward the positive side. One who will re-read the earlier voluiws
of the Quarterly cannot fail to catch the sense of expectancy and of happy
anticipation with which the editor and the contributors sift the world’s move¬
ments and winnow the good grain from the chaff. A New Theology had ap¬
peared and, likewise, a New Science was coming to birth. But the shadow
which follows all innovations lurked in the background. Already in 1907 an
article entitled “Lights and Shadows of the New Theology” is given promi¬
nence. A Summer School of the movement had just been concluded in Wales.
After indicating the various “Lights”, such as a growing realization of the im-
C inence of God, a tendency to identify the self of man with the Self of the
_ iverse, the teaching of emanation, a deepening understanding of the nature
and meaning of inspiration, the writer goes on to say:
There is another side of this movement, or we had rather say, an overgrowth of the
220
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
movement, of which we must now say something. We find one of the speakers, whom
we have already quoted with high admiration, expressing himself thus: “The land of the
earth was given by the Father for the use and delight of all men—not for the few, who,
by any means, legal or illegal, may secure private possession thereof for their private
profit. The Divine Presence did not store the cellars of the earth full of coal and oil
and iron in order that when opened in the twentieth century, coal barons and steel mag¬
nates and oil billionaires should control these treasure-vaults of the earth, enslaving the
children of men in the mines, and then bleeding the nations by monopoly sale of these
gifts of God in nature.”
One speaker uses the phrase, “political economy of the Sermon on the Mount”,
and the writer comments sharply: “The Sermon on the Mount has no more to
do with economics than with astronomy”,—not at this stage of evolution, in any
case.
Thus we can see that a promising religious movement was already being
undermined by sentimentalists, and as the years passed it ran off into the
present Protestant confusion. The writer of the Quarterly article points
out very simply and clearly to these muddled theologians the issues which
make either for life or death:
To those who would promote spiritual life by social revolution, it may be said: Do
you think the Father rules his kingdom so ill, that all these his children sin in vain or
suffer in vain? Are you not unconscious followers of those who held that, in wide realms
of life, the Devil veritably ruled? Think you there is any corner or crevice where the
Father’s will is not instantly done? Increase your faith. Make your victory over Mam¬
mon a victory of the heart and not of the tongue. Lose your life, that you may keep it to
life eternal. Then will you see these things in a new and clearer daylight. Then will you
seek to increase love and aspiration and sacrifice. Then will you seek to minister to the
well-being of souls, to the new birth from above, knowing certainly that these, earthly
conditions are but shadows of the things that truly are; and no more seeking to deprive
the “rich” of his wreath of mist than to give the “poor” a heritage of moonbeams. Cease
to deal with shadows. Awake, arise, and deal with real life!
Turning to the New Science we quickly discover that, in contrast with the
New Theology, its sins were of the intellect rather than of the emotions. Thin,
cold, hard intellectualism has banished genius and enthusiasm, and substituted
a barren regimen of extreme analysis. In choosing the sensuous world of natural
phenomena for its portion, science, at the very outset, had cast in its lot with
the intellect. Science was to be “organized common-sense”. Now, just in so
far as any matter is confined to the province of the intellect, any organization
so effected must of necessity be an artificial one. For the intellect cannot
formulate or understand a true unity. If it is to work at all it can only dis¬
integrate. It can shatter; it can violently break a natural whole into fragments,
resolving unity into an artificial multiplicity, the better to deal with it. This
is the well-known separatist tendency of the mind. “The mind is the slayer
of the real.”
Aware that it has reduced a complex system to more easily comprehended
units, the mind is willing, at a later stage, to re-effect a synthesis if it is per¬
mitted to do so upon its own terms. Thereupon it proceeds to palm off its own
spurious creation upon us as just as good as the original unity. In fact it even
r* r\ 'K r T r 17 XT' T TO \T
993
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION 221
deceives itself, and will fiercely repel the insinuation that an apprehension of
true unities lies quite outside its province. If we need evidence of this basic
flaw in mental activities, we may find it in the reception which the scientific
camp accords to Bergsonism.
Science, then, intellect in excelsis, cannot deal with life, and its reconstruc¬
tion of the organism, or of any other living whole, accords with the pattern of
mechanism. It is obsessed with the analytical tendency, and, in the words of
Jacques Loeb, science can never reach its goal till it has resolved the world
into a series of points under mathematical relations to one another—which is
merely another way of saying that science turns the world into a series of pointer
readings.
Many of us will recall the masterly way in which Mr. Johnston dealt with
this matter, and showed us that the practical outcome of the philosophy of
dematerialized science is sheer sensualism. Rank hedonism is, therefore, the
outcome of the philosophy of science. It is the kind of life that is lived to-day
by the great majority of educated men; it is the kind of philosophy that is
tacitly and unquestioningly accepted as true in our universities, preached in
thinly disguised form in our churches, and fostered by our governments.
But the wind begins to blow from another quarter. There are plenty of
minor scientists who still see in dead matter the source of life and conscious¬
ness—a doctrine which Schopenhauer once said is “well suited to barbers and
apothecaries’ apprentices”. But in turning metaphysician the subtiler brethren
have been forced to recognize the axiomatic truth that the world of each one
of us is indubitably subjective and psychological. Now if there be no objective
ground of truth, no outer, unchanging, independent standard to which experi¬
ence can be referred, no common denominator which factors both your truth
and mine, and if the very nature of science forbids the appeal to a transcendental
Unity which, failing an objective groundwork of truth, might play the same
part of independent witness (but which the intellect could not admit or under¬
stand anyhow, since a true unity is outside its comprehension), then we are
left in the charming situation of having to admit that experience is entirely
relative to the experiencer and is valid to him alone. There is no independent (
standard of truth at all to validate our separate truths.
This sort of debased relativity is running loose in the world and is particu¬
larly popular among those who love to call themselves the “intelligentsia”.
Codes of morals and ethics? Dear me, how very mediaeval! Standards in art?
If I splash red paint on a piece of canvas and then cover it with yellow spots,
the thing is “art”. It may, for all you can tell, express a deep, esoteric signifi¬
cance to me. It is my truth and, in consequence, it must be accepted as a
revelation of a unique genius. Here we have the last wretched perversion of
the principle which Mr. Johnston sets forth in The Song of Life. The work of
the^pe Genius is, indeed, unique—“no more to be imitated than the fire in
the rubys heart or the different glory of the stars”. True Genius is a facet of
the central Jewel of Truth, and finds its completion and its other selves in the
Unity of the Whole. That the personality should finally lay claim to genius,
*
222
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
basing its rubbishy argument on the metaphysics of the many in opposition
to the metaphysics of the One, is in character with its whole lying nature.
Whereas, so far as I can see, if, in very truth, the One did not support and
underlie the many, it would be impossible for two men to converse intelligibly
with one another (which, by the way, is the complete reductio ad absurdum
which logic forces these pseudo-philosophers to take). It is the One alone
which validates the separate truths we utter.
This, then, has come to pass. In the nineteenth century science rejected
the Way, the Truth and the Life, and chose Satan, or multiplicity, or Maya ,
or the shadow world, for its portion. Metaphysically all these terms amount
pretty much to the same thing. Science in our day has found the truth it set
out to find, and that truth—the inescapable, final, unpalatable logic of its
position—is philosophical Nihilism: the doctrine that denies the existence of
any ground for truth at all, and leaves the psyche an independent stream of
consciousness in a vast nothingness.
If we have understood these things, if our feelings have been moved by what
we have heard to-day, it is fitting that, as a member of the Committee on
Resolutions, I should try to add a third link so that the Trinity of Mind, Feel¬
ing and Will may be complete. What are we going to do about it? The Theo-
sophical Society appears to represent about the last stand of sanity in a world
fast going crazy. The least we can do, therefore, is to stand to our guns, keep¬
ing the banner of the White Lodge flying and making no concession to the
world’s miserable ideals.
[As I review these notes several days after Convention and in its Light, it
becomes so clear that in the power of the transcendent Will alone can we con¬
quer. It is a power which the world cannot give; it cannot be found in scientific
machinery, in hatreds and compulsions, in much shouting and gesticulating,
in planned economies and social rehabilitations. These pitiful things dissipate
power endlessly and fruitlessly. But who can measure or set limits to the
power of wills united in terms of a mighty resolution? Then is bom an Organ¬
ism far greater than the sum of its parts—a mighty Genius through whose
body Power, Wisdom and Joy may flow in undiminishing splendour till each
smallest cell, ever perfecting itself in service and sacrifice, may in time come
to know that it “is an inlet to the same and to all of the same”. To that we
have been called with no uncertain voice.—R. E. T.]
Mr. Hargrove: I cannot imagine a better introduction to what I shall
try to say than Professor Torrey’s address, because he has made it so clear
that if ever, at any time, The Theosophical Society had a mission, it has one
to-day; that in view of the trend of science and of so-called scientists, The
Theosophical Society has a message which it is our paramount duty to keep
alive in the world and to carry forward into the next century.
Frankly, I am not sure where to begin; therefore, I shall begin with a text,—
which is always helpful to the speaker. My text is an old Sanskrit Proverb:
“You cannot take one part of a fowl for cooking, and leave the other part to
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
223
lay eggs.” The immediate application of it, is our half-heartedness. We may
not believe it, but the large majority of us expect to be able to do that which
the Sanskrit Proverb says is impossible. In terms of our mental, emotional
and will-energy, we expect to be able to give, let us say, half of it to the Cause
of the Masters and the other half to our personal interests in the world. We
make the fatal mistake of imagining that of necessity there is some conflict
between the two. In spite of everything that has been said for many years,
explaining over and over again that the duties of life are means to a spiritual
end, people are ^till inclined to say: ‘‘Well, look at my duties—I have no time”.
But what are their duties there for, I should like to know!
This morning, Professor Mitchell used the very illuminating analogy (speak¬
ing of The Theosophical Society and of the Movement) of the crank shaft
and its dead centre. I should like to call your attention to the fact that when
the crank shaft is near the dead centre, a thousandth of an inch makes all the
difference. We see from this that in the life of the Society and in our own
lives, there has come a time when we must call on our reserves of capacity
and momentum if we would keep the wheel moving,—as it will move if we
supply the necessary thousandth of an inch of greater effort and of drive. You
will have understood already that it is really about ch£laship that I want to
speak. I am not suggesting that everyone in this room (far from it) can become
a chela. The real question is, whether the Movement is going to produce
chelas, and this will depend to a very large extent upon the real desire and
effort of the membership as a whole. Buddha attained Nirvana on the shoulders
of a million men. No one ever got into heaven alone, through his own unaided
efforts.
What are the obstacles? I want to consider these obstacles under two main
heads. First, there are certain intellectual misunderstandings. I am not refer¬
ring to the class of individuals about whom Professor Torrey was telling us; I
am speaking of the membership of The Theosophical Society. There are,
even now, certain intellectual misunderstandings, some of them derived, I
think, from that early, orthodox Christian training which most of us received.
This does not imply criticism of orthodox Christianity. The time for that
has long since passed. We have learned that almost any form of religious
faith is better than none. Further, as many others have remarked, true Chris¬
tianity has never been tried, and therefore cannot be criticized. When, how¬
ever, it comes to its orthodox interpretation, it would be well for us to recojjjBe
these facts:
The Master Christ gave out the Truth, stark and unadulterated, even when
speaking in Parables; but he knew that his immediate followers would dilute
it, and he accepted that as necessary. He was using the human nature and the
human weaknesses of his followers for the benefit of the world. Take, for in¬
stance, the Master’s teaching, “Take up thy cross daily and follow me”, and
compare that with St. James’s dictum that pure religion and undefiled is to
visit the fatherless and the widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself un¬
spotted from the world. Christ demanded everything (St. Paul too, in my
4
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224
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
opinion); St. James, on the other hand, appears to have said to himself (in
the light of disillusioning experience): “If I can keep these people from deadly,
carnal sin, it is about all that can be hoped for”. So instead of “Take up thy
cross”, his hope was reduced to keeping his followers out of mischief by means
of “good works”.
Do not complain because Christianity has been materialized. If it had not
been materialized, there would not be any of it left; at best, it would be the
secret study of a few score of mystics. You have to talk to people according
to their condition, and the Lodge has seen to it that the needs of all kinds of
people are met. Consider the crudest kind of Catholicism, and ask yourself:
Does it do more harm than good ? The answer will be that it does far more good
than harm. Take the religion of the uncivilized among the inhabitants of
South America and Mexico—extremely crude in many ways, with aboriginal
gods all mixed up with the Virgin Mary, and so forth. But that is all those
people are capable of, and to deprive them of it is a sin. The alternative is
anarchy.
As students of Theosophy, we must shake ourselves free from the material¬
istic coverings of that which the Christian Master revealed. One of the ways
in which the ancient Wisdom Religion, as that Master taught it, has been
perverted, is where he himself is concerned. We need to remember that Chris¬
tianity was not given out to empty minds, was not written (as it were) on blank
paper. It was taught to Jews and to Gentiles, and among those Gentiles were
people who had been brought up on echoes of the Mysteries, or in the atmos¬
phere of Nordic mythology or Druidism. Their minds were already occupied
by certain mental pictures of God and the ways of God, the result being that
the popular conception of God soon became a strange blend of “the Father”,
as revealed by Jesus, and of Jehovah, Zeus, Mithras, Wotan, and others; while
Christ, whom St. Paul had described as “the first bom among many brethren”,
was relegated to a sort of heavenly Olympus, sitting at the right hand of this
composite God, and interceding with Him for sinful men. It was crude, but
it was simple and graphic, and served to introduce to a savage world the idea
of compassion as a divine attribute,—an idea which did finally take root here
and there among peoples not too completely given to the worship of them¬
selves,—and of Wotan. In spite of this gain, however, the general result was,
as has so often been stated here, an increasing tendency throughout the cen¬
turies to exile Christ from the world in which we live; and some of us, in spite
of our Theosophy, may still be labouring under misapprehensions derived from
that source. We need to realize that Masters, though perfect, are human, and
that Masters are in our midst. The immediate importance of this, lies in its
bearing upon ch£laship, especially when the aspirant strives to reach and serve
the Master Christ, because, if that Master be thought of as far off, and if his
human nature be regarded as of the past only, during the incarnation in Pales¬
tine,—a barrier is created which makes intimate, inner intercourse almost im¬
possible, not to speak of outer intercourse.
It is true that many Roman Catholic saints have recorded their experience
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
225
with and of that Master,—and, incidentally, I doubt if students of Theosophy
appreciate sufficiently the record of such experience, the trouble being that it
is so often plastered over with psychic images, psychic “trimmings”, for which
allowance needs to be made with the understanding that the Christian Master
never attempts to break the moulds of minds, directly. For instance, if he is
speaking to a Roman Catholic saint, he does not tell that saint that his or her
interpretation of the Eucharist has turned the truth upside down: he will not
do violence to that soul. Instead, he takes things as they are, takes us as he
finds us,—for what applies to the saint, applies equally to us. He takes our
mental content—our preconceptions and so forth—and meets our condition.
That ceases to be true only when he is dealing with a pledged ch&la, because
the pledged ch&la has asked him, unconditionally, for light and guidance. The
truth is, we are greatly indebted to the Roman Catholic Church in many ways.
For one thing it clings to the old and better moral code, and then, like Masonry,
it has preserved at least the form of certain occult truths (as in the Eucharist),
and also definite evidence of contact with the Master, speech with the Master,
as being possible. So many of the Protestant sects, alas, have thrown that
belief overboard. They really have exiled him; they regard him as remote
from human affairs. The proof of it, as Dr. Torrey has said, is that so-called
Christians, many who believe they are religious, would never dream of going
to Christ for light on economic or scientific or similar questions: he is supposed
to be concerned solely with dangers threatening the individual, and with the
ultimate fate of the soul.
There are exceptions, of course. Among them is the experience of a woman
which she recorded in a book entitled The Great Conjecture: Who Is This Jesus ?—
a book which ought to be helpful to students of Theosophy, because she set
out, with an open mind, to determine by experiment whether Christ was a
reality or not, and she proceeded on the theory that he was, though treating
this solely as a working hypothesis. To her amazement she found that her
efforts met with a response which became clearer and clearer, more and more
vivid, until she would claim to-day to be in conscious hourly contact with him.
She has, however, preconceptions and mental moulds as hard-set as those, for
instance, of St. Gertrude, who, in her visions, saw St. John, St. Peter and others
in heaven, celebrating Holy Communion, and who describes their gorgeous
vestments and jewelled array. Like St. Gertrude, the modem Protestant
writer colours essential verities, but in modem fashion; instead of gorgeous
raiment and priestly celebrations, she sees Jesus as a young Jewish carpenter,
a good democrat and ardent pacifist, who, like herself, regards war as the greatest
of evils. In her case also, it would seem that the Master, instead of forcing
the truth upon her, leaves her to outgrow such illusions, which, after all, do not
affect the fundamental value of her contribution to religious experience, or the
fact that she has done what too few members of the Society have done, that is,
made it their chief purpose in life to gain first-hand knowledge of their own
Master, and to pursue that purpose with inflexible determination. Let us, as
student^fcO Theosophy, at least rid ourselves, once for all, of inherited mis-
226
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
understandings as to the nature of Masters and the immediate possibility of
chelaship, and set ourselves free to that extent to serve the Lodge without
needless hindrance.
So we draw closer to the real question by asking ourselves: Do we really
believe? Are we really convinced, not only of the existence of Masters in a
general way, but do we believe in their interest—their interest in this Conven¬
tion—in your individual reactions to what is being said? Do you believe that
they watch with the greatest concern how each one present responds?—watch¬
ing intently, not the speaker, but you,—watching with burning hope that the
efforts and sacrifices of all these years will not be thrown away—will at last be
crowned with success.
What are the barriers? Self! There is no other. Self, in its myriad forms:
self-concern, self-love, self-hatred, self-excuse: self the centre, if not the circum¬
ference, of all our thinking. Here are the Masters pouring out upon us their
love, and their blessing, and their power; and what do we do with their gift?
We take it and we turn it toward self. Someone may say, “Well, at least I
do not love myself’ ’. Yes, but do you hate yourself ? And what is the difference ?
The point is that self is the centre. The man or woman who takes it all in
terms of self-love is in a bad way; but, on the other hand, those who take that
divine gift, and go through life revolving around their sins and weaknesses,
are just as bad, for they are stealing and perverting the energy thus consumed.
The feeling that goes into it, the emotions that go into it—all are perverted
from the use which that man’s Master intends. Our obstacles are of our own
making; there are no others. All we have to do is to sweep them aside. Stop
calculating, too. What of it that, in the past, there may have been failure,
or that you lack one or all of the qualifications. No one is suggesting that any
one of you should say, “I will be a ch61a”. Leave that to your Master. All
you have to do is to learn to love him. If you do that, the rest will take care
of itself.
In view of all that has been said this morning, and again this afternoon, of
the desperate need if this work of Masters is to continue in the world, imagine
that you were to see someone whom you love, drowning, and were to stand
there and say, “This is terrible! I am a bad swimmer and therefore can do
nothing!” If you see someone you love drowning, there is at least one thing
you can do—jump in and drown with them; do not stand on the shore in safety
and watch them drown. Is it not clear that in the last analysis this is a ques¬
tion of manhood and not of piety or anything else? Not, heaven knows, that
a man can drag his sins along with him; if he is doing that, he is discarded;
nobody turns him out, but he goes,—as a light weight is thrown off a rapidly
revolving table.
What I am speaking of is the need to get away from self, to forget self. For¬
get your miserable virtues and idiotic faults, and forge ahead. That does not
mean that if you are shooting at a target, you just shoot,—because if a man
shoots at a target he takes into account the velocity of the wind, the character
of his rifle, its trajectory, and so forth,—he uses all his intelligence, all the
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
227
information he can get, in order to hit the mark. It is not reckless, blind jump¬
ing that is needed. But do not waste the rest of your life in preparation! Let
the practice, the being, serve as preparation.
I am going to tell you, because personal things sometimes help, that when
word came that we must once more appeal for ch£las, my first reaction was:
Oh! Again! In justice I must say that that lasted only for a moment. Yet at
every age, there are temptations peculiar to that age. Youth has its tempta¬
tions; age has its temptations. And one of the temptations of age is the out¬
come of disillusionment, namely, the grave danger that it results in waning
enthusiasm, waning zeal, which must be recognized at once as springing solely
from lower nature; and lower nature must be treated as of no account whatever.
It is the man who takes his lower nature seriously, who never gets anywhere.
Disillusionment should not have such results, and will not, if love be sufficient.
One need only think of Masters. Do you suppose they suffer from illusions?
What has been their experience?—in spite of which, because they love, their
zeal is inexhaustible. Unlike us, they see not only the faults and limitations,
but the divine possibilities, the divine in every one of us, and, fixing their
vision and their faith on that, they work for ever and ceaselessly with a zeal
and a devotion and energy of which we are utterly incapable, even of imagining.
Let us consider a typical illustration of their experience, which would be
heart-breaking if they were not Masters. A few of you will remember that
some twenty-five years ago, a young man, an American, who had spent some
years in India as a missionary, visited us on his way through New York. He
had had a magnificent idea, a genuine inspiration, which already, to some
extent, he had put into effect. The idea was that the only way to reach the
Hindu religiously (and many of them need reaching, in that sense, at least
as badly as any people of the west), is to do, in the name of Christ, as their
own holy men do,—to live a life of absolute poverty and humility; to live among
them without possessions of any sort; to live, in short, as a Sannyasi lives.
He was a High Church Protestant. With the consent of his Bishop in India,
he had founded a religious Order, with a Rule similar in spirit to that of the
Franciscans. He, with two or three associates, had taken the three vows,
including the vow of celibacy, and had set to work, meeting with considerable
success. When he visited New York he was looking for recruits, and we, tho^h
our vocation was very different, fully recognized his “call” as genuine, tmd
wished him well. The Christian Master had met him more than half way:
that was evident. On one occasion, when this young man had been tramping
the roads of northern India, almost exhausted and greatly discouraged, his
Master appeared to him. Quoting the words of a well-known English clergy¬
man who was Warden of one of the Colleges at Cambridge, and who wrote an
Introduction to a small volume of poems by the young man of whom I speak:
The author of this little volume is by birth an American, aged twenty-six, who, having
seen whether in the body or out of the body God knows, but in any case with con¬
vincing 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
228 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
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.
In one of his poems, the author attempts to describe his experience. Many
of you are familiar with it. I will not weary you with a long quotation.
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. . . .
“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.”
The Master had sought him out,—and no Master can do that without pay¬
ing for it. What was the result? (I wonder whether our response differs so
greatly from that young man’s.) In some three or four years, the recipient
of so wonderful a blessing, turned from his vocation, forgot his vows, and mar¬
ried a hill-woman, to become the father of half-caste children. The Order he
had founded, which seemed so full of promise, and which might and should
have accomplished great things for India, was wiped out of existence.
Such is the response the Masters meet with, time after time, as self-pity or
some other form of self-indulgence destroys the seed which they have sown.
“Lord, I will lay down my life for Thy sake”, is more easily said than made
an hour by hour practice. Yet they never lose hope, nor faith, nor charity.
They see the weakness, but never cease to cling to the divine possibility. Must
not we profit, so far as we are able, by their example? Can we hesitate to
voice their appeal again? More than that, can we forget what they have said
from the very beginning of the Society,—that the neophyte must develop
through his contact with the world, in business, and through the performance
of all his duties, “the indomitable resolution to succeed”,—as a Master, then
known as “Serapis”, wrote in 1874, and as Light on the Path repeats with added
emphasis: “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 di¬
vinity”, is fit to tread the path of ch£laship.
Therefore, in so far as, even remotely, we are able to speak for those great
ones, it is our duty to persist until we die, that this Society shall produce ch£las,
must produce chelas. Everything is at stake. There can be no question of
telling this, that or the other person that he should become a ch§la. That is
not the way things are done; it would be worse than folly. What we need is
union of determination, so that, from within our ranks (no matter in whom),
there shall arise this flower of ch£laship for the Lodge. What appeal can be
made, in the name of heaven, if not the appeal of Masters! They are not going
rpport OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
23
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION 229
to talk about their need. We can talk about their need, and we shall! That
everyone here present shall leave this place determined to do all that he can—
to make some small sacrifice that he has not made in the past; to give some
time to spiritual reading, to think, and pray—that ch£laship shall develop
that somebody—or more than one—shall prove acceptable as victim: for
Masters have never promised rewards; always they have sought out those who
will be victims gladly; who are capable of the deepest joy if they can suffer
for love’s sake.
Thinking this over, two days ago, it seemed that it might be possible to
word a Resolution that could be passed—not by the Society but by individual
members—covering the prayer of this Convention, the hope of Masters for this
Convention. I am going to read it to you, and if you do not like it, please say
so. Anybody can be and remain a member in good standing, and can rightly,
properly, if he choose, declare that this Resolution is not for him.
Whereas , We, members of The Theosophical Society, founded by Masters,
realize to some extent the dire need of the world for help and guidance which
Masters of the Great Lodge alone can give; and
Whereas, We realize also the imperative need of the Society to produce ch£las
from within its ranks if our link with the Lodge is to be kept unbroken, and if
the Society is to continue to serve as a bridge between the Lodge and the world;
therefore be it
Resolved , That we, members present at this Convention [not necessarily all
the members], humbly but unreservedly offer ourselves, individually and col¬
lectively, for service, promising to do our utmost to dedicate our lives, and to
give our hearts and minds, to the purposes of the Lodge, while always praying
that some among us, by the completeness of their self-giving, may make them¬
selves acceptable as cMlas, and may thus become able to complete the Work
begun by H.P.B. and Judge.
It was only possible, before this meeting, to confer briefly with the other
members of the Committee on Resolutions, but both Dr. Torrey and Dr. Hohn^
stedt favoured it, naturally on the condition that it be explained that it does
not commit the Society. One of our By-Laws, as you may remember, reads
as follows:
A copy of all resolutions affecting the policy, principles, or platform of The Theo¬
sophical Society, which are to be voted upon at the Annual Convention, shall be sent to
the Executive Committee three months before said Convention, whereupon due notifi¬
cation of the proposed resolutions shall be given to all Branches by the Executive
Committee.
I have read that By-Law to you because I do not want anyone to say or to
thii^^hat we have forgotten it. We have not forgotten it. Further, I repeat
thaWio one, on the basis of his T.S. membership, is under any obligation to
approve of that Resolution. But there is a thousand times more power and
more appeal in the united resolution of a group than in the separate resolutions
230
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
of individuals. Speaking for myself, and for myself only, I am convinced that
if a resolution of that kind is, as it were, offered up, it will at least be some
comfort to those who, as I said this morning, have given everything and for¬
given everything throughout all these years, and who never lose hope of us,
even when we lose hope of ourselves (and to lose hope of ourselves is one of
the worst of sins). Once more, treat self and its defects as of no account. Forget
it! Then it will cease to trouble you; will cease to get in your way. Up and
onward for evermore—doing what you can—doing your utmost—finding your
goal in each moment, leaving the future to divine compassion.
Mr. Chairman, I think that enough has been said for the time being, and
perhaps other members of the Committee would care to express themselves on
this subject. Or may I suggest that it be thrown open to discussion, for and
against ?
The Chairman: You have heard the Report of the Committee on Resolu¬
tions. You have heard the Resolution that they suggest might well be adopted
by members present here. It should be unnecessary to say that not even the
existence of the Masters to whom this Resolution refers, is an official belief of
our Society, or that this Resolution cannot in any way commit the Society.
It is an opportunity that is offered to the members present, to express them¬
selves individually and collectively, in regard to what they wish to do for The
Theosophical Society and the Theosophical Movement. The subject is thrown
open for discussion, with the request that it be full and frank and free.
The Resolution was then read a second time.
Mrs. Bell: Mr. Chairman, is there anything more to be said, any argu¬
ment to be entered into about that Resolution? It does not seem as though
anybody here could want to do anything but adopt it.
Dr. Hohnstedt: Out West, along the highways, you often cross railroad
tracks, and as you do so, you will see signs: “Stop—Look—Listen—Danger”.
It occurred to me, a couple of weeks ago, that it would be a good policy for
us to keep that sign in mind, daily. Are we following a dangerous path in our
daily conduct, our daily thoughts, and our daily acts? Is our attitude neutral?
If so, let us adopt a positive attitude for good. This Resolution provides a
special opportunity to do so. The Masters need our help. Will not the force
that you throw out as a result of your thought and desire, help to charge the
spiritual storage battery from which the Masters can draw to illuminate the
world? That is all they ask of us. They ask us to do our part. If we believe
in Masters, why not help them? If you believe in Masters and think you
can help them, it is for you to vote for that Resolution. It does not bind the
Society. It only binds you to try to do the best you can to help the Masters.
Dr. Torrey: This is a serious matter. It means a great deal, or else it
means nothing. Let no one be rushed off his feet. Some of our younger mem¬
bers might be in danger of this. Be sure! If it only means that we are going
to try —but I think it means something deeper than that.
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
231
Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell: I should like to express my appreciation of the
marvellous privilege that is offered us to do our utmost to further the pur¬
poses of the Lodge for the good of mankind. If giving everything can advance
the purpose of the Lodge by a fraction of an inch, surely there is not a person
in the room who does not want to do it.
Dr. Clark: With everything in me, I think we should respond to this ap¬
peal. We are asked to do something entirely within our power. All obstacles
fall before real desire. If a man desires a very fine diamond that is in Australia,
though he may not have a dollar in his pocket, if his desire be sufficiently
strong and sufficiently lasting, that diamond will ultimately become his.
Mr. LaDow: I have just recalled a story which I had forgotten since school¬
days, the story of Xenophon’s Anabasis. There was a small body of Greeks
who had enlisted in a Persian army that met defeat in a civil war. They set
forth for home, and their captains led them across mountains in winter, through
burning deserts, on and on. One day, they came out upon a mountain top
from which they looked down upon the sea. The way home was revealed
to them! They fell on their knees, and embraced one another with tears of
joy streaming down their faces, crying out: “ Thalassa , Thalassa; the Sea, the
Sea!”
This resolution simply states that we have been led to a mountain top, from
which we have a vision of the Great Sea, the Ocean of Theosophy? the way
home. Can anyone refuse to follow that way?
Mr. Miller: The question was raised this morning as to whether we have
the ability, the power, to respond to the call of the Lodge that was made anew
to-day. The answer to that depends upon what part of us is to do the de¬
ciding. . . . Surely, no member, young or old, if he will apply the test as to which
part of his nature is being quickened, will hesitate a moment for his answer to
this Resolution.
Mr. Auchincloss: I do not see how we can be grateful enough for this
opportunity which has been offered us, and for the call to meet this tremendous
need, of which we have had to be reminded. It is a time for us, at whatever
points we are still sound asleep, to find out what those points are, and to wake
up; at whatever points we are still holding back, to find out what they are,
and to go forward; to give ourselves all over again, completely; to put om will
into it, and our back into it; to make ourselves able to co-operate as ou^rearts
desire to do.
Mr. Kobb£: Mr. Chairman, I am whole-heartedly in favour of the Reso¬
lution, but disappointed that it was not instigated by some of us who are younger
as students of Theosophy, so that it could have come from the ranks of the
Society, so to speak, instead of being handed to us,—as things have been,
year after year, on silver platters, with spoons,—or, now and then, with cups,
if we seemed able to quaff larger draughts.
232
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Be that as it may; we now have our individual and collective and immediate
objective before us in concise form: that new ch£laship must be bom within
the ranks of the Society, if that body is to continue as a healthy, vigorous
entity in the world. If each of us who considers himself a real member does
not contribute to this end, I go so far as to say that we shall have failed in the
purpose for which we incarnated this time, and shall have betrayed a Lodge
trust.
However, there is no need to fail. We are part and parcel of a time-honoured
Lodge movement, not some spiritually-orphaned beings who are here for an
isolated span of twenty-five or fifty years. What can we do to bring new chela-
ship to birth? One simple way is to cease to bury ourselves under our duties,
to cease to identify ourselves with them, no longer to be self- busy. Our duties
are staves in our hands if used aright, the very implements by means of which
we can contribute directly towards bringing about this great birth. Let us,
then, get from under our duties and into the atmosphere of the Lodge,—or of
our own Master, if we know who he is; for, in the final analysis, it is he who
will bestow this mysterious birth,—and upon the one who makes this choice
possible.
Mr. Brush: This Resolution, as I see it, simply objectifies and epitomizes
what all of us in our hearts, have been trying to work toward. It is now given
to us to proceed from that stage and to objectify it still further. The fact that
it is a collective formulation means that each of us will be on his honour to
incarnate it, as much as possible, in his personal life.
Mr. Saxe: I, also, find myself with mixed emotions,—joy and gratitude
that we should have this wonderful opportunity, but shame and deep regret
that such an appeal should again be necessary. Year after year, on many
occasions, the older members have made strong appeals to us, and we know
that we have not done nearly as well as we could have done in response.
Professor Mitchell once pointed out that the essence of the religious life is
courageously attempting the impossible, and then achieving the impossible.
Have we really tried, each day, to do the impossible?
You will remember that the Master Christ often spoke to his disciples about
lack of faith, “a faithless generation”. He wanted them to have a far higher
ideal of faith, saying that if they had faith as a grain of mustard seed, they
could move mountains. And Light on the Path says that faith is a great engine,
an enormous power. These are lessons for us. I think we flatter ourselves
that we have faith merely because we are not unbelievers; we are blind to the
fact that we really have hardly any faith at all.
Mr. CarXs: Surely we believe in a universe, the essential and ultimate
purpose and trend of which is toward the Good. I should think that we must
want to believe this, whether it is the Masters who tell us so or not. That
being so, it would seem to me that this Resolution offers us an opportunity to
do now what we ultimately must; to do now, what we surely will ultimately
and essentially want to do.
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
233
Dr. Dewey: I feel that the opportunity to join in this Resolution is the
greatest privilege offered to us during the few years I have been connected
with this Society. Mr. Hargrove took pains to make clear that this is indi¬
vidual action, though it does not show on the face of the Resolution taken by
itself. I wonder if the insertion of the word “individual” in two places: “Whereas
we individual members”, and “Now therefore be it resolved, we individual
members”, would give a greater sense of individual responsibility to each
member who concurred.
The Chairman: The Chairman would like to make it wholly clear, in
response to that suggestion, that the resolution does not commit the Society
as such. He sympathizes with the purpose of the suggestion, but would be
sorry to see the wording changed so as to lose the added power which, as Mr.
Hargrove pointed out, could be realized through collective action.
Mr. Politella: In this Resolution, submitted for our endorsement in
heart and mind and will, the Cause of the Masters and the Society which is
its embodiment, are placed before us for judgment. By our verdict, by the
whole-heartedness of our endorsement, we may make it once more clear that
Theosophy is not a mere philosophical doctrine, but a life to be lived in meas¬
urable completeness by all of its adherents. And even more, Theosophy is
the Cause of the Masters, for which, when the call comes, all must be sacrificed.
By our own verdict, therefore, by the measure of our devotion, Theosophy
and what it represents, stands or falls in the heart of each of us.
In this summons, we of the younger generation find once more made tangi¬
ble the call to keep the link unbroken. In this solemn hour, by the force of our
united aspirations and the help of those whose life-blood is in the Society,
the very gate of Heaven seems to have been forced open. Now we can see
the meaning and significance of this, our united and also individual act of
devotion, with undimmed sight and also with a perspective from which—
if only for a moment—the veil of Maya has been lifted. I am sure that it must
be the feeling of many of us, that in this awesome moment we are closer to
the mountain top, and have a clearer view from there of the sunshine of life,
than we have ever had before. In this interval our petty little “self” is so
stunned by the sacred demands made upon the true Man, the Higher Nature
of each of us, which desires to adopt this Resolution, that it can not jp-
portune us with advice about caution and moderation and its infernal, “\VTOt
will become of me?” At this invocation, so magically prepared, our united
will has the potency of a vision gained from the mountain-peak far above
the clouds; to-morrow we become valley-dwellers again, and the height and
what we have seen from there, may once more seem inaccessible. Now we
seem to be face to face with the speaker whose call rings out: “In God’s name
come over and help us. The need is so great!” To-morrow we may hesitate
and weigh the pros and cons and ask, “Master, is thy need so great that I
^pust sacrifice my all?”
V In this Resolution is embodied all for which the Society stands, as the spirit -
234
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
ual organ of humanity. The Society is a living organism for the production
of ch£las, and if it fulfils not its function, its fate must be that of the barren
fig tree. The magnificent opportunity is granted us now to aspire to and make
concrete that which for years we have subscribed to with our lips. “But if
I fail?” Failure is an illusion, and like all others, a snare of Mara. In the
Lodge, acts are not judged by success or failure; its aspirants do not stand
or fall by human standards. Here, “not failure, but low aim, is crime”. To
the timid one who seeks the things of the earth, the poet has given the advice:
“’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”. These
are good, but for the would-be ch£la, words of even deeper import are written:
The power which the disciple shall covet is that which shall make him appear as
nothing in the eyes of men. . . . Thy right is to the work , and never to its fruits.
. . . The first and only right of the neophyte is—to be tried.
By the life-force with which we endow this united Resolution, and seek
individually to answer the call, by that measure does the cause of the Masters,
the attempt to redeem a dying world, gain or lose in strength. Now each of
us is being tested: how much do we understand? how much do we love? what
is the measure of our love? We have been given this afternoon the only test
by which love can ever be measured—by the completeness of its sacrifice.
And the Masters ask for the sacrifice of this mole-eyed demon of self, the slayer
of the real who keeps us from the object of our love.
Let us enter freely, with hearts aflame, that glorious warfare of the soul;
let us make instant use of that fire which we have demanded from Heaven
and which must be returned to its source. Face to face with all that is good
and true and beautiful in the whole wide world, with our own supreme selves,
what does it matter what becomes of us, so long as the Cause of the Masters
triumphs?
Mr. Mullinax: I have long wanted to attend a Convention, and it is grati¬
fying to me to be here in such unusual circumstances. Something has been
brought up which, as I see it, is of the utmost importance to the Society and
to every one of its members. We can talk till our minds become numb, but
it will not get us anywhere. Sooner or later, each one must do something
about it. I think it should be done now. I would whole-heartedly subscribe
to that Resolution and I hope the Masters will help us all to do the same.
Mr. W. E. Smith: I am a very young member in service, and very unworthy
to voice any opinion here. I have less knowledge than faith and hope, but
I feel we are confronted with a great opportunity. If, as Dr. Torrey suggests,
some of us who are young, change and fail, it would be deplorable; and there
is always the possibility that we shall change and fail. But if some of us fall,
and have to go forward on our hands and knees, and yet one of us reaches the
goal,—it will be worth it.
Mr. John Mitchell: I think the Resolution is in the nature of a pledge
of one’s life. I think that for someone to take this pledge and fail later would
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
235
do much more harm than good. It would be preferable for an individual like
that, not to vote on it. I am whole-heartedly in favour of the purpose behind
the Resolution, but I think it would be harmful for one to fail.
Miss Husby: In answer to that, I should say that perhaps we should feel
that the personal Karma of failure is not so important as what we may be
able to accomplish collectively. A collective pledge is not the same as a per¬
sonal pledge. If we contribute, individually, to what would help the rest to
go forward with a united purpose—to produce a chela—our individual failure
would not be important.
Mr. Ganson: It is to me the most marvellous thing that has happened
in any Convention that I can remember: to have a call voiced to us from the
Masters in such definite and ungamished language. It means the opening
up of our nature to the Master’s nature, so the heart touches his heart and
the fire comes in to us. It does not make any difference whether you or I be¬
come that ch£la. It is the collective work that will count.
Mrs. Bell: It seems to me that in all this talk about failure, we leave out
all that the Masters are going to do to help us keep this Resolution.
Mr. Jimenez: I think this may be a turning point, an opportunity offered
by the Masters. They know what they are doing. I think the adventure is
worth all the possible losses.
Mr. Hargrove: Personally, I am grateful to those who have spoken, to
one and all. I should like to include Mr. John Mitchell,—because it takes
courage to voice a solitary objection. But of course the truth of the matter
is that the failure of the individual, lamentable though that be, is of no conse¬
quence whatever in comparison with the possible success of the group of which
he is a part. Think of a regiment of soldiers—a man can go forward with his
regiment, or he can stay behind. If he goes forward, he may be killed. That
would be unfortunate, but at least he will have the honour of having gone
forward. If he says, No, the risk is too great and he might be killed,—he may
save his life, but I am not sure that he will find it.
I am completely in accord with Dr. Torrey’s warning. Keep out of it, if
you do not want it, because we do not want you in it.
At the same time, do not act on a wave of emotion, and then go oAide
the door and feel that you made a fool of yourself. I do think, howevl^hat
it is only fair to those who have made up their minds, that they should have
an opportunity to go on record. If anyone disapproves of the Resolution,
he can vote against it; or, if some have not grasped its meaning—in spite of
the fact that it has been read twice—they can (and should) abstain from voting.
May I ask, therefore, that those who are in favour of the Resolution, signify
this by holding up their right hand. [Very few abstained from expressing
immediate and enthusiastic approval.] Those against should have an oppor¬
tunity to register their disapproval in the same way. [None did so.] I do
236
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
not believe that I should be saying anything unwarrantable if I were to express
the belief that the Masters thank you.
The Chairman: The next business of the Convention would be, in regular
procedure, to hear from the delegates present; but I am wondering whether it
is true that there was nothing more to say after Mr. Hargrove sat down. There
is, at least, something I should like to add, and that is an expression of our
gratitude to the Theosophical Movement, to its members, living and dead,
to its founders and the Great Lodge of Masters, that by their divine compassion
they have brought us to the point where we can take this Resolution, and
make it the conscious purpose of our lives.
Miss Hohnstedt was then asked to speak for the Cincinnati Branch.
Miss Hohnstedt: I do not want to say much about our work in Cincinnati,
but I should like to say how glad I am that this Resolution was brought before
us. It occurs to me that parents never ask children to do anything that is
impossible; and the Masters are our parents on the spiritual plane, and they
would not ask us to do anything impossible; and if we all make up our minds
to live up to it, we shall have their help.
Mr. Oberlander: I can only say that I am glad that I am here to par¬
take of the inspiration, the guidance and strength that a Convention like this
gives us for the following year.
Mrs. Regan: It is very hard to remember what you had planned to say
as a delegate, because our hearts are so full of the Resolution.
When I first began coming to our Conventions, I remember that as we greeted
each other, year after year, invariably one of us would say: “I am so glad
I could come to Convention—I get so much from it.” As the years go by,
our attitude changes. We begin to think, “What can I give to Convention?”
And all that we can give is ourselves—what we are, or at least what we have
been struggling for through the years. But at this Convention, we have had
an opportunity that we have never had before, an opportunity to pledge our¬
selves to stand by the Masters, to fight for them, and I thank God with all
my heart that we have had that opportunity.
Miss Gorich: My gratitude to Theosophy and to the older members is
something which I cannot express. I know that everything that I am is due
to what I have learned through Theosophy. I bring greetings from the Branch
in Denver. I am hoping to take back to them much of the inspiration I re¬
ceived at this Convention. I am heart and soul in sympathy with the Reso¬
lution, and am glad to have the opportunity to serve the Masters in that way.
Mr. Mullinax: This is the keenest pleasure that I have ever had, in this
room to-day. It is perfectly marvellous. I have wanted to come here for a
very long time, and it just did not seem that I could. I have never had any
conception of what it would actually be like. I am proud to stand in your
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
237
presence. It is an honourable company, and it is a very great privilege. It
is this wonderful feeling in the heart, of unity,—that we are part of that greater
life which rules all nations and which is ours if we will make it so. It is not
possible for me to express, with any degree of adequacy, my sense of grati¬
tude to those who have done so much for me and for the Masters’ Cause. I
thank you.
Mr. Gonzalez Jimenez then read the following message on behalf of the
Branch in Venezuela.
To the members of the T.S. in Convention assembled: Another benediction;
another gathering of men and gods; another Convention! How shall we re¬
spond? We have been told again and again: by subjecting our lower nature
to the higher; by living as a soul; through re-ligion , the binding of ourselves
to the Father in Heaven.
Our Society was conceived and formed by Masters of the Lodge, whose
Patron is the Heavenly Father, for the purpose of re-linking us, through the
specific and personal devotion of the Head of our spiritual genealogy, to the
Perfect and Universal Father. To arouse this filial devotion in us, is the es¬
sential mandate of all the Emissaries of the Lodge.
The most striking and dynamic definition of Theosophy, as we understand
it, is “to live the life” (a platitude, intellectually). But nowadays it ought
to be a life of combat, waged as never before, with the ceaseless, growing joy
of the celestial companionship. After its 63 years of existence as a body, it
seems to us that the Society is more and more concerned with this inner atti¬
tude and less and less with simple formalism. We feel that it has transcended
the interest of Branch routine. You all, and much more, indeed, our Masters,
who we believe are in our midst to-day, are more avid of the invisible aroma
arising from the censer of hearts set afire, than of descriptions of exterior activ¬
ities. How we wish we had, instead of a written Report, the incense distilled
from the bark of our Kama, to be burned in the censer of this Convention!
We surely would co-operate if we could, humbly, unknown, with the Masters
in their perpetual holocaust for the healing and deification of the race! H.P.B.
called this co-operation the pinnacle of art'. “Is it not”, she says, “the greate^
art of all; this which affects the very atmosphere in which we live? That it^K
the most important is seen at once, when we remember that every person
who draws the breath of life affects the mental and moral atmosphere of the
world, and helps to colour the day for those about him.”
This is not a benevolent counsel to be heard lightly. Is this call to be wasted
on the deafness of our desert? Never! must be our response. It is the im¬
plicit pledge of our membership; the summons to our sense of decency, or fit¬
ness, but in any case, to our filial gratitude, which confronts us with a dilemma
that we cannot elude: to be or not to be; to conquer or perish, to people the
Heavens or to fill the cemeteries. Thus, H.P.B. proceeds: “Those who do
^t help to elevate the thoughts and lives of others must of necessity either
jwalyze them by indifference, or actively drag them down. When this point
238
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
is reached, then the art of life is converted into the science of death; we see
the black magician at work. And no one can be quite inactive.” In other
words, if we do not co-operate with the Guardian Angel of our Higher Self,
or Master, in the divine re-making, we, by the open door of the Theosophy
we have assimilated, lend ourselves of necessity to ten demons of our lower
nature for the undoing of the race. An angel sufficed to save Tobias, but ten
fiends were sent to kill Sensa.
You all know that living the life involves a twofold process: a demand and
a supply. Inconceivable is the effort of evolution without the recompense of
involution, just as “below” is inconceivable without “above”, or a shadow
without a form that projects it. For, after all, what we call personal evolution
is but the silhouette of spiritual involution.
It is not an easy task in an easy environment; but have we not been told
that the theosophical life is for those who have courage and common sense,
brain and resolution, feeling and understanding? And, on the other hand,
in the eternal law of compensation, we must remember that extremes meet:
the greatest help comes to the maximum need. Let us hear what Judge says :
“There is one thing peculiar to the present Kali-Yuga that may be used by
the student. All causes now bring about their effects much more rapidly than
in any other or better age. Thus by bearing all the manifold troubles of this
age and steadily triumphing, the object of his efforts will be more quickly
realized, for, while the obstacles seem great, the powers to be invoked can be
reached more quickly.” Infallibly, when in the storm we admit our insuf-
ficience, and self resigns as pilot; when, submissively and with faith, we send
out the S.O.S. evoking divine guidance,—Krishna appears on deck, and takes
the helm of our tossing boat.
The humble work of our Branch has been an effort to commence to live
this kind of life that the Masters ask of us; and, by their gracious inspiration
and direct help, we hope our commencement will be definite, in keeping the
law of our Lord, for we are longing for the day when, like the oriental devotee,
we can say: “I take my refuge in the Buddha, in his Law, in his Sangha”.
Miss Husby: After this afternoon, I think that, first of all, I should like
to express my gratitude for being a member of this organization, through which
I have such an opportunity. I could not have it otherwise. Life suggests a
parallel with our collective effort. In the world of art, there are creative artists,
and art appreciators. The appreciator is seldom thought of as a creative artist,
but I think he may well consider that when he looks upon a thing of beauty,
and recognizes its beauty, he has helped to create it; that he can thank the
artist for doing the work, for being a creator in one sense, but that he is also
a creator, because he has loved the beauty.
Mr. Cross then spoke of his experiences in the Biological Department
of an American University, deploring the fact that only the husks of life are stud¬
ied there. He had found the teachers devoted to their tasks but obsessed
with the notion that the accumulation of facts was the goal of research.
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
239
They were uninterested in the possibility that principles lay behind the facts.
This did not seem to be so true of the older generation of biologists in whose
writings we find evidence that they held certain convictions and broad ideas
which they were not afraid to defend, though their defence often grew to heated
argument and led to intense personal animosities and notorious academic
squabbles.
The theosophical doctrine of tolerance has now penetrated society to some
extent, yet the forces of darkness have worked to pervert this very truth, for
we now find that it is considered bad form to object to anything.
The older biologists were trained in classics and philosophy as well as in
science. Consequently they had a set of criteria based upon knowledge of
recorded human thought and experience by which to distinguish between
truth and falsehood. To-day, with our intense specialization, this broader
background has been lost and, as a result, the basis for sound judgment has
largely disappeared with it. The younger biologists are no longer interested
in evolution or the other great principles. Hence many old fallacies reappear
under the guise of new opinions which a perverted sense of tolerance, as well
as general ignorance, put into circulation. This is particularly true of mechan¬
istic doctrines, which are once more popular.
So it is that a few students welcome the broader outlook which Theosophy
provides. They feel that it takes up biological work where the greater students
of the nineteenth century left it, and carries it forward along the lines to which
their researches pointed, and along which it ought normally to have moved.
The Chairman: We have always felt that this part of the Convention,
when we hear from our distant members, is one of special pleasure and in¬
terest. We have enjoyed it no less to-day; yet as several speakers have said,
it has seemed that the Convention reached its climax with the Report of the
Committee on Resolutions, and that all which has been said since has been
important only as it bore upon the aim that we could now consciously set
ourselves. This note has been sent to me: “Please, won’t you say just a word
before we close, of our joy and gladness, inner and outer, that we have been
given this glorious opportunity?” It shows where our thoughts are centred.
It may well be that our New York members, upon whom I shall call next, had
intended to say something else to us, but perhaps what had been plannee^
is not so important as that we should get back to the central truths and pur¬
poses which are now in all our minds. What is it that The Theosophical So¬
ciety has to do? What is the opportunity offered us?
Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell: The opportunity offered to us is one found only
in The Theosophical Society. It is too big to put into words. One could de¬
scribe one aspect as magnificent courtesy. Through their great generosity
and courtesy, we are offered the supreme privilege of helping the Great Ones
of all time; of serving our own highest ideal, embodied in the Masters of the
Great Lodge. We, as we are—little and poor—are offered the chance to help
th^p in carrying out their great purposes for mankind. If we could choose,
240
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
for what more splendid destiny could we ask than the opportunity to have a
part, no matter how small, in that Cause, the greatest of all causes, under
the most superb of all leaders?
How can we keep alive in our hearts the fire that that thought always ought
to light? It is easy to feel the fire here. It is not easy to keep it burning through¬
out the year—not easy to keep it from being overlaid by worldly matters, by
absorption in one’s business, in one’s duties. To keep the fire alive, we must
use our imaginations to see what the true facts are, and to bring realization
of them home to our hearts. And we must keep it alive by will, by offering
all that we do, with the intention that it will help in the Masters’ Cause, leaving
results to them.
Mr. La Dow: It seems to me that one way of expressing our experience
to-day is that, in greater or lesser degree, but in the most concrete sense, we
have come into contact with the real world. That sense of reality has doubt¬
less come in many forms. For example, there has been a sense of real time,
wherein past and present and future are all seen as one, “under the form of the
Eternal”. In particular, I think we have all had some sense of real space. A
great mystic said that in real space in the real world, souls are separated not
by physical distance but by difference of purpose. And just because, to-day,
we have been drawn by a compelling power, by the magnet of a single purpose,
I believe that we have been aware of a unity greater than many of us had im¬
agined to be possible. And all this has happened surely because we have been
in the presence of real people , in the presence of members of the Lodge. As
Mr. Mitchell has just said, we can feel these things here—it is not even a
question of belief, but of conviction—but when we go out on Fifth Avenue,
as we soon must, we are going to live and move once more among “walking
corpses”; we are going to be plunged back into the world of the unreal. And
every day of the year which is before us, we shall have to face that unreal aspect
of existence. But in so far as we hold fast to the certainty that here to-day
we have had immediate consciousness of the true and the real, in so far as we
practise continuous recollection , we shall actually help the Masters (the real
people of the world) in their efforts to turn men’s attention from the unreal
and false to the real and true.
All of us must have heard of Adept Kings. What is an Adept King? In one
sense, the Adept King of a nation is the real, the natural leader of that na¬
tion. He is a fact in Nature. He is not elected, is not presented with a certifi¬
cate or with anything of that sort. A certain nation belongs to him. He may
be an exile from his people, but he is no less their true king. To bring the
Lodge nearer to the world, what can we do? If we make ourselves the loyal
and devoted subjects of our Adept King (of the Master to whom we belong),
that will mark at least a beginning of his return from exile. It seems to me
that in no other way than by first a few, and then more, and then still more
of his children turning to him,—in no other way can the Master’s exile be
ended and can he return to earth.
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
241
The Chairman: I am again in a quandary. There are others from whom
we should like to hear; but a question has been twice repeated: Can more be
said? Talk for talk’s sake, when all that is needful has been said, is definitely
immoral,—a waste of force which none can afford, least of all we, who face
an undertaking requiring all we can command. I do not myself think we
should gain by prolonging our discussion. Rather do I believe that we have
come to the point where we should act, and that the first steps toward the
realization of our purpose, were indicated to us in the note struck in opening
the Convention,—the note of indrawal to the Real. The true Self of the Move¬
ment, as the true Self of our own souls, is to be found in silence. To-day the
parade of the World’s Fair has passed within a stone’s throw of our door. It
was not from it that we could learn either of our own or of the world’s needs.
Instead, we shut out the world, and sought to look back to the source of in¬
spiration and the touchstone of reality, that we might learn how to deal both
with the world and with ourselves. That was the note which was struck clearly
at the beginning, and which has run through all our deliberations. The bridge
between the inner and the outer worlds, between man and his Elder Brothers,
the bridge which The Theosophical Society was founded to form and to main¬
tain, cannot be maintained if it rest upon the shifting sands of glamour and
opinion. It must reach and contact the outer world, but it cannot rest upon
it. It must rest solidly upon spiritual reality. Therefore we, the custodians
of the bridge, entrusted with its maintenance, must reach that spiritual reality
ourselves. We can maintain the link unbroken in the Movement, only as we
maintain it unbroken in ourselves. The link with our “divine part”, which
our individual, sentient lives should be, must be so strengthened by use, so
quickened by our response to what comes to us from above, that it develops—
in some among us at least—into chelaship, becoming a conscious link with the
Lodge, between the man and his own Master.
This purpose has been brought clearly into consciousness to-day, and has
been recognized and recorded as our own. To be achieved, it must be pur¬
sued by each within his own thought and acts. It will not be furthered by
overmuch talk with our fellows; nor by overmuch attention being paid to the
state, good or bad, of our outer personalities, for it is not what these are ngw,
but what we can make of them, which is of moment to us. They are of^Tue
only for their potentialities, for what they can become, as instruments in the
work. We do not realize potentialities by crystallizing them in their present
undeveloped stage—by thinking of our present capacities or sins or virtues,
as though they were something fixed and permanent; but rather by looking
steadfastly to what we want accomplished, and by insisting upon accomplishing
it. Our experience, as we listened to our Branch Reports, and found ourselves
considering them only in the light of the Resolution we had taken, is typical
of what should be our attitude toward all our characteristics and affairs,—their
significance for us should be in their bearing upon our central purpose.
I think, therefore, that our Convention has reached its culmination. This
morning I asked whether there was anything the Masters could do for us that
242
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
they had not done, more of fire they could send to kindle us than they had
sent; and now we must answer those questions differently. By some miracle
of their grace they have sent us far more, as all of us must be well aware. It
only remains, therefore, to register your gratitude, as well as my own, for the
opportunity this day has brought us to engrave upon our consciousness and
wills the true purpose of our lives.
By request, the Resolution was re-read, after which the Committee on Reso¬
lutions was discharged, and the Convention adjourned.
Isabel E. Perkins,
Secretary of Convention.
Julia Chickering,
Assistant Secretary of Convention.
LETTERS OF GREETING
Newcastle-on-Tyne, England.
To the Members of The Ttieosophical Society in Convention Assembled: On behalf of the
members of the Newcastle-on-Tyne Branch, I have much pleasure in conveying to you our
heartiest greetings and good wishes. We are glad that this home-coming is made possible
once again, for we feel that as the years go by, these Conventions increase in value and sig¬
nificance. They are a source of strength to the members, as a whole, and a gleam of light to
the outside world.
We shall therefore be with you in heart and mind on this great day, and may you feel the
spirit of our presence and our never-flagging interest. We feel that we must have something
to give, something to contribute to this Great Cause, and not be like young birds merely
waiting to be fed. We feel that our best gift, our best contribution, will be that of ourselves.
But it must be whole-hearted giving—not partial—where something is kept back. This im¬
plies vision, resolution, effort, sacrifice. And what a rallying to the standard such a realiza¬
tion would be! The valour of the dauntless warrior would strike like Vulcan on the hearts
of men, and the waiting Messenger would find a vehicle to his hand. We, therefore, at this
time, give what we have—what we are—and consecrate ourselves anew to more efficient,
more worthy service.
We would particularly express our gratitude and thankfulness for the Wanderer’s comments
on the international situation in October last. With force, because of embodiment and, hence,
understanding, he states clearly and convincingly, that “Right, not might, always triumphs
in the end.” And is it not our Work at the present time to stand boldly and fearlessly for the
Right, no matter at what cost? To resort to no expedient or compromise where a principle
of righteousness is at stake? Is it not for us to follow the example of H.P.B. to the very ut¬
most? Mr. Johnston says of her:—“With unparalleled force, she asserted the Soul; with
transcendent strength she taught the reality of Spirit, by living the life, and manifesting the
energies of an immortal. She cast herself with torrential force against the dark noxious clouds
of evil that envelop and poison human life. The rift in their leaden masses through which,
high above, we catch a glimpse of the blue, bears testimony to the greatness of the power
that rent them asunder.”
We are told that “love is the power that moves the world, the only power that moves the
spiritual world”. So, as long as that “nucleus” which has been formed, is maintained and
carried forward, Brotherhood, based on no mere sentimentality, but on real love, on the
spiritual unity of mankind, will continue to be a living factor in the world.
ANNUAL CONVENTION
245
REPORT OF THE
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION 243
We feel that it is still on these lines that the Work of the Masters has to proceed, and we
trust that your deliberations to-day, may be fraught with renewed vigour and insight to
that end.
E. Howard Lincoln,
President.
Oslo, Norway.
To the Secretary T.S.: I have been requested by our Chairman—who is ill—to send Greet¬
ings on behalf of the Oslo Branch to Members of The Theosophical Society assembled in
Convention and elsewhere.
Knowing from personal experience what it is to be present, and also what these Annual
Conventions mean to the many members who for divers reasons are prevented from attend¬
ing, I doubt if there exists any other Society—with members spread all over the World—
where all are so united in heart and mind on Convention Day.
Believing in the power of thought, this “tuning in M is assuredly registered by those present,
the knowledge of it strengthening still further the inspired impulses which from there again
go forth into the world,—and which we believe are of greater importance and have a more
far-reaching effect and influence than can be accounted for. The condition of the World
to-day, the complexity of the political constellations, and the constant threat of War, make
one feel that guidance and true perception are needed more than ever by all nations, and by
their leaders and rulers in particular, to enable each and all to see the real issues and thereby
know how to choose rightly. To this end, too, we are grateful that a Convention again is
taking place, our gratitude extending to the Elders, who by their presence, their loyalty to
the Cause, by their self-sacrificing labour, give light and life to the proceedings, to the Society
—year after year: the nucleus of the nucleus.
To the editors of the Quarterly, to all who contribute to it, we likewise again wish to
express our heartfelt thanks, for this link which enables us to keep in contact with Head¬
quarters—no matter what distance separates us in body.
For the Oslo Branch T.S.,
H. Knoff.
Norwich, England.
To the Secretary T.S.: Every year we hope that the Convention will be stronger, nobler,
more inspired than any of the others, great though they have been, and so, both personally
and as President of our Norfolk Branch, I send my warmest greetings and heartiest good
wishes to all our fellow members assembled in New York.
We are living through difficult and dangerous days; I suppose that there have been times
as bad in the long history of mankind, but what strikes one most is that all the old landmarks!
that appeared so stable—things that one could cling to in days of danger—are being rapidly
swept away; all moral standards are vanishing, and it seems as if the very foundations of
civilization are being destroyed, in an oncoming wave of chaos and anarchy. It is not an
encouraging prospect, and yet reflection shows that it holds great possibilities and opportuni¬
ties, for history proves that it is precisely in such times of chaos that some great man has
appeared, some noble faith has arisen that has been called forth by the suffering and the long¬
ing of that part of humanity in which at least a remnant of faith and devotion survived.
Krishna told Arjuna that when there was decay of truth and faith, and exaltation of igno¬
rance and evil, “He himself came forth”; and such a statement is one to stay all our hope on,
and to prevent any tendency towards discouragement. In the turmoil of the present day,
what alone is stable and unshakable is the Theosophical Movement and the Lodge of Masters,
who can see far beyond what is now occurring and are guiding the destinies of mankind and
The •fcosophical Society which is the instrument of the Lodge in the world, to which we
have Ine! immense privilege of belonging. . . . The whole world appears to be locked at
present in the deadliest of conflicts, and unfortunately some of the great nations, which should
be fighting whole-heartedly for the right, have become tainted with the spirit of compromise,
of defeatism, which is sapping all their energy, paralysing the good that is in them.
244
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
We know that in the great fight that is now being waged no one can be neutral, and it seems
to me that our chief duty, as members of the T.S., is to prove this in our own lives and so to
infect others with the same spirit. We have been told over and over again that the Lodge
needs ch£las, that the T.S. should be able to provide them. What are we doing about this?
Are we all doing our best and utmost to answer the call of the Lodge for them? These are
questions that become more insistent as Convention draws nearer, and we meditate on it.
On our answers to them may depend more than we can possibly imagine. Great military
strategists have said that the best method of defence is to attack, and that is what we are
asked to do to-day.
Espoir Bagnell,
President , Norfolk Branch .
Norwich, England.
To the Secretary T.S.: Once again our thoughts turn towards Convention, in this month of
preparation, while we look forward with hope towards that assembling of the Powers, with
thankfulness that once again a Convention may be held, with prayer in our hearts that we
may respond aright to the outpouring of power which is given at that time.
Those of us who are not free to attend in person, come to understand with the passage
of the years, that it is our privilege to listen, in stillness and silence, for the note, or vibra¬
tion, which resounds at Convention-time; the challenge to us is to keep rightly attuned, and
this demands all our powers of concentration, steadfastness, self-forgetfulness.
It is of the utmost interest, when the July Quarterly reaches us, to read the Conven¬
tion report, to note how the thought of the different speakers exemplifies that “unity in di¬
versity” which is the hall-mark of the Society. In this connection, I was thinking of the
words of H.P.B., the Pioneer—“Follow the Path I show, the Masters who are behind, do
not follow me or my path.” It is interesting to remember that the diversity must ever lead
back to the central Unity, even as the seven Rays seen through the prism are but diverse
aspects of the white Light of the Real. As to that, it was also written by another of the Pio¬
neers—“The Masters and the Light within are not different.”
With sincere good wishes to all “in Convention assembled”, whether present in the Studio,
or closely united, from their own homes, in heart and intention.
Hope Bagnell,
Secretary, Norfolk Branch.
' Toronto, Canada.
Toronto Branch sends Greetings to the Convention.
The study by the Branch of the New Testament has shown the necessity of studying it
in the light which Theosophy brings. So much of its meaning is obscure, so much of it mis¬
understood, that it is small wonder so many have lost their faith in its teaching. Studying
it in the light of Theosophy is like bringing a bright light into a dark cavern, and we see,
it seems for the first time, the figure of a Master of Compassion, full of love and sympathy,
seeking his lost sheep.
The gratitude or lack of it expressed by individuals or nations for such love and sacrifice,
is a criterion as to whether they are worthy of continued life, or the destruction that awaits
all evil.
This is the only time when it is possible for us to express publicly what we feel privately,—
our deep appreciation of the Quarterly and our gratitude to its Editors and contributors.
Albert J. Harris,
Secretary , Toronto Branch.
Whitley Bay, England.
To the Members of The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled: The members of
the Whitley Bay Branch send heartiest good wishes, and sincere fraternal greetings.
Great changes are taking place in the ideas and thoughts of men and nations, but there
REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION
245
are two fundamentally opposing ideas which can be summed up in a few words. On the one
hand they say “Might is Right”, whereas all who understand the doctrine of the moral law
know that only “Right is Might”. Here is the old story of physical might casting the shadow
of darkness on the minds of men in the effort to dim the light of spiritual values. The shadow
cast by the desires of men to make might prevail, is indeed very dark, but may not the depth
of this shadow indicate that the shining light of the warrior who stands behind righteousness,
is drawing nearer, and that truth may soon stand revealed?
May we therefore by a united effort put forth the whole strength of our conviction of the
existence of the moral law, so that right may prevail, and the existing turmoil and strife be
ended.
Fredk. A. Ross,
President , Whitley Bay Branch.
Pondich£ry, French India.
I wish to send greetings to my fellow members of the T.S. as they are all gathered once
again in the friendly, deep, strong atmosphere of the little room in the Mews. I too will
be there in my thoughts, and as I sit at meditation with the disciples of the Ashram, I shall
feel the spiritual energy which you have drawn to yourselves. It will reach me also here on
the opposite side of the earth in circumstances also entirely different from yours. For here
all is at peace. Away from strife, rush, greed and noise, away from all mechanization and
artificialities, sheltered from any anxiety, the disciples of the Ashram also seek the Divine
Life. As I see them daily going about their labours, looking much like angels that have never
known incarnation, I think of you all, the fighters, the warriors, who must reach the Divine
through sweat and blood. I know then what Theosophy gives of confidence and power,
and know too that nowhere else could we find a guidance so true and so complete, ranging
from the field of pure Spirit to world politics, from problems of personal conduct to problems
of the Soul.
Surely you will come away from Convention renewed, rebuilt, and with a new sword which
the Masters will have given you for the fight that is coming.
I join you in your prayers for strength, and fortitude, and your prayers of gratitude for
all that has been done for us.
I send the scent of jasmine with my greetings.
No6mi P. Raymond.
Letters of Greeting were received by delegates and members with the greatest interest
and with frequent applause. In addition to the foregoing, the letters included greetings
from Mr. W. H. Box (Los Angeles); Miss Anne Evans, President, and Miss Wallace, Secre¬
tary, Virya Branch (ColQrado); Miss Eleanor Evans (England); Miss Anna Fjaestad, Presi¬
dent of the Arvika Branch (Sweden); Mrs. A. Good (Nova Scotia); Mrs. Maughan, Secretary,
Krishna Branch (England); Miss Maria G. Reyes, Secretary, Venezuela Branch; Mr. W. G.
Roberts, President, Middletown Branch (Ohio); Mr. and Mrs. Schoch (Brazil); Mr. A. Valeddn
(Venezuela); Mr. P. W. Ward, Secretary, Gateshead Branch (England); telegram from Captain
and Mrs. Hamlen (Maine); cablegrams from Mrs. and Miss Bagnell (England); Mr. K^bto
(V enezuela); Mrs. Vaile (France), and from the Venezuela Branch. Many other ^dKrs,
and another cablegram, from abroad were read, and were received with much sympathy
and interest, but, to our regret, cannot be acknowledged or quoted in the open pages of the
Quarterly for the reason that conditions in some parts of the world would make this in¬
considerate and inexpedient.
HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY
II.
“ 4 DEPTS are a necessity in nature and in supemature. They are the
links between men and the gods; these ‘gods’ being the souls of
great adepts and Masters of bygone races and ages, and so on, up to
the threshold of Nirvana. The continuity is unbroken.”
“What do they do?”
“You would hardly understand, unless you were an adept. But they keep
alive the spiritual life of mankind.”
“What does it feel like, to go sailing about in your astral body? I sometimes,
dream I am flying, and I am always in the same position; almost lying on my
back, and going feet foremost. Is it anything like that?”
“That is not what I feel”, she said; “I feel exactly like a cork rising to the
top of water, you understand. The relief is immense. I am only alive then.
And then I go to the Master.”
“Come back to what you were saying. I ought not to have interrupted
you. How do the adepts guide the souls of men?”
“In many ways, but chiefly by teaching their souls direct, in the
spiritual world. But that is difficult for you to understand. This is quite intel¬
ligible, though. At certain regular periods, they try to give the world at large
a right understanding of spiritual things. One of their number comes forth to
teach the masses, and is handed down to tradition as the Founder of a religion.
Krishna was such a Master; so was Zoroaster; so were Buddha and Shankara
Acharya, the great sage of Southern India. So also was the Nazarene. He
went forth against the counsel of the rest, to give to the masses before the time,
moved by a great pity, and enthusiasm for humanity; he was warned that the
time was unfavourable, but nevertheless he elected to go, and so was put to
death at the instigation of the priests.”
1 By Charles Johnston, from The Theosophical Forum, Vol. 6, No. 2, June, 1900, page 22; and Vol. 6, No. 3,
July, 1900, page 44.
In this instalment, which completes the Reprint, Mr. Johnston continues the account of his conversation withi
H.P.B. at “Maycot”, Norwood, near London, in the spring of 1887.
246
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HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY
247
“Have the adepts any secret records of his life?”
“They must have”, she answered; “for they have records of the lives of all
Initiates. Once I was in a great cave-temple in the Himalaya mountains, with
my Master”, and she looked at the picture of the splendid Rajput; “there were
many statues of adepts there; pointing to one of them, he said: ‘This is he whom
you call Jesus. We count him to be one of the greatest among us.’
“But that is not the only work of the adepts. At much shorter periods, they
send forth a messenger to try to teach the world. Such a period comes in the
last quarter of each century, and the Theosophical Society represents their
work for this epoch.”
“How does it benefit mankind?”
“How does it benefit you to know the laws of life? Does it not help you to
escape sickness and death? Well, there is a soul-sickness, and a soul-death.
Only the true teaching of Life can cure them. The dogmatic churches, with
their hell and damnation, their metal heaven and their fire and brimstone, have
made it almost impossible for thinking people to believe in the immortality of
the soul. And if they do not believe in a life after death, then they have no life
after death. That is the law.”
“How can what people believe possibly affect them? Either it is or it isn’t,
whatever they may believe.”
“Their belief affects them in this way. Their life after death is made by their
aspirations and spiritual development unfolding in the spiritual world. Ac¬
cording to the growth of each, so is his life after death. It is the complement
of his life here. All unsatisfied spiritual longings, all desires for higher life, all
aspirations and dreams of noble things, come to flower in the spiritual life, and
the soul has its day, for life on earth is its night. But if you have no aspirations,
no higher longings, no beliefs in any life after death, then there is nothing for
your spiritual life to be made up of; your soul is a blank.”
“What becomes of you then?”
“You reincarnate immediately, almost without an interval, and without re¬
gaining consciousness in the other world.”
“Suppose, on the other hand, you do believe in heaven, say the orthodox
El Dorado?”
“Your fate after death is this. You have first to pass through what we call
Kama Loka, the world of desire, the borderland, in which the soul is purged pf
the dross of animal life; of all its passions and evil desires. These grad
work themselves out, and having no fresh fuel to keep them burning,
slowly exhaust themselves. Then the soul rises to what we call Devachan, the
state which is distorted in the orthodox teaching of heaven. Each soul makes
its own Devachan, and sees around it those whom it most loved on earth, en¬
joying happiness in their company. If you believed in the orthodox heaven,
you see the golden city and the gates of pearl; if you believed in Shiva’s paradise,
you find yourself in the midst of many-armed gods; the Red-man sees the happy
hunting grounds, and the philosopher enters into the free life of the soul. In all
cases, your spirit gathers new strength for a fresh incarnation.”
248
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
“Must you come back? Is there no escape?”
“If your material desires are unexhausted at death, you must. Desires are
forces, and we believe in the conservation of force. You must reap the seed of
your own sowing, and reap it where it was sown. Your new life will be the
exact result of your deeds in your preceding life. No one can escape the pun¬
ishment of his sins, any more than he can escape the reward of his virtues. That
is the law of Karma. You must go on being reborn till you reach Nirvana.”
“Well, it seems to me that all that is more or less contained in the orthodox
beliefs, only a good deal distorted.”
“Yes”, she answered; “that is just it. The orthodoxies do contain the truth,
but their followers do not understand it; they put forth teachings which no
intelligent man can accept, and so we are all drifting into atheism and material¬
ism. But when we Theosophists show them how to interpret their teachings, it
will be quite different. Then they will see how much truth they had, without
knowing it. The stories in Genesis, for instance, are all symbols of real truths;
and the account of the Creation there, and of Adam and Eve, has far more real
truth than Darwinism, once you understand it. But that can only be done by
Theosophy.”
“How would you, as a Theosophist, set about it?”
“Well”, she answered, “in two ways; first, by giving out the truth, as it is
taught to-day in the occult schools, and then by the comparative method; by
setting people to study the Aryan and other Eastern scriptures, where they will
find the other halves of so many things that have proved stumbling-blocks in
the Bible.”
“For instance?”
“Take that very teaching of heaven and hell and purgatory. The sacred
books of India light up the whole of it, and make it a thoroughly philosophic
and credible teaching. But you must study the Oriental religions before you
can fully understand what I say. Remember that in the Old Testament there
is absolutely no teaching of the immortality of the soul, while in the New Tes¬
tament it is inextricably confused with the resurrection of the body. But the
Upanishads have the real occult and spiritual doctrine.”
“Well, I can thoroughly understand and sympathize with that; and to put
forth any such teaching at a time like this, when we are all drifting into ma¬
terialism, would seem a big enough work for any school of adepts and Masters.
I can see how the teaching of rebirth would make life far more unselfish and
humane, and therefore far happier. What else do you teach, as Theosophists?”
“Well, Sir! I am being cross-examined this evening, it would seem”, she
answered with a smile, and rolled me another cigarette, making herself one also,
and lighting up with evident relish. “We teach something very old, and yet
which needs to be taught. We teach universal brotherhood.”
“Don’t let us get vague and general. Tell me exactly what you mean by
that.”
“Let me take a concrete case”, she said; and glanced meditatively at her
secretary, who had been listening quietly and with serious and sincere interest
HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY
249
to all she had been saying, even though he had heard much of it from her, time
and again. He began to grow a little uneasy under her gaze, and she noticed it
and instantly fastened upon him.
“Take the English”, she said, and looked at him with those potent blue eyes
of hers, as though he in his own person must answer for the sins of his race.
“H.P.B.”, he said, rising with a sigh from the table; “I think I had really
better go upstairs and go on copying out the manuscript of The Secret Doctrine" \
and he disappeared.
“Do you think he will?” said H.P.B. with a smile of infinite good-humour.
“Not he; he will cuddle into his arm-chair, smoke endless cigarettes, and read
a blood and thunder novel.” She was mistaken, however. When I went up¬
stairs to say good-bye, he was in the arm-chair, serenely smoking, it is true;
but it was a detective story. He sat upon it, and said something about getting
to work.
“Take the English”, she repeated. “How cruel they are! How badly they
treat my poor Hindoos!” 2
“I have always understood that they had done a good deal for India in a
material way”, I objected.
“India is a well-ventilated jail”, she said; “it is true they do something in
a material way, but it is always three for themselves and one for the natives.
But what is the use of material benefits, if you are despised and trampled down
morally all the time? If your ideals of national honour and glory are crushed
in the mud, and you are made to feel all the time that you are an inferior race—
a lower order of mortals—pigs, the English call them, and sincerely believe
it. Well, just the reverse of that would be universal brotherhood. Do them
less good materially—not that they do so very much, besides collecting the
taxes regularly—and respect their feelings a little more. The English believe
that the ‘inferior races’ exist only to serve the ends of the English; but we
believe that they exist for themselves, and have a perfect right to be happy
in their own way. No amount of material benefit can compensate for hurting
their souls and crushing out their ideals. Besides there is another side of all
that, which we as Theosophists always point out. There are really no ‘infttior
races’, for all are one in our common humanity; and as we have all hadffn-
camations in each of these races, we ought to be more brotherly to them. They
are our wards, entrusted to us; and what do we do? We invade their lands,
and shoot them down in sight of their own homes; we outrage their women,
and rob their goods, and then with smooth-faced hypocrisy we turn round
and say we are doing it for their good. There are two bad things: hypocrisy
* It was part of H.P.B s mission to "break up the moulds of minds". Talking to a devotee of Science, she
would expose its ignorance and berate its dogmatism; talking to an orthodox Protestant, who would be unlikely
-to approach her except from curiosity, she might expatiate on the greater liberality of her own, the Russian
Church, or pour contempt upon the then current conceptions of heaven and hell. Speaking to Charles Johnston,
at that time twenty years old, she will doubtless have had in mind that he was preparing for the Indian Civil
I Service, and that his father was a prominent Orangeman (Johnston of Ballykilbeg, M. P.). Naturally, therefore,
she used her opportunity to excoriate British rule in India.—much to Mr. Johnston’s amusement when he recalled
the incident in later years, for his service in India had filled him with admiration for the spirit and methods of
British rule and he thoroughly understood H.P.B.’s motive in abusing it as she did to him.— The Editors.
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
250
and cruelty; but I think if I had to choose, I would prefer cruelty. But there
is a just law”, she went on; and her face was as stem as Nemesis; “the false
tongue dooms its lie; the spoiler robs to render. ‘Ye shall not come forth,
until ye have paid the uttermost farthing’.”
“So that is what the adepts sent you forth to teach?”
“Yes”, she answered; “that and other things;—things which are very im¬
portant, and will soon be far more important. There is the danger of black
magic, into which all the world, and especially America, is rushing as fast as
it can go. Only a wide knowledge of the real psychic and spiritual nature of
man can save humanity from grave dangers.”
“Witch-stories in this so-called nineteenth century, in this enlightened age?”
“Yes, Sir! Witch-stories, and in this enlightened age! What do you call
it but a witch-story, that very experiment you told me of, made by my friend
the Spookical Researcher? Is it not witchcraft, to transfer pinches and bums,
pain and suffering, in fact, though only slight in this case, to another person
at a distance? Suppose it was not as an experiment, but in dead earnest, and
with dire malice and evil intent? What then? Would the victim not feel it?
Could he protect himself? And would not that be witchcraft in just the sense
that sent people to the stake and faggot all through the Middle Ages? Have
you read the famous witchcraft trial at Salem? Yes, Sir! Witchcraft in this
very enlightened age,—the darkest, most material, and unspiritual that the
world has ever seen.”
“Oh, but sending pinches by thought-transference can do no great harm?”
“You think not? Well, you don’t know what you are talking about. That
is the privilege of the young! Once the door is open for that sort of thing,
where do you think it is going to be shut? It is the old tale; give the devil
an inch, and he will take an ell; give him your finger, and he will presently
take your whole arm. Yes, and your body, too! Do you not see the tremendous
evils that lie concealed in hypnotism? Look at Charcot’s experiments at the
Salp£tri6re! He has shown that a quite innocent person can be made to per¬
form actions quite against his or her will; can be made to commit crimes, even,
by what he calls Suggestion. And the somnambule will forget all about it,
while the victim can never identify the real criminal. Charcot is a benevolent
man, and will never use his power to do harm. But all men are not benevolent.
The world is full of cruel, greedy, and lustful people, who will be eager to seize
a new weapon for their ends, and who will defy detection and pass through the
midst of us all unpunished.
“Yes, Sir! Witch-tales in this enlightened age! And mark my words! You
will have such witch-tales as the Middle Ages never dreamt of. Whole na¬
tions will drift insensibly into black magic, with good intentions, no doubt,
but paving the road to hell none the less for that! Hypnotism and suggestion
are great and dangerous powers, for the very reason that the victim never
knows when he is being subjected to them; his will is stolen from him, and
mark my words: these things may be begun with good motives, and for right
purposes. But I am an old woman, and have seen much of human life in many
HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY
251
countries. And I wish with all my heart I could believe that these powers
would be used only for good! Whoever lets himself or herself be hypnotized,,
by anyone, good or bad, is opening a door which he will be powerless to shut;
and he cannot tell who will be the next to enter! If you could foresee what
I foresee, you would begin heart and soul to spread the teaching of universal
brotherhood. It is the only safeguard!”
“How is it going to guard people against hypnotism?”
‘‘By purifying the hearts of people who would misuse it. And universal
brotherhood rests upon the common soul. It is because there is one soul common
to all men, that brotherhood, or even common understanding is possible. Bring
men to rest on that, and they will be safe. There is a divine power in every
man which is to rule his life, and which no one can influence for evil, not even
the greatest magician. Let men bring their lives under its guidance, and they
have nothing to fear from man or devil. And now, my dear, it is getting late,
and I am getting sleepy. So I must bid you good-night!” And the Old Lady
dismissed me with that grand air of hers which never left her, because it was a
part of herself. She was the most perfect aristocrat I have ever known.
It was long after that, before we came back to the question of magical powers.
In August, 1888, H.P.B. had a visit from her old chum, Colonel H. S. Olcott.
He was writing, at a side table. H.P.B. was playing Patience, as she did nearly
every evening, and I was sitting opposite her, watching, and now and then
talking about the East, whence Colonel Olcott had just come. Then H.P.B.
got tired of her card game, which would not come out, and tapped her fingers
slowly on the table, half unconsciously. Then her eyes came to focus, and
drawing her hand back a foot or so from the table, she continued the tapping
movement in the air. The taps, however, were still perfectly audible—on the
table a foot from her hand. I watched, with decided interest. Presently she
had a new idea, and turning in my direction, began to send her astral taps
against the back of my hand. I could both feel and hear them. It was some¬
thing like taking sparks from the prime conductor of an electric machine; or,
better still, perhaps, it was like spurting quicksilver through your fingers. That
was the sensation. The noise was a little explosive burst. Then she changed
her direction again and began to bring her taps to bear on the top of my head.
They were quite audible, and, needless to say, I felt them quite distinctly. I
was at the opposite side of the table, some five or six feet away, all through
this little experiment in the unexplained laws of nature, and the psychics
powers latent in man.
No experiment could have been more final and convincing; its very simplicity
made it stand out as a new revelation. Here was a quite undoubted miracle,
as miracles are generally understood, yet a miracle which came off. But at
our first meeting, Mme. Blavatsky did not even approach the subject; none
the less, she conveyed the sense of the miraculous. It is hard to say exactly
how, but the fact remains. There was something in her personality, her bear¬
ing, the light and power of her eyes, which spoke of a wider and deeper life,
not needing lesser miracles to testify to it, because in itself miraculous. That.
252
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
was the greatest thing about her, and it was always there; this sense of a bigger
world, of deeper powers, of unseen might; to those in harmony with her potent
genius, this came as a revelation and incentive to follow the path she pointed
out. To those who could not see with her eyes, who could not raise themselves
in some measure to her vision, this quality came as a challenge, an irritant, a
discordant and subversive force, leading them at last to an attitude of fierce
hostility and denunciation.
When the last word is said, she was greater than any of her works, more
full of living power than even her marvellous writings. It was the intimate
and direct sense of her genius, the strong ray and vibration of that genius
itself, which worked her greatest achievements and won her greatest triumphs.
Most perfect work of all, her will carried with it a sense and conviction of im¬
mortality. Her mere presence testified to the vigour of the soul.
That where the safe ways end ,
known and unknown divide ,
God's great uncharted passes upward tend ,
and the spirit of man undaunted is undenied ,
and beyond the last camp-fire man has Faith for friend ,
and beyond all guidance the courage of God for guide .— Horace Shipp.
There is an inmost centre in ourselves
Where truth abides in fullness . . .
. . . and to know
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape ,
Than in effecting entrance for a light
Supposed to be without .— Robert Browning.
Les Sources Occultes du Romantism: Illuminisme — Thtosophie, 1770-1820 ,
by Auguste Viatte; Librairie Ancienne Honors Champion, Paris, 1928, 2 volumes;
price, 80 francs.
This book was published ten years ago, but we have selected it for review
at this late date because its contents suggest certain lessons singularly ap¬
propriate at the present time. We doubt whether the author will appreciate
the nature of our interest. The “theosophy” of which he speaks is eighteenth
century “illuminism”, and he tries to prove that it influenced the Romantic
School in nineteenth century French literature,—a highly artificial subject
worthy of a “doctor’s thesis” in an American university. With few exceptions,
he regards the personages whom he dissects as charlatans or visionaries.
However, he has assembled with much skill an extraordinary amount of ma¬
terial. Although this material is drawn from many sources, some of which
are in no sense “illumined” nor “theosophical”, much of it is valuable and
quite unavailable in original form to the average student.
H.P.B. said that during the last quarter of each century a “messenger”, assisted
by agents of various degrees, is sent by the Great Lodge to awaken the con¬
sciousness and conscience of mankind. According to cyclic law, the Masters
are able at this time to work in the outer world and on the public stage. The
primary effort in every century has been the same, must have been the same,—
to form the nucleus of a Universal Brotherhood on earth, by establishing a
devoted group of disciples or chelas , who can carry on the work of the Great
Lodge, after the turn of the century, when Masters no longer act direct^
in the world. The present situation is unique, since the Theosophical Mo^
ment was actually carried over the end of the nineteenth century, this being
the first time in history when such an event has occurred.
At the end of the eighteenth century, so far as the major objective was con¬
cerned, there was failure. Some of the causes of that failure are made apparent
by reflection upon the “sources” quoted by M. Viatte. There was the treachery
and misconduct of Cagliostro, for instance. But whatever may have been the
delinquencies of those who were sufficiently advanced to work under the direct
guidance of the Comte de Saint-Germain, the insurmountable barrier to suc-
^pss during the eighteenth century seems to have been the lack of true followers,
of candidates for discipleship, who sincerely, whole-heartedly and unselfishly
*
253
254
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
desired to serve Truth for its own sake. What were the dominant motives
of those who attached themselves to Saint-Germain or Cagliostro or Mesmer or
Martines de Pasqually or Saint-Martin? M. Viatte makes the answer very
clear. Primarily, as it appears, people were stirred by idle curiosity, by the
thirst for psychic excitement, by the appetite for strange experiences on some
“astral plane”, by the desire for power or wealth or personal security, by the
craving to know more than others and to be able to influence the destinies
of others, by simple hatred of the established order of Church and State, etc.,
etc. All of these motives have figured in the history of The Theosophical
Society which has triumphed so far in spite of them, in spite of the fact that
some, if not all, of them are still more or less prevalent among members to-day.
That is why it is salutary to study what happened to the Movement in the
eighteenth century and how it happened, for a similar destiny even now may
overtake the T.S., if the rank and file of its members cannot respond anew
to the Lodge’s appeal for disinterested helpers, as a few responded forty years
ago.
There is an apparent correspondence between certain aspects of the eight¬
eenth century Movement during the period from about 1790 to 1800 and
the period of indrawal which characterizes the Movement to-day. The sudden
explosion of the French Revolution seems to have forced the Great Lodge—
prematurely, as it were—to withdraw its energies and its agents. Only one of
the leading characters remained on the stage, Louis-Claude de Saint-Martin.
It is most interesting to follow M. Viatte’s account of his behaviour.
Saint-Martin began his work under the guidance of Martines de Pasqually
who apparently taught a doctrine of the “reintegration” of fallen human nature
by theurgic processes that recall some Neo-Platonic references to the Mysteries.
Pasqually seems to have understood certain aspects of “ceremonial magic”,
and to have given special instruction in the evocation of “spirits” and “ele-
mentals”. But in 1775 Saint-Martin informed his “Brothers” that he was
leaving this “exterior path”. He abandoned the “occult arts”, which he de¬
nounced as full of dangers for the beginner. The true way to “reintegration”,
he affirmed, is by aspiration and meditation and self-discipline. He became
active in search of possible disciples among the French aristocracy to which
he belonged by birth. He was admired and even adulated in the salons , but
as his correspondence reveals, met with nothing but failure. When the Revolu¬
tion came, he withdrew increasingly both from his masonic associations and
from the social world, and, in outward appearance became immersed in the
study of Jacob Boehme, upon whose work he corresponded with a few friends.
But the real nature of Saint-Martin’s activity became apparent towards the
end of the century. After 1790 he definitely “indrew”, following the “interior
path”, moving towards the opposite pole from his starting-point under Pas¬
qually. His writings testify to a deep and abiding mystical experience. He
left his experience on record, for such must have been part of his duty. It
should be a source of inspiration to-day to think of this lonely occultist seeking
and finding union , turning his whole soul inw r ards, keeping still amid the din
REVIEWS
255
of a great holocaust. We may believe that this was indeed the task which was
set him to do, and that he fulfilled it. And though no real disciple was ready
to take over his work, one man of genius was at least deeply stirred. We are
grateful to M. Viatte for his revelation of the indebtedness of Joseph de Maistre
to Saint-Martin.
M. Viatte, whose admiration for Saint-Martin is sincere, cites a passage
from Le Ministkre de I'homme esprit on the “ineffable Victory” of the crucified
Master,—a passage which, as he says, is like “a cry of love and gratitude”.
It is the only sacrifice which has ever been terminated by those words, at once so con¬
soling and so terrible, consummatum est; consoling by the certitude they give that the
work is accomplished, and that our enemies shall be under our feet, whenever we will
to follow the footsteps of Him who has conquered; terrible, because if we make them
null and void for ourselves by ingratitude and lukewarmness, no more resources are left
us, since we can expect no other God, nor hope for any other Liberator.
There are those who believe that Saint-Martin reincarnated as W. Q. Judge.
V.
Winged Pharaoh , by Joan Grant: Harper and Brothers, New York and London,
1938; price, $2.50.
For those seeking good books for light summer reading, we heartily recom¬
mend this novel. It is simply and beautifully written, and accomplishes what
few books are able to do,—that is, it makes us feel that we have lived among
and known people who lived long ages ago. The setting is in the First Dynasty
of the Two Lands, when men still believed the gods were near the earth and
were interested in it, and when life in the body was thought of as a necessary
period of exile from our true home. Justice and mercy prevailed in the laws
of the land, but there was no compromise with evil, and the laws of Karma
were considered and obeyed in the judgments pronounced by Pharaoh.
The story is told in the first person by Sekeeta, daughter of the Pharaoh
Za-Atet, and tells of her life as a child, in the palace, playing with her pets,
getting into mischief, and growing up in the companionship of her parents and
her brother whom she loved, and with whom she later ruled as Co-Pharaoh.
Next we see her enter the temple for years of training as a seer and one “strong
of will”, culminating in Initiation and return to the world, to be crowned Pharaoh.
There are splendid battle scenes, when the neighbouring people of Zuma invade
the country and are driven out. There is a trip to Crete, with descriptions
of the life there and its contrast with that of Egypt. In their shallowness and
love of their bodies and a “good time”, the Cretans are described as “not evil,
they are young. And when they are older they will be reborn into a land like
ours.” There is a slight love story which seems unworthy of the brave and
controlled Egyptian princess, and which is totally inconsistent with her sup¬
posed Initiation, although the author treats it as a bagatelle for a Co-Pharaoh
and for one who was merely the ceremonial wife of her brother. Her last years
and death are briefly described, and her final return to her “dear companions,
in the Light”.
256
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Sekeeta is a lovable person, human and wise, with a courageous spirit which
is very moving. As one follows the events of her life, she becomes a real friend
and an inspiring companion.
This reviewer is not able to say whether or not the book is historically accu¬
rate, but that is not important in comparison with the remarkably consistent
feeling it gives of the reality and nearness of the spiritual world. The author
must have steeped herself, with love and understanding, in the religious teach¬
ings of the Egyptians, in order to make them seem so alive and natural. Stu¬
dents of Theosophy will recognize the doctrine of the seven principles of man,
and of reincarnation as a means of training and of eventual perfection. Readers
unfamiliar with such teachings might be slightly bewildered at the ease with which
Sekeeta leaves her body to meet her loved ones in sleep, or to go about the
country to watch for approaching danger. The invasion from Zuma is de¬
scribed as led by great ones of the Dark Powers, and the ensuing struggle is
between the Light and Dark forces. On page after page the author’s flashes of
understanding will delight the theosophical reader.
The book is a real oasis in these days of cheap and degrading novels, and
one must be grateful to Joan Grant for writing it, and to Harpers for the vision
and optimism which prompted them to give it to the public. H. M.
Chinese Gardens: Gardens of the Contemporary Scene; An Account of their
Design and Symbolism , by Dorothy Graham; Dodd, Mead & Company, New
York, 1938; price, $5.00.
Despite the chaos in which China is plunged to-day, the peace of her old
gardens still persists, and, reading of them, one is transported for a while out
of our frightful turmoil into the atmosphere of high civilization which created
them, and into the loveliness of Nature itself.
The philosophy, if one may call it such, behind the European garden is very
different from that which produced the gardens of China. Our garden design
comes to us from the Romans, and probably the Pincian is not unlike what it
was when Sallust owned it. The mediaeval garden, as we see it in illuminated
manuscripts or in the background of paintings, laid out within the castle walls,
was a place of geometric order. The pleasances of French chateaux or Eliza¬
bethan houses were set with beds of “knots" and clipped hedges. It would
seem that the European sought to make himself a place as unlike the wilder¬
ness as possible, a refuge of formal design, a disciplined nature, a safe haven.
Let the dark forests with their wolves, said they, and the grain fields which the
enemy may bum, stay outside where they belong, but let us have a snug little
parterre with no straying flower, with a restrained fountain and a comfortable
bench or a bank of herbage. We are only easy when we have tamed nature
and feel ourselves its master. Not until the eighteenth century, under Chinese
influence, did the Jar din Anglais , the “natural” garden, come into fashion.
The Chinese, on the contrary, felt themselves one with all Nature, and ven¬
erated the divine spirit which informs it. In their gardens they desired to re-
REVIEWS
257
produce the effects of Nature, or to emphasize certain of its aspects: not, of
course, that their gardens were without design, for order is the essence of Art,
and a garden is Art.
To the Chinese the making of a garden is the effort of the individual to attain unity
with the universe. The planning transforms ordinary existence into an art; one per¬
ceives that change is the eternal law, that from disintegration springs new being, life
fulfilling itself in satisfying stability. From the deep repose comes enlightenment, a
communion in which understanding transcends fact and becomes revelation.
One would like to quote all of Mrs. Graham’s first chapter, which is on garden
design. One can only urge everyone interested in gardens to read the book for
himself, that he may enjoy all of its delights. Mrs. Graham gives a history
of Chinese gardens throughout the ages. Gardens, doubtless, date back from
the very beginning. Were not Adam and Eve placed in Eden and told to take
care of it?
But for an unfortunate remark of Confucius, a meticulous record of Chinese gardens
might have been kept. One day, the Sage was questioned by a persistent pupil. “Mas¬
ter”, inquired the youth, “what have you to say about gardens?” Confucius was occu¬
pied in codifying a troublesome point in his scheme for human conduct; he disliked
having his train of thought interrupted. With devastating indifference he dismissed
any theme on which he could not discourse with authority. As for gardens , he said
sharply, “leave such things to gardeners.” 1 his pronouncement paralysed scholars for
more than two thousand years. No member of an intelligentsia based on Confucian
dogmatism dared to find this subject worthy of attention. I hen, too, there was another
obstacle. Tomes were compiled on herbs and flowers, yet no one wrote on the theory of
design, because the planning of a garden was conceded to be a matter of inspiration, the
expression of individual personality.
However, descriptions of gardens have come down to us, and paintings, and
some of the gardens themselves. There are the lovely water-gardens of Hang¬
chow, the city described so glowingly by Marco Polo. Their names are en¬
chanting; The Island of the Three Pools of the Moon’s Reflection, The Pavilion
from which the Cranes went forth, The Pavilion of the Lake’s Heart, etc. There
are the gardens of Soochow and of Pekin, and there are famous old monastery
and temple courts and parks. The Emperors laid out magnificent gardens, and
so did the officials and merchants. Everyone who could have a garden had
one, even if he were so poor that he could only contrive a miniature scene in a
bowl. Her enemies said that the late Dowager Empress used the funds appro¬
priated for the navy in making the Garden of Smiling Harmony at the Simmer
Palace. Mrs. Graham has visited many of these gardens, and she desses
them so well that one feels their charm, and is filled with a great longing to visit
them. Her book is profusely illustrated with photographs which increase one’s
desire.
The Fourth Moon, The Month of Peonies, the Chinese make pilgrimages to Tung
Hsiao Ssu, to view these arrogant splendid blossoms. 1 here are more than two hundred
varieties at this temple, planted in raised terraces of marble that are called “mountains”
but look like ancient Roman sarcophagi filled with earth. ... A withered monk, ascetic
and lean, takes the visitors through the courtyards, naming the different varieties. There
is the rose-tinted peony with double and single blooms on the same plant. 1 he deep
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
258
red rnoutan , the male vermillion, which is the most highly prized. Another plant, he
de vin in the sun, becomes in the shade a velvety black. Others are pearly white, white
tinged with yellow, or the palest of yellow, like a faint gleam of candlelight. The most
curious specimen, one evolved from long experimentation, is the green peony. The flower
is as effulgent as the others. It is actually a delicate green, like that of willow buds on
the point of opening.
The old monk, astonishingly agile, runs towards a pond and scoops out water with a
gourd. This he throws in long splashes on the ground before the peonies, so that the
vapour may refresh them. In the evening, of course, the roots will be wet and the leaves
sprinkled; but throughout the heat of the day they are given this supplementary care.
Proudly fondling the flowers, the monk tells their histories. One plant with a stalk
like that of a young sapling, is two hundred years old. Others have been praised by
famous men or have some association with events of the past.
The Abbot of Tung Hsiao Ssu has received so many visitors that he has developed an
instinct for hospitality. He takes the guests inside to offer tea. He removes a foreign-
style clock from the table and, as if to arrest time, sticks a toothpick into its mechanism.
Its ticking stops and with it all sound ceases. ...
This supremely tactful gesture of hospitality also abolishes space for us, and
we too listen intently for the message of that silence. Where there is neither
time nor space there is eternity. St.C. LaD.
China Hand , by James Lafayette Hutchison; Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Co.,
Boston, 1936; price, $3.50.
The author, as a very young man, found employment with the American
Tobacco Company as a salesman of cigarettes in China. This was in 1911.
China was still an Empire under the rule of the Manchus. The Dowager Em¬
press, the “Old Buddha”, was dead, but the boy Emperor, Pu I, was on the
throne, with his cousin, the Prince Regent, acting as guardian. The young
American salesman found much that was attractive in the Chinese, and it
speaks well for him that he especially admired the cultivated and charming
manners of the Chinese-educated classes, and the great respect of all classes for
scholarship. He learned Mandarin Chinese, and studied the Chinese classics
and Chinese art. The more he learned, the more he found to admire. There
were many signs of disintegration and degeneracy, particularly in government
circles; but the Confucian tradition still had an immense influence for good,
and wherever that controlled, the author found a civilization more real than,
and in many ways superior to, that of London or Paris,—although the character
of the civilization was so different that comparison can only be based on per¬
sonal preference. Unfortunately, the influence of the Confucian tradition was
not strong enough to withstand the encroachment of western ideas, of which
Sun Yat Sen was the leading proponent. These ideas had been propagated
originally by English and American missionaries who had misunderstood their
Christianity, and then by the younger Chinese who had been educated in
America,—ideas of “liberty, equality, fraternity”, of “government of, by and
for the people”,—ideas which soon became definitely socialistic and then com¬
munistic. The result was that the Manchus were turned out, and that China
REVIEWS
259
became a Republic,—greatly to the delight of all European and American
liberals, though not to the delight of Mr. Hutchison, the man on the spot, who
observes that:
The Chinese who have taken on Western culture have become neither fish nor fowl—
they are sorry hybrids—with their innate aesthetic sense smothered under a veneer of
Western shrewdness, business and political cunning, that make of them self-conscious
gigolos posing as men of the world.
He ends his book thus: “Farewell to Eastern culture! Hail to Western jazz!”
We sympathize; but the truth is that if China had been loyal to the best as
she knew it—which means loyal to the Confucian tradition—none of this would
have happened. Disloyal to that, with the worm of corruption gnawing at her
vitals, she had lost all power of resistance, and could take to herself only the
worst in western civilization instead of the best.
China Hand , though too long, is of real interest for more reasons than one.
Its author draws no parallels with conditions in America, but it is difficult for
us not to do so. For instance, when he visited Mukden after an absence of
several years, he was anxious to learn all he could of the effect of the “Young
Marshal’s” administration; so he called at a number of shops (stores), always
asking the question, “How’s business?” At every shop he received the same
answer: “Very bad. Before have plenty money. Now, very bad.” “Why no
business?” “Tax—all the time more tax.” That was in Manchuria. In China
proper, conditions were just as bad. In Kiukiang, and along the Yangtze Val¬
ley, formerly so prosperous,—no business. He learned that at Nanchang, long
famous for its pottery, the makers “only turn out rotten stuff now, and only just
enough to pay for food from day to day. If they turn out any good work, or
try to accumulate any money, the bandits take it away from them.” Ah me!
If not one kind, then another! D.A.
In Search 0] the Mahatmas of Tibet , by Edwin G. Schary; Seeley, Service &
Co., London, 1938; price, 155.
This book is not about the Mahatmas, though a desire to meet them was
responsible for journeys which would have killed most men, and which are a
wonderful testimony to the author’s courage, endurance, and perseverance.
A young Californian, a wanderer by instinct, his imagination was fired by
what he read of Mahatmas in Tibet, and he made up his mind to find tliaf
Three times he earned his way from San Francisco to Calcutta, and from tlWe
through India to Kashmir, on one occasion travelling through Tibet from
Lake Manasarowar as far as Shigatse, often at an elevation of well over 20,000
feet, when breathing became a torment. He believed that if he could find
the Mahatmas, they would be able to explain to him the mysteries of life and
death. In the course of one of his journeys, he had a vision of a canyon in
the Himalayas, and of a finger pointing to a cave. He became convinced that
he would find the Mahatmas in that cave. Many months afterwards, he sud¬
denly found himself in the place he had seen in his vision. After a difficult
26 o THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
climb he reached the mouth of the cave and entered it: there were no Ma¬
hatmas.
I had been living in expectation so long that at last, upon arriving here, I had no
heart to continue. ... So here I lay until the sun passed over the cave three times
in its wide arc. Many were the strange experiences I went through in those three days;
many the troubled visions and dark forebodings. If I learned anything at any time in
all my travels, I learned this lesson in that cave—a lesson read somewhere before in
one of the writings of an Eastern sage, but never until that time wholly understood:
“fVithin thyself deliverance must be sought. Each man his prison makes. ...” I knew,
at the end of those three days of barrenness, that, though not finding the Mahatmas
in the flesh, I was understanding them better in another way, and the magnitude of
their work, but even then I did not give up hope of some day meeting one of them. . . .
There is an element of pathos in the author’s continued blindness. As Judge
so often said, you must be able to recognize a Master interiorly before you
can recognize him in (or through) his outer form; only the soul can recognize
the soul. Further than that, suppose you had a friend in whose spiritual in¬
sight you believed, and suppose this friend were to introduce you to someone
whose appearance was the embodiment of all your dreams of what a Master
would be like, and suppose your friend were to assure you that this man was
a Master: what next? Do you suppose he could explain to you “the mys¬
teries of life and death”? It would be impossible unless your inner eye were
open. An artist cannot explain the mysteries of his art to a man who has never
studied painting, nor an Einstein the mysteries of relativity to a clodhopper.
Masters would have met the author of this book—in spite of the fact that,
unknown to himself, the motive prompting his search had much in it of curiosity
and self-seeking—if it would have done him any good. Such a meeting could
only have done him harm. The open sesame to their presence is not the ability
to endure even the worst of hardships in order to meet them, but devotion to
their Cause, unselfish service, and—the Four Qualifications. C.B.D.
CORRESPONDENCE
The Medical Profession
To the Editors of the Theosophical Quarterly:
There was old Mary and her husband. When his last moments seemed
to have come, after a pause the doctor said very kindly to her, “Your poor old
man is gone.” “No, I ain’t”, piped up a voice from the bed in injured tones.
“Hush, John”, replied Mary firmly; “doctor knows best.”
Borrowed from 7 he Countryman , an English quarterly review, that incident
from life is almost sufficient comment in itself on the review of The Citadel
in your April issue; for while I agree with your reviewer’s suggestions regarding
the reformation of the medical profession, it seems to me that the attitude
of the public toward the profession needs reforming at least as much as the
profession itself. That attitude is one of rank superstition. Humanity’s blind
faith in religious dogmas, and in priests and their ritualistic practices, has now
CORRESPONDENCE
261
been transferred to “science” and its representatives. What “science” pro¬
claims is so, —regardless of the fact that it changes its dogmas semi-annually.
The result, under that head, is a philosophy of “Let us eat, drink, and be merry
(so long as the money holds out), for to-morrow we die”; and the result of that
philosophy naturally is—a call, if not many calls, on the doctor, who is “science”
personified.
Now, just as in all religions there were good priests as well as bad, so there
are both kinds of doctors,—charlatans who trade on the public’s demand for
infallibility, and honest men who either starve, or whose clientele is limited
to the more enlightened few who realize that good doctors may be known,
at least in part, in the same way that good priests were known, that is, by their
humility. The general public is, in the first place, incapable of realizing this;
in the second place, it insists upon being able to put implicit faith in its medical,
as formerly in its religious fetich. This means that if the honest medical prac¬
titioner allows it to be perceived that he does not know everything, his patient
looks for the man who, with sufficient positiveness, suggests that he does; and
as doctors must live, extended experience often drives the least pretentious
among them to adopt the dogmatic attitude which the credulity of the public
demands.
In brief, what is true in the field of economics and in all other departments
of life, is true also in the domain of medical practice: the law of supply and
demand governs; doctors as a class, like newspapers and lawyers, are the
natural response to the requirements of a credulous, sensation-loving, “get-
me-out-of-this mess” public. The profession will never be reformed until
the majority of patients demand better service, higher ethical standards, more
open minds, a less mercenary spirit, and a broader culture from those to whom
hey turn for healing. Constant Reader.
Capitalists and War
To the Editors oj the Theosophical Quarterly:
In view of the wild statements, constantly repeated, that capitalists and
bankers either instigated, or favoured England’s participation in the Great
War, and that in all countries it is they who are responsible for international
conflicts, the following extract from Lord Riddell's War Diary is of value, es¬
pecially when it is remembered that he was President of the official Press Com¬
mittee, and was on terms of intimacy with the leading politicians of all parties.
Lord Riddell says (p. 2) that on Friday, July 31st, 1914 (England declared
war on August 4th), Mr. Lloyd George, at that time Chancellor of the Ex¬
chequer, “told me that he was ‘fighting hard for peace’ ”, and that Lloyd George
had adjkd: ‘‘All the bankers and commercial people are begging us not to
interve* The Governor of the Bank of England said to me with tears in his
eyes, ‘Keep us out of it. We shall all be ruined if we are dragged in!’ ”
Historian.
Question No. 408 .—Does the Convention appeal and Resolution supersede or abrogate what
has been said on the subject of indrawal?
Answer. —It does not. In the first place, it remains to be seen whether the Resolution
will bear fruit as well as leaves. In the second place, if it should bear fruit, indrawal of the
right kind would be insured, while, if it should bear no fruit—that is, if ch£laship should not
result—withdrawal rather than indrawal would be inevitable, for while some measure of
indrawal would still be possible for the individual, the Society itself would have-failed to keep
the link unbroken. It would have been carried further into the century than has ever been
done before, but, while this would be a great and lasting gain, continued existence on this
plane, without the inner link, would be as objectionable as the continued life of a man who
had lost his unifying soul. T.
Question No. 409 .—How can T.S. members keep alive and renew the inspiration that Con¬
vention brought , and in what concrete and practical ways can they help to bring about the “flower
of chUaship"?
Answer. —An adequate answer to this question would cover the whole religious life. There
is nothing more important for any man than to discover how to keep alive and to renew the
deepest inspiration that comes to his soul, how to increase his love for his Master and the
things of the spiritual world. For this, attention, imagination and will are always essential.
If we wish to grow spiritually, we must desire and give our attention to spiritual things. Man
tends to grow into the likeness of that to which he gives his attention. In so far as he gives
it to gross or worldly things, he becomes gross or worldly; in so far as he gives it to spiritual
things, he becomes, to that extent, spiritual. The reading of spiritual or inspiring books is
one helpful method. Alertness in seeking the inner meaning of outer events, is another. The
way to gain renewed inspiration is to deserve it by acting on what we have. This means to
use one’s will to force oneself to live up to the resolutions made in times of inspiration, no
matter how dull, cold, or “dry” one feels. Imagination should be used freely and boldly, not
to fancy this or that, but as you would use it if, for example, you wanted to get a heedless
boy to write home to a loving and long-neglected mother. You would surely try to arouse
his imagination to picture his mother’s love, her grief and disappointment at his silence, her
delight if he wrote. We must use our imaginations to bring home to our dull hearts the reali¬
zation of certain truths, of Masters, of their cause, of their love for us, their children, of their
need, and, most marvellous of all, of our power to help them.
Any one who wishes to help, can help. He can help by prayer, by desire, by little sacrifices,
by doing his best and offering all he does with the intention that someone may attain.
J.F.B.M.
Answer. —Such inspiration should be cherished in the silence of one’s inner being, brooded
over, not dissipated in useless talk. Tt should be used to energize the higher will. Acting
262
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
263
upon inspirations helps to keep them alive. "The Gods are nourished by sacrifice.” If inspira¬
tion illumines and clarifies some truth previously only partially understood, one should act
upon this new light. Any and all "right efforts” may be "offered up” for the success of the
Cause. One might resolve to be more kind or more calm, more cheerful or more prompt, with
that intention. C.M.S.
Answer. —One great incentive would be realization of the power of united effort and team¬
work. in the concluding chapter of the Key to Theosophy , stated that if the Society
succeeds better than its predecessors have done, the next impulse from the Lodge "will find a
numerous and united body of people ready to welcome the new torch-bearer of Truth”. H.P.B.
concluded this chapter by stating: "If the T.S. survives and lives true to its mission, . . .
earth will be a heaven in the twenty-first century in comparison with what it is now.”
The import of H.P.B.’s words has been appreciably increased by the fact that, for the first
time, the Movement has been carried over the end of the century. The vastness of the oppor¬
tunity enhances the grave responsibility which is ours that "the link be kept unbroken”.
Furthermore, how trivial, how utterly unimportant, all else is in comparison with the glorious
opportunity offered at Convention to enlist in the great Cause of the Masters! Thoughts
such as these should keep alive the inspiration of Convention, and will surely do so if acted
upon with persistence and courage. Such an attitude and such action will develop the ability
to recognize new and more effective ways in which each individual can best do his part.
G.H.M.
Question No. 410. —What do you say, think, do, when you "offer up ” your faults, or when
you "offer up the fruits of works ” as advised in the Bhagavad Gita? What is the mental process
involved? What is gained by it?
Answer. —You may say, from a heart that has surrendered itself, "Please take my faults,
and make of them positive forces which can be used for the purposes of the Real World.” If
the surrender be complete, if the desire be whole-hearted and unselfish, you will at the same
time have begun to offer up the fruits of works, in the sense that you will not be watching for
results, but will be content to leave them entirely in the hands of the Masters. You intend
your mind upon this prayer which you have made, upon this help which you have evoked.
You deliberately set yourself to think of ways in which you can do your part, to understand
the obligations which you have imposed upon yourself. You keep asking for help, and you
arouse your will and swing it, away from the desire for petty selfish attainments, to co-opera¬
tion with those unseen forces with which you have aligned yourself. The mind becomes more
and more, not something to which you refer decisions, but a controlled instrument, surren¬
dered with your other faculties, and now consciously used to further your purpose and to gain
your objective. C.R.A.
Answer.— This question deals with our most vital problem: how to get rid of our inverted
point of view. We have two natures,—two selves: a Higher, or Real, Self, and a lower, or
false self, which latter we have created, and with which for the most part we identify our¬
selves. Usually, we look at everything from this false centre, and we refer everything to it.
It is a usurper, and thoroughly selfish. So, as a rule, when we speak, or think, of offering up
anything—faults or fruits of works—we tie a string to the offering, the nether end of which
is held fast by "self”, so that we can pull back the offering if "self” is not satisfied with the
results. From this inverted point of view, the more we speak and think of any offering up, the
more calculating we become as to its possible effects, and, consequently, what we do about it,
is little better than half-hearted. Lower self always is calculating, and to carry such self-
reference into the offertorium, definitely is a hindrance. "Be solicitous for my interests”, said
the ^stcr Christ to St. Teresa, “and I will take care of thine.” Nothing could be clearer
thai^mat.
In terms of consciousness, then, the answer to the question is a definite and complete change of
264
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the polarity of our nature, a cessation of what, at best, is divided interest, and a throwing of the
entire weight of the imagination and the will over to the side of the Higher Self; an insistence
that we are that Self. Then, we shall begin to think, to speak and to act from and as that
Higher, Divine Centre; from which and by which all is offered up: faults, fruits of works,
limitations, imperfections,—everything. As we become acclimated to dwelling in the atmos¬
phere of that Self, neither seeking nor retaining anything for ourselves, we shall know, at
first hand, something of that rebirth from above, which Nicodemus found so difficult to
comprehend. G.M.W.K.
Answer.— One might say: Master, I offer you this act in its entirety, whatever its faults
or merits. May it help the coming of your Kingdom. Having offered it up, one relinquishes
a personal interest in the act, desiring no thanks, praise, or other reward, detaching one’s
self entirely from it. CMS
Answer.— “To offer up the fruits of works”, is consciously to do what we do because it
ought to be done, with the prayer that it may be used to help the Masters’ cause, abandoning
all desire for reward and all personal interest in that which we offer. It means that while
working to our utmost to achieve a given end, we must nevertheless ceaselessly desire that
whether we succeed or fail in our efforts, the result will be best for the purposes of the Lodge'
It is a process of detachment, and a transfer of one’s centre of interest from the lower per¬
sonality to the Masters and their cause. The practice is a most valuable one in many ways.
It strengthens and clears the channels from the soul to the personality. It is a great help
toward quietude and peace of heart, toward impersonality, understanding and mental clarity.
The elimination of self-interest, and the purification of the motive with which the work is
done, means, moreover, that finer, more potent forces are evolved and, by the act of offering
are made available for the use of the Lodge on this plane. This type of service is open to any
onejho desires to serve, no matter how undeveloped or full of faults he may feel himself
One way to offer one’s faults is to offer one’s self, faults and all, for service, and then to
forget the faults in the service. Most faults are due to some form of thinking about self and
to forget self in work for a cause, cuts their roots. j p ^ d
Answer, What is “offering up”? It is a free-will offering of one's self, one's thoughts
words, acts everything we have and are-to something or someone greater than self The
Iriff tak7 ntS "'If 5 US ' w 1 We , are ' inC ' Uding ° Ur faU ' t5 and ^Perfections, which they
Will take care of and use. We must leave that to them. Our great concern y
duty, is to give ourselves, without thought of reward and
G.H.M.
IN MEMORIAM.
DR. THOMAS LATHROP STEDMAN.
A faithful and honoured member of the Society
Died, May 26th, 1938.
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Key to Theosophy. • • * x and XI and ind • • , volume, 7.50
Secret Doctrine, T S^ l ° ete in one boot, without sublet.. doth> 2 . 25
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40
The Great Upani-
> ggSSa-
OCTOBER, 1938
VOL. XXXV, No. 4
Founded by f>. P. Blavatsky at llcw York in 1875
HE Society does not pretend to be able to establish
at once a universal brotherhood among men, but
JL only strives to create the nucleus of such a body,
j gg SSg 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
Oversoul” which is the basis of true brotherhood I 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, 1895:
“The Theosophical Society in America by its delegates and
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 all 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
mid unfoldment of Truth as shall serve to announce and con*
PUBLISHED BY
THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
Applications for membership should be addressed to the
Secretary T. S., P .O. Box 64, Station O, New York.
CONTENTS OF VOL. XXXV, NO. 4
October, 1938
PAGE
NOTES AND COMMENTS. 26?
FRAGMENTS. 2?7
LIVING PICTURES. 2?9
REFLECTING ON A NEIGHBOUR. 29Q
THE UNDERSTANDING OF PARTICULAR THINGS. 295
THEOSOPHY IN SERMONS.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME.
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION. 6
REVIEWS.
. 342
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
. 349
NEW YORK BRANCH NOTICE.
INDEX. 5
. 3Si
Act of Ma'rc r ^3 M .8 7 r nd ‘ ClaM Septra,b « 5. .913, at the Poet Office at New York. N. Y.. under the
Copyright, 1938, 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,
caste or colour. The subsidiary objects are: 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 Theosophical Quarterly is the official organ of the original
Theosophical Society founded in New York by H. P. Blavatshj,
W. Q. Judge and others, in 1875 .
We have no connection whatsoever with any other organization
calling itself Theosophical, formerly headed by Mrs. Besant, nor
with similar bodies, the purposes and methods of which are wholly
foreign to our own .
Editors, The Theosophical Quarterly.
OCTOBER, 1938
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.
The Faculty of Mental Memory
M EMORY has been described as “the faculty of the mind by which it
retains, and reproduces at will, past events”. The inventor of this
definition must have been an optimist. Most of us know, to our sor¬
row, that our minds retain only scattered fragments of the past, and that even
these poor rags and tatters are deformed almost beyond recognition. How
many can “reproduce at will” any episode, exactly as it occurred? The mind is
always dredging images out of the chasms of the subconscious, but how often
do we exercise the least conscious control over this operation? If we really try
to remember anything, how often do we succeed?
The faculty of mental memory may be regarded as a specialized instrument,
primarily devised to preserve and to make available, to our personal conscious¬
ness, the lessons of past experience. To take a classical example, the child who
remembers what happened when he touched a red-hot stove, will refrain from
repeating the experiment. He retains, and reproduces at will, a past event,
because he has assimilated his experience of that event. In the course of time,
if the assimilation be complete enough, it will be unnecessary to recall the expe¬
rience by a mental effort. Whenever he has to choose between touching and
not touching a hot stove, his normal, spontaneous, automatic reaction will be
not to touch it. A habit—in this case, a good habit—will have been established.
Unfortunately we do not always or often learn the lessons of life as easi ly^
the child learns the lesson inculcated by the hot stove. Experience is, or shJffd
be, the food of the soul. However, it is not enough that we should swallow it;
it must be subjected to an inner metabolism, before it can be assimilated and
become part of our nature. Our inner health, moreover, depends upon the par¬
ticular ingredients of experience which are assimilated. Every experience, as
Through The Gates of Gold informs us, yields either a grain of poison or a drop
of the elixir of life. We can assimilate the poison and reject the elixir. In
267
268
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
such circumstances, it is no wonder that our memories, like our dreams, so often
assume the pattern of a crazy-quilt. The dregs of the subconscious are charged
with toxins which act upon the mind, as a putrefying substance acts upon the
body, as “the vile emanations of the earth (moral and physical) upon which the
Astral Light is fed, are all converted into their subtlest essence, and radiated
back intensified, thus becoming epidemics—moral, psychic and physical”
(Theosophical Glossary , p. 35).
Organic Memory
The references to the Astral Light in theosophical literature suggest that
memory is not merely a mental faculty limited to man and a few of the higher
animals on this planet; that wherever there is any existence, macrocosmic or
microcosmic, in any kingdom, upon any plane, experience of some kind is being
assimilated by some process of consciousness, which in some way corresponds
to what we call memory. Thus the Cosmos has a “memory”, and so has every
atom within the Cosmos; and there is a “memory” of the earth, distinct from,
though including, the “memories” of all its denizens, visible and invisible, “from
mineral and plant, up to the holiest Archangel”.
By analogy, in the human being, there is not only the memory of the mind,
but also there are the “memories” of all his other principles and sub-principles,
from the lowest to the highest. Every organ, as well as every cell of his physical
body, of all his “bodies”, contributes its quota of assimilated experience to the
whole. His entire organism is indeed charged with “memories” which are in
one sense not his personal property, coming to him, as they do, from the inter¬
minable line of his ancestors. To such an order belong the “astral moulds” of
the physiological habits and instincts which he shares with the animals. He is
overshadowed, sometimes possessed by subconscious impulses, derived both
from his family and from the skandhas , the seeds of the “memories” of past
births. According to the degree of his development, he is influenced, consciously
or “superconsciously”, by the “memories” of the soul.
The sum-total or synthesis of all these “memories” has been called “organic
memory”, to distinguish it from ordinary “mental memory”. Some psycholo¬
gists identify it with the so-called “subconscious”, but as we have suggested, it
is much more than that. It might be described as a composite faculty which,
for the most part without our conscious knowledge, has stored up and utilizes
the manifold experiences of every conceivable order, garnered during countless
aeons along innumerable lines of evolution. But in its immediate activities, it
may be the cause of many disasters. Like the Astral Light, it may be said to
“give out nothing but what it has received”, and in the course of our wander¬
ings, recent and remote, in space and time, we have retained many “astral
moulds” which are unpleasant, and others which are ghastly to behold.
The Control of Habit
There is an old axiom: “Nature loves to repeat herself.” The underlying
principle seems to be that it is only by constant repetition that the average
NOTES AND COMMENTS
269
experience can be adequately assimilated. We can observe the usefulness of
repetition in the evolution of reflexes and instincts in the animal kingdom.
How can any human aptitude or efficiency be acquired, if not by constant and
unremitting practice, by doing the same thing over and over again, until a
particular series of actions has become habitual and virtually automatic? This
rule applies equally, whether we be learning dancing or singing or mathematics
or the art of holiness. In each instance, memory-images are deliberately
strengthened by repetition, so as to establish the mould of a habit.
It has been said that whenever we put force into a thought, it “coalesces with
an elemental”, becoming a semi-independent entity, living with our life, and
renewing its vitality by prompting us to repeat the experience through which
it was bom. But many of our thoughts and deeds do not bear repetition; and
the continued presence of certain “dynamic mind-images” below the “threshold
of consciousness”, implies that we shall be instigated to commit the same follies
again and again.
Are we aware of the degree to which we have become “creatures of habit”?
The faculty of organic memory—doubtless serving the demands of Karma—
takes advantage of any sensation, even of a muscular contraction, to re-vivify
an “astral mould”, a “habit”, to which we are still attached by some secret or
avowed desire or fear. The tyranny of habit is often visibly manifested by some
“organic trick” to which the body is subject, by a tic or nervous reflex or habitual
gesture or cliche, which is an ever-present source of annoyance to our friends.
There is truth in the modem psychiatric theory that disease symptoms can be
caused by obsessions of consciousness, that is to say, by psychic habits over
which even a semblance of control has been lost.
To conserve sanity and bodily health, it is necessary to control our habits
and to anticipate their recurrence, whenever this is possible, as a skilful driver
must not only understand the idiosyncrasies of his horse but must know when to
expect their manifestation. This means that we must set to work to liberate
the force which in the past we imprisoned in the “dynamic mind images”, the
memories, that are the basis of our bad or useless habits. Certainly the past
moment cannot be erased; it is engraved upon the “tablets of the Astral Light”.
But our whole attitude towards the past moment can be changed. How can we
make any real progress towards the realization of our divine destiny, until we
learn how to transform the meaning of past experience?
The Transformation of Memory-Images
For example, let us imagine a man who is a coward. Time after time he has
fled his enemies, real and imagined, and as a result his mind is haunted by
dread and apprehension, haunted above all by the persistent image of himself
in flight from every battlefield. But he is finally brought to the point where he
realizes, at least intellectually, that his soul is by its very nature courageous,
because his soul, being a ray or spark of his Master’s life, must participate in
the superlative courage of the Master. He understands that if he persevere
and trust in his Master’s power, he will be able to make that potential courage
270
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of the soul manifest in every department of his personal life. Let us suppose
that he succeeds. Must there not be a complete transformation of his memory-
images? The past events which formerly terrorized him, no longer suggest
episodes in a drama of defeat. What was once seen as cowardice, impelling
him to fresh acts of cowardice, now appears as an enemy which he has over¬
come. He thinks of his unhappy past, as a mountaineer, standing on the sum¬
mit, thinks of the deadly perils of the ascent as obstacles which he has passed,
as episodes which enhance the value of his victory.
The Memory of the Heart
There is a memory of the heart, of the soul. As Napoleon remarked, it is the
only form of memory which can really preserve past experience without defor¬
mation. Las Cases notes in the Memorial de Sainte-H&lhne: “The Emperor said
that his memory was of the heart, and that it preserved the faithful remem¬
brance of all that was dear to him.”
Everyone must have experienced, in some degree, the power of the memory
of the heart. The remembrance of a person, of a dog, even of an inanimate
object, which we have loved and still love, does not fade away. Thus a long-
forgotten scene, a landscape which has deeply moved us, can be suddenly evoked
by some magical suggestion conveyed by the most casual incident, by a perfume
or the sound of a distant bell. We open a damp old wardrobe, and the odour
of musty wood transports us across the years to a little inn at Barbizon. Once
more we look out into the green twilight of the forest, and hear the dripping of
the rain and the song of the chaffinch.
The Memory of the Immortal
In the heart, as the Upanishads teach, dwells the Immortal. The real mem¬
ory of the heart is a sacred and intimate treasure, the unique possession of the
individual soul, for it is the gift of the Master, part of the memory of the Im¬
mortal who is the father of that soul. By love and aspiration, it is said, the
memory of the ch£la can be purified, transmuted, actually as well as potentially
made one with the memory of the Master; in so far as he attains union, the
ch£la remembers what his Master remembers. This would seem to be the clue
to Plato’s meaning when he spoke of the soul’s innate power to recollect the
Divine Ideas. Many saints and mystics have testified to the experience of
re-living an episode of their Master’s life as intensely, as personally , as if they
had themselves physically experienced it. The Passion and Resurrection of the
Master Christ are not regarded by the disciple merely as historical episodes; they
are part of his own true biography.
Have we often considered what the memory of a Master may be like? It
must be a memory of joy, for it is a memory of love, even though it preserves
the experience of all the wounds which love has suffered in a warfare which is
without beginning or end. It must be a memory which can “reproduce at will”,
without any dimming effect by time, the real form of a past event; the Master
sees time sub specie ceternitatis . In the world where the Masters live, according
NOTES AND COMMENTS
NOTES AND COMMENTS 271
to the testimony of those who have dwelt there, the past is as living and as
immediate as the present; in one sense, it is inseparable from the present (and
the future). As an Eastern Master wrote many years ago: “I feel even irritated
at having to use these three clumsy words—Past, Present and Future. Miser¬
able concept of the objective phases of the subjective whole, they are about as
ill-adapted for the purpose, as an axe for fine carving” ( The Occult World , p. 145).
The Balance-Sheet of a Lifetime
It may be suggested that when the balance-sheet of a lifetime is presented to
the “Recording Angels”, they are primarily concerned with the memories which
have settled in the heart. They are probably much less interested than we
suppose in our successes and failures, in our achievements and deficiencies, even
in our virtues and vices. That which really matters is what we have stored up
in our hearts, the things which we remember most spontaneously because they
are most dear to us. If the soul has grown any wiser in its affections, if it has
learned anything from its mistakes, it can scarcely matter in the Eternal how
many mistakes it may have made. The whole life may have been a “comedy of
errors”, but if the lesson of even one error be learned, it ceases to be a stimulus
to continued defeat, and becomes instead an incentive to victory.
A Famous American Becomes a Philosopher
These last reflections are suggested by an interview with Mr. Henry Ford,
published in honour of his seventy-fifth birthday by the New York Times Maga¬
zine , July 24, 1938. Mr. Ford has done many strange and outlandish things in
the course of a long and active life. The too famous “peace-ship” is only one of
many examples. He has deluded himself and others by the doctrine that the
multiplication of cheap automobiles, bought on credit, has immeasurably in¬
creased the happiness of the human race. The casual observer of his activities
might easily infer that they had been little likely to lead him to any true per¬
ception of spiritual values. Perhaps, he is a bundle of contradictions. In part
of his nature, at any event, he now reveals an affinity with the tragically small
group of mankind who seek and find some meaning in the events of their lives,
and who can, in consequence, profit from errors and defeats. He may hq^e
said that “history is bunk”, but no disciple of Confucius could speak
respectfully of experience. It is not enough to say that he has succeeded where
others failed, because when others dreamed he acted. The real point is that he
has recognized many mistakes and has learned from them. He learned, as it
seems, for the simple reason that he has always been ready to test the validity
of his oddest theories by actual experiment. What is more, he has undertaken
full responsibility, paying for his experience with his own money. Unlike many
of his contemporaries, he has not experimented at others’ expense. It would seem
that few men in public life to-day have been as consistently sincere as Mr. Ford.
“The Most Valuable Thing in the World”
Mr. Ford was an intimate friend of Thomas Edison, who was at one time a
272
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
member of The Theosophical Society. This may account in part for his ref¬
erences to Reincarnation and Karma; but it is evident that the philosophy of
life which he outlines is his own, the product of his own meditations. “In the
evening of the day comes quietude, and with quietude wisdom.”
“Do your own work, don’t indulge in controversies”, Mr. Ford said. “Don’t let argu¬
ment lead to quarrels; if the matter is one you can do something about—do it; if not,
wait until you can. I can honestly say that in my case money has been a by-product.
I never kept it in my mind. But I think I always had a subconscious belief that anyone
who does anything useful will not go unpaid. There’s a higher law that looks after that.
From the time I worked on the farm . . . the best pay I ever got was experience, which
I think is still the most valuable thing in the world. That’s what we are put in the world
for, to get experience and to help others get it. It is the one thing no one can take away
from us. No, I’ve never laid out a system of life. Just go ahead, and do the job that
one is called upon to do—that is system enough. How can anyone say how he will act
to-morrow when he doesn’t know what will happen to-day?” . . .
“What is instinct?” Mr. Ford was asked.
“Probably the essence of past experience and knowledge stored up for future use.”
“Transmitted to us by our forebears?”
“Not necessarily. Little is known about inheritance. Suppose we inherit from our¬
selves—from our own past? There are many, you know, who think this life journey
through the world is not the first one we have made. Haven’t you ever come across
children who knew things which it was impossible for them to have learned? Have you
ever gone to a place for the first time and felt sure that you had been there before?” . . .
Mr. Ford said that, if he had the opportunity of living his life over again, there are
few things he would do differently from the way that he had done them. “I couldn’t
even if I wanted to. There are some things we must do in order to be true to ourselves.
Even a mistake may turn out to be the one thing necessary to a worth-while achieve¬
ment.” It is for that reason that Mr. Ford does not believe in what is ordinarily called
luck; he thinks that often what is regarded as hard luck is an experience which, if prop¬
erly judged, can react to advantage.
The Art of Being True to Oneself
The general truth of Mr. Ford’s message is self-evident. With one of his
statements, as he has phrased it, we are, however, constrained to disagree. Who
would not do many things differently, if he had the opportunity of living his
life over again? The great consolation which the doctrine of Reincarnation
brings, is that we do have this opportunity, with added experience. Our errors
are not irreparable. There will be ample opportunity to correct them in the
future. Furthermore, we are only true to ourselves in the measure that we do
correct them and learn from them. We are not living in accordance with the
real nature of things so long as we regard it as inevitable that we must make
the same mistakes time after time, and learn nothing. Mr. Ford may have
profited more than most men from the observation of his own follies, but he
surely would not claim that he has profited to the utmost. And that is what
sooner or later must be done by every soul. The maximum profit must be
extracted from every experience. When that blissful state is reached, it would
seem that the soul stands indeed upon the threshold of Nirvana, for there would
scarcely be any further necessity for incarnation, as we understand it. But
until this art of being true to oneself is thoroughly mastered, nothing is gained
NOTES AND COMMENTS
273
by a feeling of more or less complete satisfaction with our actual attainment.
Perhaps Mr. Ford has not that feeling, but his words are unhappy in suggesting it.
“Optimum Conditions of Growth”
Mr. Ford has had one advantage. He has spent his life in contact with facts;
for machines may be soulless, but at least they are concrete and actual things.
Many university professors are not so fortunate, for they are in daily contact,
not with facts but with notions about facts.
This may partly explain some of the things which are said at congresses of
learned men. For instance, at the recent meeting of the American Association
for the Advancement of Science, in Ottawa, Professor Frank S. Freeman made
some generalizations about “public education in a democracy”. The present
fad is to regard heredity as less important in the fashioning of character than
environment, and this provided Professor Freeman with the subject-matter for
a thesis:
This revised concept of the development of mental abilities has far-reaching educa¬
tional implications. It means that an individual’s possibilities of development cannot be
known and realized until optimum conditions of growth are provided practically from
birth; that social and economic factors and all that they imply are at least as significant
in the determination of ability differences as are genetic factors, and that much potential
talent goes undeveloped for want of proper nurture, both physical and psychological.
Public education in a democracy that seeks to develop and foster all its human resources
will have to look forward to providing pre-school education for all in respect to both
mental and physical development. It is not enough to urge that talented boys and girls
of whatever economic stratum should have opportunity for higher education.
Like so many of the pronouncements of “intellectuals”, this sounds amiable
and innocent at first reading. Then we stop and wonder what Professor Free¬
man means by “optimum conditions of growth”. Whatever he may mean, it is
quite certain that every other professor would mean something else. As a mat¬
ter of fact, various political groups and their leaders have already decided the
question for themselves. Mussolini, Hitler and Stalin have very definite views
about “optimum conditions of growth”, and they lack patience with anyone
who disagrees.
It is impossible to say into what shapes the “potential talent” of Italy, Ger¬
many and Russia will develop. God only knows, in any case, what is the
“potential talent” of anybody. In the deepest of all possible senses, every soul
is doubtless “an inlet to the Over-Soul, and to all of the same”, but that does
not imply that God expects every child to become at once a Buddha or a PMb.
Theosophy iterates and re-iterates one simple hypothesis, that whereverwle
is placed by Nature and Karma, one finds the “optimum conditions of growth”
for the soul. The physical and psychic environment will inevitably change, as
the needs of the soul change. The valorous and determined individual does
not remain in bondage to any set of circumstances. The self-made man whom
Americans formerly delighted to honour, grew often to gigantic proportions,
without any “social and economic advantages”, sometimes with nothing but
274
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
the bare rudiments of a primary school education. He made himself what he
became, because he was instructed by his own experience and by observing the
experience of others.
No man can be made to become anything, if he be a man. A “scientific”
system of nurture might conceivably produce a nation of creatures which would
do and say what it was told to do and say, but it would be a nation of automata
and robots, not of human beings. It is so much simpler to do one’s own duty as
best one can, and to leave to Nature at least part of the burden of developing
and fostering “all the resources” of everybody else. If a man’s talents need
development, as surely as Justice rules the world, he will be given a chance to
succeed, and if his aspirations be real, opposition, difficulty, even poverty (that
terrible spectre of the modem mind) will not daunt him but will only temper
the steel of his will.
Failure
It may be suggested in this connection that failure is as misunderstood as
poverty, in the modern world. So much failure is not failure at all. If a man
cannot see for himself the beauty of the “Victory of Samothrace”, why blame
him? He is simply as yet incapable of experiencing the beauty, as a dog would
be incapable. His “failure” is as much an illusion as, in a different sense, is
that of the artist struggling to bring some creation to birth, who rejects his
first production because it inadequately expresses his idea. There is yet another
kind of “failure” which should indeed awaken intense sympathy, although it
must be sent by the Good Law, by a Divine Compassion. Many are bom into
the world with certain obvious talents which they cannot develop, in spite of all
their efforts and in spite of every favourable condition. If we really believe in
Reincarnation and Karma, we can recognize the possibility that in other lives
this particular talent had been over-developed at the expense of other qualities
necessary to the soul, and that the use of it is denied in the present life to pro¬
vide an opportunity for a fuller and better rounded growth.
There is only one certain failure,—the deliberate refusal to conform action to
a standard which one knows to be beautiful and true.
One Purpose of Education
As history reveals, a civilization exists as long as it can transmit to the future
what it has learned in the past. Each generation should add to the sum-total
of knowledge, but it must build upon foundations already laid. “A nation loses
its life”, said Marshal Foch, “only when it has lost its memories”, that is, its
traditions.
Certainly one purpose of education is to ensure the preservation of the ac¬
quired knowledge (spiritual, moral, intellectual and physical) of the race. But
very few citizens have the capacity to assimilate more than a small fraction of
that knowledge. Formerly, when primary education at least was a function of
the Church and the family, the principal object was to impress upon the child’s
mind and heart certain elementary truths concerning good and evil, right and
wrong. Like the Ten Commandments and their counterparts in other religions,
NOTES AND COMMENTS
275
these truths are the fruit of a mass of experience dating back to the infancy of
humanity. They must be made part of the child’s habitual consciousness, if he
is to become even a potential human being. They are incomparably more
necessary and more important than reading and writing and arithmetic, not to
mention economics, sociology, aesthetics and “tap-dancing”. We venture to
suggest that if the modem educator would lay aside some of his theories and,
especially in the primary grades, would concentrate upon the teaching of the
indispensable principles of ethics, the “potential talents” of the infants entrusted
to him would take care of themselves. In any event these principles are needed
equally by the man of genius and by the humblest entity in human shape.
The Pivotal Doctrine of the Esoteric Philosophy
It is too easy to lose sight of the mountain-peaks which we must climb to
attain our true human heritage. We are not invited by the Logos to a light
and frivolous undertaking. Consider the far vistas opened to vision by the
third “fundamental proposition” of The Secret Doctrine:
The fundamental identity of all Souls with the Universal Over-Soul, the latter being
itself an aspect of the Unknown Root; and the obligatory pilgrimage for every Soul—a
spark of the former—through the Cycle of Incarnation, or Necessity, in accordance with
Cyclic and Karmic Law, during the whole term. In other words, no purely spiritual
Buddhi (Divine Soul) can have an independent conscious existence before the spark
which issued from the pure Essence of the Universal Sixth Principle—or the over-soul
—has (a) passed through every elemental form of the phenomenal world of that Man-
vantara, and (b) acquired individuality, first by natural impulse, and then by self-induced
and self-devised efforts, checked by its Karma, thus ascending through all the degrees of
intelligence from the lowest to the highest Manas. . . . The pivotal doctrine of the
Esoteric Philosophy admits no privileges or special gifts in man, save those won by his
own Ego through personal effort and merit throughout a long series of metempsychoses
and reincarnations (ed. 1888, I, 17).
All states of consciousness, all talents potential or realized, all experiences,
all “memories of the heart” are significant, in so far as they reveal some aspect
of the Eternal and enlighten the way to the Eternal. For the aspirant to ch£la-
ship this specifically signifies that his life and its powers exist for one purpose,
as a bridge leading him to immediate knowledge of the Master at the head of
his Ray, who has already attained “individual conscious existence”, in ujMpn
with the Over-Soul, with the Spirit of the Lodge.
Memory and Self-realization
As one indispensable means to this true Self-realization, there must be a pro¬
gressive transformation of our “dynamic mind-images”, a progressive change
of attitude towards the past. This is a’task which can be begun here and now,
the sooner the better. Certain things which can be done are self-evident.
We can quicken the processes of self-examination, in a whole-hearted at¬
tempt to understand and to overpower the elemental lives and forces animating
the bad habits of mind and body, and inciting us to repeat the foolish and vicious
j^cts of the past. We can train the mind to associate the image of what we ac-
276
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
tually did on some particular occasion, with the ideal of what we should have
done, so that we cannot recall the former without simultaneously recalling the
latter. M. Jacques d’Amoux refers to this aspect of recollection:
The memory of heroes is not only the guardian of the sacred fire. It should not only
be filled with glowing coals. It is also a watch which should remain ceaselessly on the
alert, and which should never forget the reefs and the shipwrecks. If it does not each
day register your weaknesses, you will never reform yourself completely. “A life without
self-examination is not a life”, said the philosopher. Certain weaknesses are so habitual
for you, that you yield to them without being aware of it. It is only by the tenacious
recollection of these weaknesses that, little by little, you become conscious of them and
will finally react at the right time (Les Sept Colonnes de l*Heroism*, p. 305).
We can face each experience as it happens, with the conviction that it is a
sentence in the Book of Life, a sentence placed there by Nature, by Karma, by
our Master for our edification. This conviction, firmly held, will link the re¬
membrance of the experience with the thought of a spiritual purpose informing
all events, and with the idea of the Masters’ constant intervention in the affairs
of men.
Such an association of memories and images is not hard to imagine, for it
involves the use of a faculty with which we are thoroughly familiar. If we have
visited a place with someone we love, our pleasure in bringing back its image is
inextricably identified with the feeling that we share the pleasure and the re¬
membrance with another.
This suggests what may be described as the highest state of consciousness
attainable by man, the state which in mystical treatises is called Union, when
“this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put
on immortality”. The true occultism teaches the art of sharing the conscious¬
ness of the Masters, of participating in their experience and their memory. In
every religion, there have been those who attained some degree of perfection in
this art. Thus the follower of Osiris in ancient Egypt became the “Osirified”;
thus the bhakti yoga of India united the devotee with the Lord Krishna or with
some other manifestation of the Supreme, and the Christian saints have par¬
ticipated in the Agony and Passion of the Master Christ.
Many students of Theosophy have pledged themselves to work for the preser¬
vation of chSlaship as a living fact in the world. Reflecting upon the gifts of
the Lodge to The Theosophical Society since its inception, some students would
consider it disgraceful to believe that what has been possible for others is im¬
possible for them.
FRAGMENTS
T O THE disciple there is but one way in which any action, even the
most insignificant, can be performed, and that is the Master’s way.
Every motion, every word, every thought, must be cast in this mould,
and bear the stamp of its exalted origin and pattern. Thus the disciple’s life
becomes a sanctified life, and all that he breathes or touches bears his Master’s
seal.
Yet for each of his children the Master will have a special way, since each
will represent a particular colour of the spectrum in the group to which the
Master has seen fit to assign him. Therefore the disciple will never demand
that his way must be followed by others, for, if so blind as to make the attempt,
he may find that he has been contravening the Master’s will, and become a
force of disruption, not of cohesion.
What he must look for, and insist upon finding, in his brother’s way, is the
Master’s hall-mark. If this be discovered he will rest content, however dif¬
ferent in expression that way may appear from his own. Without that hall¬
mark, however, no course of procedure, no postulate of life, will any disciple
endure or condone, since to do so would involve the infraction of fundamental
spiritual principle; and such tolerance is no real tolerance, but moral laxity and
license, and destroys the integrity of the soul.
Humility is a fundamental of discipleship, since without it all other virtues
are spurious. No virtue is so little understood, and its psychic counterfeits
more often seen than the reality. A genuine humility does not create weakl^gs,
nor impair true dignity. It represents a detachment and impersonality so com¬
plete, that the disciple’s stature is raised, not lowered. By it he is set apart
from other men because so ennobled above them. Humility transfigures. It
alone can make a man sublime.
No day has been lived as by a disciple, unless at its close there is some sacri-
277
278
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
fice that can be offered, as the result of which that much of self has been lost,
and that much of the Master acquired.
When the disciple receives a grace he imparts it. If it be not imparted, by
his mere presence, it has never really been received. The light has been shed
upon him. but he has failed to become incandescent.
When the day is ending, its work completed, and the mind and body are
weary, fold the hands, close the eyes, turn inward. In every heart there is a
little wicket gate,—open it, pass through. It is another world. An atmosphere
of quiet pervades it which is full of healing. When you have bathed in it for a
space, the cares and the griefs slip off and melt away in the shadows. There is
a path leading on through the fragrant coolness. It winds and turns. Some one
is waiting beyond there. With a prayer on your lips, go on. Perhaps, 0 heart,
perhaps you will meet Him!
Cav£.
LIVING PICTURES
I F YOU think you can jump a fence, you may fail when you try. But if
you are convinced you cannot jump it, you will certainly fail. Indeed you
will not even try. You may, of course, be shamed into something you would
like to have look like trying. You may run at it with a grim face, but at the
last moment you will balk, or at best make a feeble little spring that does not
employ any appreciable fraction of your real muscular power,—and this though,
in feet and inches, the fence be lower than many others you jump with ease.
Dominated by the notion that it is too high for you, you cannot “see yourself”
clearing it, and in the absence of such a picture, you have no chart for the re¬
quired action. With the exception of the automatic jerkings that are the merely
mechanical reaction of our nerves to external stimuli, we never act save upon
some previously conceived, or perceived, picture of the act; and if anything
prohibits the formation of the picture, the act itself becomes impossible. A
lack of confidence can thus paralyze your powers by first paralyzing your im¬
agination. But, as here, it can go further, and instead of merely immobilizing
your imagination, it may mobilize it against you. In place of a picture that
you wish your jump to fulfil, your mental conviction that it is impossible con¬
jures up a horrid presentment of your tripping on the top bar, and plunging
headlong into whatever lies beyond,—a picture which you definitely do not
wish to fill, and which therefore reduces your jump to what may be counted
upon not to fill it, but to leave you safe on the near side. You fail because your
imagination betrays you, supplying pictures to your fears and not to your will.
From this we may record the following general observation: Our purposes
and desires are brought to material fulfilment only through the intermediary
of immaterial pictures, and if the right pictures be not supplied, the right actions
will not be performed.
There is more than this, however, which it should profit us to note. Whether
you took your fence, or, balking at it, found some break through which you
crawled, the incident is not over with the mere material fact. It remains with
you as an immaterial picture, which you now call, not imagination, but memory.
If you took the fence gallantly in your stride, the memory is pleasing. If you
funked it, the picture is not pleasing, but so painfully at variance with the way
in which you wish to see yourself, so unassimilable to your self-esteem, that mi
feel something must be done about it. If you have the courage to look atf^e
picture squarely, you may see what ought to be done, and set your will to its
doing thereafter. But as your fears captured your imagination before, so may
they again,—though now their concern is for your vanity. If so, you will, meta¬
phorically, again seek a hole through which to crawl. After one sidelong, pro¬
testing glance at the record as it stands, you will look away; and while your
back is thus ostentatiously turned, your imagination feverishly smudges the
279
28 o
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
outlines and redraws and embroiders the picture, until its ugliness is overlaid
and concealed. The fence is sketched so high that, obviously, no one could have
jumped it,—quite justifying your original conviction, and showing ^ hat the
real problem was to find just such a break in the barrier as you, very ^leverly,
discovered. Or you “remember” that, as you were about to spring, your foot
slipped and your ankle turned,—indeed, when you think about it, it is still
painful, and you may even limp a little. Or, etc., etc. By one subterfuge or
another, the picture is made bearable, and thereafter, consciously or uncon¬
sciously, your effort is to accept the revised version as true. The worst of it is
that you may succeed, at least in part.
If you do succeed, a long line of most undesirable consequences will be en¬
tailed, with only one of which, however, do we need to concern ourselves imme¬
diately. Refusing to face your failure at the fence, fleeing from fact to fiction,
whatever lesson of self-knowledge it might have taught you will not have been
learned, and you will, instead, have both deepened your self-deception and
corrupted your will to its defence.
From this we may draw a second general observation, to put alongside the
first: Our actions can yield us self-knowledge, and material events can be dis¬
tilled into the wisdom of experience, only through the intermediary of imma¬
terial pictures; and if the pictures be spurious, they entrench us in error.
These two observations together indicate the course followed by our actions.
From whatever inner centre they originate—whether in duty, or reason, or de¬
sire—they pass outward through a surrounding belt or zone of pictures, which
both separates these inner centres from, and connects them with, the outer
physical world. In this picture-zone is formed the model which the physical
action is to copy. And this copy, perfect or imperfect, as it has been impressed
upon the outer world by the act, is reflected back, with its results and conse¬
quences, into the picture-zone, serving as the carrier through which the harvest
of the act is returned to the centre that initiated it. The picture-zone, through
which our actions thus make a double passage, is part of what, in theosophical
literature, has been called the “astral” plane, the name simply meaning starry,
or self-luminous. This points to the characteristic ability of the pictures, not
merely to reflect what they represent, but actually to embody it, so that they
are truly “living pictures”, luminous from within, as are the stars and sun, and
not merely shining with borrowed light, as does the moon. And as the light of
the sun is fraught with the energies of heat, and subtile, quickening forces, which
work upon all that its rays touch, so the light from each of these astral images,
bearing the contagion of its inhabiting life, affects all upon which it falls. The
most cursory glance at our daily experience is sufficient to show the tremendous
power—too often virulent—of this astral contagion.
“Injuries”, cried Bishop Joseph Hall three hundred years ago, “hurt not
more in the receiving than in the remembrance. A small injury shall go as it
comes; a great injury may dine or sup with me; but none at all shall lodge with
me. Why should I vex myself because another hath vexed me? Grief for things
past that cannot be remedied, and care for things to come that cannot be pre-
LIVING PICTURES
281
vented, may easily hurt, can never benefit me. I will therefore commit myself
to God in both, and enjoy the present.”
Whi 1 of us, making that resolve, has not, again and again, met defeat in it,
as grie. and care pressed upon him, and the light of the astral images incarnat¬
ing them, shone through his closed eyelids? Or which of us has not found, as
Socrates warned Xenophon, that the images of desire are more formidable than
tarantulas? For the tarantula can bite only on contact, whereas the distant
vision of such images, the mere light that shines from them, may be sufficient
to instil their poison and deprive men of their senses. If we are to be the masters
of our own actions, therefore, and understand, as we should, the forces which
constantly contend against us for that mastery, we shall do well to consider
how we deal with the pictures and forces of the astral plane.
To make our inquiry specific we may continue to use the regrettable incident
at the fence, and note, first, the part played in it by the desire to “save face”,—
that is, the desire to preserve intact the face, or picture, which we present to
others and which we wish to believe ourselves. The more closely we examine
it, the more apparent it becomes that the chief cohesive force, which holds
together the bundle of contradictions that make up our lower nature, is this
picture of ourselves which our wishful thinking creates. So long as we iden¬
tify ourselves with our lower nature, anything which threatens it, appears to
threaten us; and therefore in this part of our being—the part that is native to
the lower astral plane—the desire to preserve our picture of ourselves corre¬
sponds to, and is as strong and as instinctive as the animal instinct of self-
preservation. We can recognize the operation of both of these instincts in the
incident before us. It is through the first that one can be “shamed” into pre¬
tence—into running at the fence to avoid confessing unwillingness to attempt it
and the belief that it is beyond one’s powers. And it is the second that causes
one to balk at the last moment, when faced with the picture of physical disaster.
Very clearly, also, it was the desire to “save face” in one’s own eyes, that led
to the pretence and falsification of memory which marked the second phase of
the incident. As in the first phase, the pretence was dictated by fear,—not
fear of the facts, which were beyond change and which there was no attempt to
supplement, but fear of the picture of the facts, lest, if it were admitted to con¬
sciousness, it should shatter with its incongruity the astral image which
self-esteem had formed and which held your sense of self-identity. It seen
strange paradox that any stratum of our human nature should prefer to
again and again in the same way, rather than to admit to itself that it had ever
failed in that way—prefer to descend anew to cowardice and deceit, rather than
to acknowledge that it had once been afraid. Yet we find it illustrated every
day; and the reason for it is that our actions in the physical world, as we have
noted, can bear their harvest back to consciousness only by traversing the
astral zone, and only through the medium of astral images. To that part of a
man’s nature, therefore, which, like his vanity, is concerned chiefly with the
impact of such images upon his picture of himself, the physical facts seem of
rery minor importance in comparison with their reflections,, and it seems easy
yojlfc
;o fail
282 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
to believe that, if only the pictures can be shut out or made harmless, the facts
can be safely ignored.
We have come to a point where we must change the form of our discourse. We
are no longer willing to refer to the depraved object we are dissecting, as “you’ .
Nor are we willing to cover it with a collective “we”. It is neither “you” nor
“I”, neither your real self nor mine, and it is more than time that this should be
recognized. It is something other than either of us; it is an “it”. Indeed it is not
even an “it”, it is a “they”,—a congeries of astral images, inhabited and animated
by elemental impulses and desires and the raw stuff of the qualities of nature, all
held together, despite their internecine warfare, by the use you have made and
continue to make of them, by your extending to them your sense of self-identifi¬
cation and including them in the astral picture you have made of yourself. It
may seem strange to say this, when we have seen how desperately a man may
struggle to exclude from that picture everything he thinks shameful. But his
very effort to exclude it, testifies to his awareness of its presence. His denials
never wholly convince him; his self-deception is never complete; and in resort¬
ing to it he renews and engraves more deeply the very lines of shame he wishes
to erase. What they depict is, truly, not himself, save as he has made it him¬
self by using it. But having used it, he must answer for it. All that we employ
in our service dons our livery; and we are in pawn to our servants until their
wages are paid. As the folk-lore of all races has recorded, there is but one bar¬
gain that the devil will make with man. Evil will work for him only in return
for the pledge of his soul. Its wage is the extension to it of man’s own sense of
self. Man cannot lie and seek refuge in pretence, without being forced, sooner
or later, to see himself as a liar and a cheat. It is against this that he fights as
long as he can; but in it is his salvation. For when he sees and owns himself
cheat and liar, in that act he ceases to lie and cheat. In it he pays the devil
his wage, and can dismiss and be free of him. He loses his life—the picture he
has treasured of it lies in shattered fragments—but in the loss of the false he
finds the way to the true. The bundle of incongruities, no longer held together
by his will, falls apart; and from its contents he may choose anew what he will
retain.
We are not wise, therefore, in struggling, as we so often do, to postpone pay¬
ment of whatever may be the devil’s bill against us. It is far better to pay as
we go. Wherever we fail, there we need the lessons which an honest fronting
of our failure should teach us, and which we miss when we try to blind ourselves
to it. We shall not reach our goal by trying to persuade ourselves that we are
already there; nor improve, by insisting that we have nothing to correct. As
the roots of a tree draw from the mulch of its own fallen leaves, so man’s most
vigorous growth springs from a soil fertilized with the purified purgations of
his failures.
So much for the part played by the desire to “save face”. But the self-
reference and self-picturing which underlies it, entered into the incident at the
fence in yet another way. We noted that our hero (we must call him some¬
thing) could not “see himself” clearing it. That, then, had been his effort—as
LIVING PICTURES
283
it is so common and unfortunate a habit, in men’s undertakings, for them to
visualize themselves as the actor, rather than to view impersonally the action
to be performed. They try to look at several things at once, instead of at only
one, and in consequence what they do is not clean cut, nor directed to a single
end, but is at best a compromise between different, and not infrequently dia¬
metrically divergent, aims. So here, the man tried to look (1) to his habitual
picture of himself and his powers; and (2) to the action which the jump required;
and (3) to his own safety. This was only prudent of him, if no duty necessi¬
tated the jump and no decision regarding it had been made. It was but prudent,
too, that judging these pictures incompatible, he should be loth to attempt the
leap. But once it had been decided upon, his whole attention should have been
focussed upon the action demanded, leaving no room for anything else.
Instead, he continued to look at his pictures of himself, and in the resulting
division and diversion of his will, his action was reduced to mere futility or pre¬
tence. The factor which became dominant, was, as we saw, his instinct of self-
preservation. But even where no question of personal safety is involved, any
thought of oneself, any self-consciousness bringing before our inner eyes a pic¬
ture of self with its familiar characteristics, aptitudes and limitations, must
inevitably hamper us in situations foreign to our habitual routine. For such
pictures are moulds which our actions tend automatically to fill, and which
therefore restrict the flexibility and freedom of our powers, inhibiting the evoca¬
tion of latent abilities, and confining both imagination and action to the bounds
which custom has made familiar. Many a man has been held all his life in this
hypnosis to the mediocrity of his past, until overwhelming need, in some sharp
crisis, released him from it, and he found, to his own later amazement, how
simply and easily he had done what he would have declared wholly beyond him.
We are too deeply immersed in “the great heresy of separateness”. The uni¬
verse is one. Life is one. As has been quoted in these pages again and again, but
cannot be too constantly emphasized, “there is no bar or wall where man, the
effect, ceases, and God, the cause, begins”. No picture of ourselves can be com¬
plete, or true, therefore, which does not in some way include or foreshadow the
whole spiritual hierarchy, rising in endless rank upon rank to the Supreme. Man
is not separated from the Whole; and all the powers of the divine, as well as of the
human nature lie before us, for us to take what we can. What we did yesterday,
we did with yesterday’s abilities. What we are to do to-day is for the as yet
unplumbed capacities that may to-day be ours. We pray for daily bread. Why
should we constantly content ourselves with the stale and mouldy leaving*
of the past,—look only into our scanty cupboards, and not to the infinite grana^
of which we have been made free? Or why should we think, when we have
filled the little cup we bring, that that is all there is for us? Are there no larger
vessels we can offer to be filled ? Or can we not come anew as often as we have
need?
Let us cease to look at the little man weighed down, before his fence, with
the burden of “human respect” and the sense of his inadequacy to his little
tasks, fearing the opinion of others, fearing his opinion of himself, fearing for
284
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
his “face” and for his neck, crawling through holes, pretending, cheating, futile.
Let us look to a wide stage, and to a superb, heroic figure, and see that he be¬
came such, and carried through one of the most audacious achievements which
history records, only through being freed from the pictures of himself as actor,
which first came before his mind and held him back. The details of the pro¬
cedure are instructive.
Now when Pharaoh heard this thing, he sought to slay Moses. But Moses fled from
the face of Pharaoh, and dwelt in the land of Midian. . . . And the Angel of the Lord ap¬
peared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush. . . . And Moses hid his face;
for he was afraid to look upon God. And the Lord said, 1 have surely seen the affliction
of my people which are in Egypt; ... for I know their sorrows. . . . Come now, therefore,
and I will send thee unto Pharaoh, that thou mayest bring forth my people, the chil¬
dren of Israel, out of Egypt.
And Moses said unto God, Who am I, that I should go unto Pharaoh, and that I should
bring forth the children of Israel out of Egypt?
It must be granted that Moses had grounds for his question. If ever there
were incompatible pictures of the actions to be performed and the actor to per¬
form them, they are presented to us here. Moses, the detected murderer, self-
banished from the land, in flight from the king’s justice and anger, is to return
and stand before him, and wrest from him the release of the large body of la¬
bourers and skilled artisans engaged upon the royal works. And looking to
the other side of his task, to the people whom he was to make leave their homes
and livelihood, and follow him out of the country, neither he nor they know¬
ing where—had he not been most pointedly asked who had made him a prince
and judge over them? What was he to say to them? And the Lord answered:
Certainly I will be with thee. . . . Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, The
Lord God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob,
hath sent me unto you. . . . And they shall hearken to thy voice; and thou shalt come, thou
and the leaders of Israel, unto the king of Egypt, and ye shall say unto him, The Lord
God of the Hebrews hath met with us; and now let us go (we beseech thee). . . . And I am
sure that the king of Egypt will not let you go, no, not by a mighty hand. And I will
stretch out my hand and smite Egypt with all my wonders, . . . and after that he will
let you go.
This was better. He was not to be the actor, after all. And as for Pharaoh—
to whom, even when he was persona grata at Court, protected by the favour of
the Princess, he would never have dared to suggest any change in a royal edict
—he was not expected to succeed with him. The plan assumed that he would
fail; and then God himself—the same God that was speaking to him—would
take over the failure and make it a success. That part of it seemed all right;
God, and not he, being responsible for the result. But as for the Hebrews, he
still could not “see himself” convincing them; they would not believe that the
Lord had appeared to him. The Lord has, therefore, to assure Moses that this,
also, is provided for, and that evidence will be produced to assure credence.
But Moses is still unsatisfied. He still sees himself incongruous with his r 61 e.
He has to talk, both to Pharaoh and to the Hebrews, as he has never talked in
his life.
LIVING PICTURES
285
And Moses said unto the Lord, O my Lord, I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor
since thou hast spoken unto thy servant; but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.
And the Lord said unto him, Who hath made man’s mouth?. . . Now therefore go, and
I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say.
That ought to have been enough. One by one, the Lord has answered each
of Moses’s objections, assumed responsibility and taken over the action, so that
Moses’s pictures of himself have no longer any pertinence. Moses would have
done better to acknowledge this, and dismissing his hesitancies then and there,
to have given himself wholeheartedly to carrying out the plan. But there still
clings to him the last fear our human nature is able to dispel, the haunting
dread that though Divine Omnipotence control all else, we ourselves may con¬
trive to defeat it, and God’s plan fail because we fail God.
And the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moses, and he said, Is not Aaron the
Levite thy brother? I know that he can speak well. And also behold he cometh forth
to meet thee: and when he seeth thee, he will be glad in his heart. And thou shalt speak
unto him, and put words in his mouth: and I will be with thy mouth, and with his mouth,
and will teach you what ye shall do. And he shall be thy spokesman unto the people,
. . . and be to thee instead of a mouth, and thou shalt be to him instead of God. And
Moses went.
He might, as we suggested, have done better had he gone earlier. But we
should be the poorer, in the lack of a perfect pattern of how to deal with our
last fears when we face a task that seems too great for us. When we have taken
each doubt to Him who speaks to us from the Burning Bush and whose voice
appoints our undertakings, and have listened to His answers and have seen that
it is with His power, and not our own, that the work is to be done, then if there
remain some point where self still intrudes, and we fear that there we shall fail
and betray Him, we may call a comrade to our aid. Have we not, also, some
brother, who, the Lord knows, “speaks well” where we are “of a slow tongue”,
and whose heart will be glad to go with us as our spokesman, to say the thing
the Lord commands us?
Note now how changed are the pictures at which we look. Three stages have
been indicated. First, where the pictures of self are so dominant as to inhibit
all action that is incompatible with them. Second, where, as sometimes in a
crisis, these pictures are all swept away, and the outer need alone is se^|
and the man acts swiftly and unconsciously to meet it directly. And third,
stage to which Moses now comes, the stage that leads to ch£laship. There,
beyond and within the outer need, the man sees the movement of Divine Powers
responding to it. The pictures of self grow dim, as the pictures of the Heavenly
Hierarchy grow clearer and stronger, until at last, in ch£laship itself, it is to the
Master alone that the ch£la looks. Though he fights, not he bttt the Master is
the Warrior. Through him, no longer blocked or hampered by the crystalliza¬
tions of self, the Master’s will is done, and the power of God works the wisdom
of God. I live, wrote Paul, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me. Christos theou
t namis theou sophia. No great or lasting work was ever done by any man in
y other way, but only as he looks beyond his separate self to something he
286
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
sees as greater than himself, and of which he makes himself the instrument.
And this is true whether the results of the work be good or ill. For what man
does of his separate, mortal self, must partake of his separateness and mortality.
The lie that he tells, he must himself support; and when the burden grows too
great and crushes him, his works fall with him. But where he tells the truth,
testifying “not of himself” but “of the Father”, the Truth itself upholds his
testimony. Though you crucify him, his word remains untouched.
The reversal between the first and third of these stages is therefore complete.
Instead of futility has come efficiency. Instead of absorption in self, and the
bundle of irreconcilables that the man has, by main force, held together as him¬
self, his eyes have opened upon the Hierarchy and brotherhood of the Spirit,
and he has let his bundle fall apart. Instead of fear of himself and of others,
have come faith in the divine powers of the universe, and trust in his comrades.
Where he sought to enlist familiar demons in his service, pledging them his soul
in payment, and clothing them in his livery, he now seeks to enlist himself in
the service of the Great Lodge, and, as his wage, something of the Masters’
spirit is extended to him. Little by little, these new pictures, which he holds
before him and upon which he acts, flood his aura with their living light. Little
by little, there gather and may be seen around him the colours of his Master’s
livery.
It is worth while to look back to how this transformation was achieved, and
to see that the laws which can govern the tumultuous forces and images of the
astral plane, are the mechanical parallels of the spiritual and ethical principles
that all religions teach. Humility, honesty, courage, purity of mind and heart
and singleness of aim, forgetfulness of self in love of another or in devotion to a
cause,—they are all easily traceable in their astral effects. The humble man,
“the poor in spirit”, is not troubled by the need to “save face”. He is not thrown
into a panic by the thought that some imperfection may be discovered in his
character, nor are his pictures of himself such that he wishes to spend his time
contemplating them. Where there is singleness of aim, there is no crowding of
conflicting images, all striving to clothe themselves in the same act. So with
all the other virtues; they can be known by their fruits.
As the forms of all physical things are astral forms, it is equally true that
the mechanics of the astral plane parallels that of the physical plane, thus, like
the plane itself, furnishing a link between the spiritual and the physical; and it
may be that the astral phenomena we have been considering may be clarified
by comparison with the corresponding physical phenomena exhibited in
optics by refraction and reflection, the interference of light waves, and the super¬
position of images. It is interesting that, whereas the ethical parallel serves
best to show how the astral images may be purified and the astral forces co¬
ordinated to smoother action, it is the physical parallels that best explain their
confused conflicts and deceptiveness.
We noted at the outset that, corresponding to the double passage of each of
our acts through the astral plane, astral images are formed in two different
ways: first, by the direct projection of the act’s purpose, as it presses outward
LIVING PICTURES
287
to material fulfilment; and, second, by reflection back from whatever expres¬
sion it attains. Both sets of pictures are, as we saw, subject to distortion,
contradiction, and even suppression and erasure, by the impact and dom¬
ination of conflicting pictures. But in the one set the distortion may be likened
to the foreshortening and elongation, the displacement and interference of
images, which may be caused by refraction, while in the other set both refrac¬
tion and reflection are operative. It is characteristic of reflection that it always
produces a reversal, either, as in a vertical mirror, turning right into left, or, as
in the horizontal surface of a pool, showing the picture upside down. It is by
no means easy, in looking at an astral image, to know how it was formed, and,
in consequence, there is often no knowing how it should be interpreted. Dreams,
the proverb should read, may go by contraries; but whether they do or not, we
usually cannot tell. Assuming there were no other distortion, the interpreta¬
tion would depend upon whether the reflection were from an odd or an even
number of surfaces, and upon how these surfaces were placed. We hold a
printed page before a mirror, and the reversal from right to left makes it il¬
legible. But use two mirrors and it can again be read. Thus the introduction
of another reflecting element may alter the whole picture; and a further source
of difficulty is that, whereas a right and left reversal might be likened to a mere
change in emphasis, the turning a thing upside down may make it the direct
contrary to what it was. In addition to all else, no two reflecting surfaces, if they
be living surfaces, ever yield exactly the same picture.
A dog, for example, sees himself very differently when he looks at his master
and when he looks at a cat. Let us suppose that, as in a child’s primer, a caption
had to accompany each of our pictures. One might read: “A boy takes a dog
on a chain for a run”. The dog spies a cat. The caption must be reversed:‘‘A
dog takes a boy on a chain for a run”. But if the cat were out of the range
of the camera, a snap shot of the one scene might well be taken for the other,—
though to both dog and boy the significant content of the picture has been
startlingly altered by the change in emphasis. Or consider how essential it is to
graciousness that it should not be self-conscious. The moment a man sees him¬
self as gracious he ceases to be so, but becomes its opposite, and his act, instead
of being welcomed, is resented. The content of the picture has been tiuyd
upside down by its reflection, though, to the casual observer, the opposites ri^ht
appear outwardly much the same.
But perhaps, of all the sources of confusion, the most prolific is the super¬
position of images, particularly in the combining of direct and reflected images
to form one composite picture. It is thus that glamour arises and deceives us,
the inner light of desire being projected upon some outer object, in which it
cannot incarnate, but to which the light is thereafter attributed. Which of us
does not know that deceitful composite, and the bitterness of disillusionment
when it is resolved,—when, after long striving, we have attained our craved-
^for goal, only to find ourselves in the dead valleys and airless mountains of the
^moon, with the sun as far distant as before?
Yet in little and in big we are always making such composite pictures. In-
288
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
deed, it is the only way that anything is ever made. As Mr. Johnston used to
quote to us, Maya is the one Shakti of Atma; and The Secret Doctrine makes
clear that it is from the Chhaya , the images created and left by the past, that the
vehicle is fashioned for the incarnation of the new. If we watch the formation
of the astral images, we see that there is always this combination of solar and
lunar elements: hope and purpose moving to a future end, and drawing, from
the memories of former efforts, the elements which, remoulded and recombined,
may serve as means. It is the one universal process of creation and incarnation,
and by it man does all his works. But by it, too, he has wrought, again and again,
his own undoing; and it permits him to create pictures that are most astounding
composites in their contradictions. The astral plane is full of them, for there
man creates what he wills. It is there, in consequence, that he is in greatest
peril. Fortunately for him, in the physical world his freedom is checked and
overruled by the unyielding and ineradicable integrity of nature, that will suffer
no violation of divine law, and which, sooner or later, dooms to death whatever
does not conform to it.
Here we may see why it is that college professors and other theorists often
make the most dangerous guides, not only in social and moral affairs, but in all
departments of conduct and government. They have habituated themselves to
dealing exclusively with astral images, instead of with physical realities; with
abstract groupings and generalities instead of with concrete individuals; and
instead of moving vertically through the astral plane, from inspiration to physi¬
cal action, and from physical results back to increased wisdom of experience and
renewed inspiration, their thought moves horizontally along the picture-zone,
never escaping from it, and in consequence never encountering any corrective
to their imaginative entities and assumptions. No small part of the peril and
misery of the world to-day is due to this. Labour, Capital, Class Consciousness,
Social Security, Collective Bargaining, Aryan, Democracy, Woman’s Rights,
Self-Determination,—who knows what concrete realities correspond to these
words, or to a hundred others, which are dinned ceaselessly in our ears? What
are their astral images? How many self-contradictions do they exhibit? How
much of glamour? From how many and from what kind of reflecting surfaces
have they come to us? And are they to be interpreted directly or by contraries?
The world is in process of finding out; but may have to discover, too, how ex¬
plosive certain composites may be.
Let us think of a great room, filled with glowing, flashing shapes of glass, of
every imaginable form and colour, beautiful and horrible, fascinating and ter¬
rifying. Some of these shapes, when we lift them, are heavy; and we then
notice that these are filled with clear water. Others are light, and empty.
These flashing, glowing moulds, whether filled or empty, might be likened to
astral forms, and the water, which some contain, to physical matter. It might
be very difficult to tell, just by looking at them, which forms were filled. But
however much these might differ among themselves, in shape and size and
colour, and all the rich variety of nature, the filled forms would all have one
common property, of which we could be sure, even without looking. They
LIVING PICTURES
289
would all be such as to “hold water”. That self-consistency, we may thank the
High Gods, is the indispensable requisite for physical life. The physical world
will fill no bottomless forms, none whose opposite sides do not join, none in
which wide gaps are left.
It is fatally easy to compose fancy pictures of what we should like to have
true. We can lie back in our chair, and from the angel of Rheims or a statue of
St. Michael we can take the wings, and affix them, in imagination, to our own
shoulders. We can see ourselves with a gleaming sword in our hand, and a
Crusader’s cross upon our breast,—in all, a noble picture of a soldier in the
army of heaven, enlisted for the overthrow of all human ills and the heralding
of a new era. But next morning, at breakfast-? And when we lift our
physical hand and feel our physical shoulder-blades, they are still of bone, and
not of feathers, and their only resemblance to wings is due, not to our nobility,
but to our not standing straight.
The astral plane gives us no short cut to our goal; and perhaps there is noth¬
ing in physical life for which we have deeper cause for gratitude, than for the
unyielding “No” which it opposes to the astral’s facile “Yes”.
Every day and every moment of the day we have to deal with the forces and
the pictures of the astral plane; and few things can be more important for us
than to learn so to deal with them that we shall control, and not be controlled
by them, and shall create such as will help and not hinder the Masters’ work
and our own growth and sanity. But this control is not, and cannot be, exer¬
cised from within the plane, but only from above or below it,—from above,
where our actions should have their origin, through our adherence to those
spiritual and ethical principles which, as we saw, reach down into the astral
dynamics; and from below, in the physical world, from which the results of our
acts are reflected, by paying more heed to order and punctuality and finish in
our work, making it better and more faithful. As The Voice of the Silence warns
us, our business with the astral plane is to pass through it to what lies beyond,
not to linger or wander in it; and no student of Theosophy can afford to ignore
this warning.
H. B. Mitchell.
The world is a mirror of infinite beauty , yet no man sees it. It is a Temple of
Majesty , yet no man regards it. It is a region of Light and Peace , did not men
disquiet it. It is the Paradise of God .— Thomas Traherne.
REFLECTING ON A NEIGHBOUR
ROM the base of the cliff, a thousand feet below, the water stretches
away, vast, unruffled, “an everywhere of silver”, to its far-distant blend-
ing with opalescent sky. Daisies carpet the ground about me—not
here and there a clump, seeking, unwelcome, to gain a doubtful foothold, but
a far-flung glory of them, petal to petal, till the fields are white with bloom,
and a white in which all the rainbow tints seem delicately veiled. For hours
we have driven through them, alternating here and there with a field equally
brimful of buttercups, or the paler yellow of wild mustard, reflecting back the
sun’s rays in a mantle of dazzling brightness. Behind me the spruce forest
rises sharply,—the front ranks of an inland wilderness known only to the hunter
or the woodsman. In the stillness of the late afternoon, the slender, pointed
trees seem standing at attention, in hushed expectancy,—perhaps awaiting,
like sentinels, that change of angel guardians which the poet tells us comes at
close of day.
It is a land suggestive of permanence, this little comer of French Canada.
The St. Lawrence is one of the most ancient of rivers, and the massive
promontories at its mouth, their rock cliffs stained purple and green and deep
red, have battled the ocean surges since the beginnings of time. As the sun
sinks toward the far horizon, its light changing slowly through faint pink to a
deep rose glow that fills the vast depths of space till it seems almost palpable,
one has a sense of the long aeons through which that majesty has been reflected
back in exactly the same way by the green-clad hills with their wine-coloured
soil and their unexpected misty waterfalls. Doubtless even the attenuated
heron standing in the shallows (or at any rate innumerable past incarnations
of him), has always meditated on one leg in just that way, as he waited for the
receding tide to uncover a bit of sand.
How the bigness of Nature dwarfs the concerns of our little selfhood! Mo¬
mentarily at least, the struggle of life, the baffling obstacles, the blows which
seem so crushing, are seen for what they really are—little graded lessons set a
child; each requiring all his powers; each developing in him new powers (if he
wills it so) with which to meet the next bigger task, one step nearer to the
measure of a man. Our own natures, too, are so much more spacious than we
realize. So much of our life is spent in two small lower rooms, drably furnished,
—one with our interests, our pleasures, likes and ambitions, the other with our
concerns, worries, dislikes and difficulties. While, if we will but learn the way
we can step out and up into spacious apartments, and galleries and terraces of
rare delight and inimitable prospect. But—
His table’s spread too high for us
Unless we dine on tip-toe.
290
REFLECTING ON A NEIGHBOUR
291
Along the water’s edge, by the road linking the scattered fringe of fisher
hamlets, a bullock cart plods slowly homeward, mute evidence that life as well as
landscape here is little touched by time. It was on these shores, four centuries
ago, that a handful of sailors from St. Malo landed, and set up “a faire high
Cross of the height of thirty foote ... in the middest whereof we hanged up
a Shield with three Floure de Luces in it, and in the top was carved in the wood
with Anticke letters this posie, Vive le Roy de France.” There is constant
reminder of that event to-day, for an anniversary celebrated in recent years,
decorated the highways with the old emblem of the blue shield with its white
fleur de lys. The “posie” to the French King is gone, and in its stead are in¬
scriptions to the honour of Jacques Cartier, the Master Pilot who then claimed
the land for France. Fisher folk from the Norman and Breton coasts were the
first to come, as many as twelve hundred tiny craft at a time, returning to their
native land at the end of each season’s catch. Gradually they took root and
stayed on, joined at a later date by men from the islands of Jersey and Guernsey.
Fishermen they were in those days and fishermen they are to-day. And you
who think of fishing as merely a matter of dropping a line and drawing in a
wriggling victim, have much to learn. It is an art, and every detail of it, even
to the way the cod is split and the arrangement of the beach on which the drying
racks or flakes are placed—all is done to-day as it was done long-ago.
Those who know well the French peasant and his ways would doubtless dis¬
cover many another point at which manners and customs, qualities and char¬
acteristics have seen but little change as the centuries passed. Even to the
uninitiated there are suggestions of it, especially, perhaps, among the old peo¬
ple: the little old woman beside her antiquated, out-door, clay oven; or the old
men bending over their nets. It is said that as recently as fifty years or so ago,
there were old men and women in remote parts of the province who would greet
a stranger with an inquiry as to the King of France. The characteristic traits
of a people are elusive, intangible,—the glance of an eye, a certain air of self-
respecting independence, a quick responsiveness, a cheerful contentment with
small things. You see it in the family who pour unexpectedly from a lonely
cabin when your car is in difficulty; at first merely round-eyed with interest,
but quick to understand the need, instant in their response, their pleasur^in
finding their language understood almost equal to their delight in the |u^l-
earned pourboire. Or again the line of men enjoying their ease acrossThe
verandah of the little native inn: idlers? by no means!—they are the entire
man-power of the hamlet, congregated to lend the innkeeper voluble support
in answering your question, and then to wave you a gay farewell. You find
many evidences of it, of a Sunday morning, when the entire countryside drives
to Mass, a queue of ten or a dozen ancient, high-wheeled buggies, jogging along
the wine-coloured road toward each little town,—the horses built for dignified
proceeding rather than for speed. Perched on their high seats, Jeanne and
Jacques drive by twos, as they have done since the world began, in stiff Sunday-
best, demurely erect, and shyly happy (proof in itself of their remoteness from
^ir day). Next come the elders, father and mother—and over their shoulders,
292
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
so many little pairs of brown eyes, peeping pleasantly, that one marvels as to
what legerdemain squeezed their small owners into so minute a space, and what
prevents their spilling over with each jerk of the buggy.
By contrast, the natives of our New Jersey pine belt suggest themselves, with
their look of starved ignorance and stony indifference—or the natives of some
of our isolated mountain districts where the stranger meets nothing but surli¬
ness or open hostility. These people of “New France” are equally shut off
from the world, it would seem, perhaps equally acquainted with toil and poverty,
yet they are alert and alive, their eyes telling of interests and pleasures, con¬
tentment and good will. Another evidence of a national trait living on, one may
say in explanation; it is evidently a difference in animating power, a difference
in the springs from which they draw sustenance.
Perhaps there is further explanation of it in the frequent reminders of the
invisible world, with which they surround themselves. In the early days, Car-
tier, Champlain and many another of the pioneers planted the cross in places of
prominence (an island promontory, a mountain top), and to-day, like seed
carried by the wind, it has come to bloom in unexpected spots, wherever Canada
is French,—in the calvaires, the wayside shrines. What treasure there might
be in a pilgrimage to these shrines, if the story of each could be known. This
little simple cross, with the well-tended bed of gay flowers at its base—was it
placed there by the woman working in the nearby field, a widow’s mite, per¬
haps? Here a dead-end road, marked by an up-to-date government with the
inevitable danger signal, but above it an unusually beautiful crucifix, the
figure gleaming white against a cross of black. Who placed that, and what
heights or depths of experience does it perhaps commemorate? Next a busy
town, its central feature a little park of flowers and shrubs, with a noble bronze
figure of the Christ, hands outstretched as if in welcome, a great golden nimbus
reflecting the rays of the sun. And the churches, little and big: one in particular
will stand out long in my memory for its depth of stillness, its atmosphere of
adoration, its sense of an immanent Presence. Who are the worshippers whose
devotion draws influences so beneficent? Continual reminder of the unseen:
and as one quickly realizes on returning to a land which takes its religion dif¬
ferently, it cannot but have its uplifting effect—
The soul should always stand ajar,
That if the heaven inquire,
He will not be obliged to wait,
Or shy of troubling her.
It would seem to be only in occasional and remote spots that French traits
are outwardly and noticeably present; yet those who know, claim that the spirit
of France lives on throughout French Canada. The Canadian miracle, more
than one writer has called it, this fact that in spite of change of rule, the lapse
of years, and their affiliation with a nation having different customs and char¬
acteristics and faith,—the continued imprint of France lives on to-day in these
people as a strong force. It has been claimed that it is no accident of nature,
but a willed thing: that when they changed their allegiance, a* necessity re-
REFLECTING ON A NEIGHBOUR
293
quired, they firmly resolved not to change in essence. “They were animated
by that will to live which manifests itself in a people as in an individual, by
the tendency to persist in its own being, that is to say to remain that which it
is, or rather to develop in its own direction, conformably to its nature and to
its tradition.” Certain among their leaders to-day are making every effort
to foster that spirit, to develop pride in the past, to encourage the use and the
perfecting of their own tongue, and to arouse or to strengthen desire for a more
distinctively French future.
Miracle it may be, and yet in a sense it is only fitting and natural, because
of what went into the making of French Canada. There is profound meaning
in that old story of the great Chinese bell, which could not be cast with a per¬
fect tone until the bell founder’s daughter threw herself into the molten metal,
a willing human sacrifice. Human sacrifice, often unseen and unsung, is exacted
for every human achievement—one might say it is the measure of the achieve¬
ment, on one plane or another. Such sacrifice as that of the early pioneers
could not fail to have its effect. Foremost in this connection, perhaps, are the
Jesuit Fathers who came ready for martyrdom, and whose utter self-immola¬
tion in their lonely missions through the wilderness, must have contributed
incalculably to the inner heritage of the country. But among the laymen as
well were men consecrated to an ideal, animated by high courage. Yes, there
were the usual number of adventurers, the usual number looking only for
wealth, but certain of the leaders combined the finest qualities of the grand
seigneur with the spirit of the ascetic and the saint,—to say nothing of the
humbler colonists, every day of whose lives called for courage and endurance,
and quiet heroism of the kind that brings neither fame nor fortune.
These little coves, indeed nearly every foot of ground along the river banks,
could tell a tale of the dauntless courage of that long-ago time. It was on the
far shore, no great distance up the river, that Champlain and his little group of
settlers won a victory that was unique. A terrible winter had decimated their
ranks; disease had taken its toll; their food was gone—a few ounces of peas
could be rationed out daily, but nothing more except an occasional scrap begged
from the Indians; fifty pounds of gunpowder still, and then not even ammuni¬
tion would remain to them. Day by day, they waited in agonized suspensi
death, or the longed-for ships and supplies from France, which would it bi
Suddenly a ship! But it was an enemy ship, there to do battle, assuring tha
that succour had been cut off, and demanding surrender. And to their mes¬
senger, Champlain returned that proud answer: “Having still some com, beans,
peas and other products which make as good flour as the best wheat in the
world, and knowing that to surrender our fort in the condition in which it now
is would make us unworthy to appear before our king, I think that you will
have a greater regard for our courage if we meet force with force than if we
cravenly surrendered what is so dear to us, without first seeing what your can¬
non can do. Come on. We wait the moment to receive you and to disprove,
if we can, any pretension you may have to put your hands on this place.” The
s|^ndid gesture of a brave man—nothing more. And to the amazement both
se^
t
294
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of that man and his followers, the enemy weighed anchor and sailed down the
river. It was Champlain who once used the phrase, “Avec la langue frangaise,
un coeur et un courage frangais.”
In these waters, too, though at a later date (just after the death of Mont¬
calm) occurred the naval engagement which placed the name of Vauquelin
high in the lists of unsung heroes. Fighting against terrific odds, and realizing
that his little ship was doomed, he ran her aground as near the shore as possible,
hoping that some of his men might be landed to serve in later fighting. Two
enemy frigates closed in, and for two hours poured a close-range cannonade
into her hull. As the tide receded and she began to lean, Vauquelin, still fight¬
ing desperately, cut first the main mast and then the mizzen, sending them
crashing into the water, to leave the decks level as long as possible and climbed,
himself, to nail the flag of France to the broken stump. Through great gaps in
the hull, water pouring in around the last four barrels of gunpowder, effectually
silenced the guns. Seizing their muskets, the men fought on till the final round
of ammunition was spent. When at length all resistance ceased, a boarding
party approached from the enemy frigates. Vauquelin, wounded, sat by the
mainmast stump, surrounded by the dead and the living (five un wounded
officers and six of the crew). His sword he tossed overboard, determined never
to surrender it. Above them the flag was still flying.
“Haul down your flag”, shouted the approaching officer.
“But for lack of ammunition”, cried Vauquelin, “my guns would be speaking
further with you. If my flag is to be lowered, it is for you to take it down!”
Such is the spirit behind these people of French Canada, and this they share
with all mankind, whenever mankind wants it; for there is no restriction—
nobility, honour, devotion to duty are part of the common treasure on which
all men may draw. Timeless, belonging to yesterday and to-morrow as well as
to-day, it lives on in the undercurrents of life, reinforcing all that is akin to it
(a part of our “Daily Bread” all too often unrecognized). Indeed, in the simple
lives of these people, it is easy to see an epitome of the experience of the race.
Are we not all exiles from a far-off homeland, custodians of a splendid tradition,
with the same open question as to the use we shall make of it, the justification
we may afford ? Are we not heirs of an age-old heritage on which we draw cease¬
lessly for our very being,—the heritage suggested in that passage from
Fragments —
The Soul speaketh: Out of the far past I come to you, bridging the distance you have
placed between us, in the majesty of my power, in the effulgence of my glory, in the
sternness of my displeasure.
I am He whom you have denied and turned against; you have crucified me between
two thieves. Yet am I also mighty in my compassion, and therefore turn I not away
from you—Oh! reflection of myself.
For though you have soiled the divine image in which you were made, preferring to
herd with the animal in you rather than to walk the starry spaces of the sky; yet I, who
am yourself, return again and yet again, and so for ever will return, until at last you
see and follow me.
J.c
THE UNDERSTANDING OF
PARTICULAR THINGS
The more we understand particular things , the more do we understand God
Spinoza.
T RUTH, spelled with a capital T, is a noble word, but like most abstract
nouns, it is likely to suggest something very shapeless and very hazy.
Truth only appears concrete and actual when we realize that we are
in personal contact with it at every instant of our lives. he One Eternal
Truth is made manifest through the manifold forms of particular “truths”
which we can assimilate and comprehend. “The more we understand particular
things, the more do we understand God.” Our love and knowledge of Truth is
measured by our loyal acceptance and recognition of the facts of daily experi¬
ence.
From one point of view the whole of existence may be described as a con¬
spiracy to compel us to seek and to discover things as they are. We are always
being bombarded by facts. All that we have to do is to look at them. But for
some inscrutable reason—because of “unwisdom” or 4 original sin mortal
man dreads the sight of a fact. We have indeed cultivated self-deception so
persistently that most people could not imagine life without it. Thus between
ourselves and the world as it is, we have interposed a glamour, a picture of the
world as we should like it to be. It is as if we looked out upon the universe
through an iridescent veil or film, discolouring and refracting every ray of light
which reaches us, altering real perspectives, making the beautiful seem drab
and the ugly seem beautiful. Many psychiatrists argue that most of the activi¬
ties of the average man are inspired by the desire to escape from realities. We
fear that the diagnosis is correct. And the worst feature of the whole matter is
that Karma holds us strictly responsible for the manufacture of the various
“escape mechanisms” which we employ. Nature has not bombarded us with
facts for countless centuries without some effect. We have learned a greaJj^
many truths, in spite of ourselves, and our worst offences against Truth xW
committed without the excuse of ignorance.
No man can evade with impunity the obligation to seek and to obey the
truths which he knows or firmly believes. When an example of evasion is crude
enough, we see clearly what consequences must follow. The drunkard wrecks
his home; the gambler squanders his capital. Why? Not because they know
no better. They know, in their more lucid moments, that they are behaving
like lunatics or worse; but they lack the courage to forsake the glamour of folly
S j the clear, cold atmosphere of realities. For our part, although we do not
opt the drunkard’s technique as a means of numbing our sense of the Real,
295
296
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
our behaviour corresponds to his whenever we refuse to look at things as they
are and seek refuge in dreams. “There is no Religion higher than Truth.”
Whatever else these words may denote, they at least mean this,—that we should
reverence and contemplate facts, and act accordingly. Where there is fact,
there is Truth. Our knowledge of Truth comes to us, not through wishful
thinking, but through contact with what is real, and through inferences firmly
based upon observation and experience.
What do we mean, when we say that an idea is true? We mean that it ac¬
curately reflects or symbolizes some fact of experience, and thus enables us to
recognize or identify that fact whenever we meet it in Nature. It is by this
means that we find our way, without too many disasters, in our daily meander-
ings through the labyrinth of physical existence. It is by this means that we
distinguish oranges from apples and cows from horses. But a true idea is always
an image of an experience, or a sound inference from an experience. Experience
and true knowledge are one and inseparable. This is what wise men have been
saying since the beginning of history. We live and grow by the assimilation of
experience. Moreover, because the potential expansion of our experience is
infinite, the potential expansion of our knowledge is infinite also. He who lives
the life, shall know the doctrine. The wisdom of a sage is not theoretical but
experimental. In the vivid phrase of the Buddha, the enlightened Arhat “sees
and knows the Universe face-to-face”. As Plotinus expressed the same funda¬
mental thought: “The Higher Self knows by its power of vision, which is itself,
the Eternal which is likewise itself.” According to the universal testimony of
the mystics, we cannot really understand a thing until we experience it, for
when we experience it we become one with it: so the Divine Mind experiencing
all things, is immanent in all things. He who has attained conscious union with
the Divine Mind, “knows what is passing in the mind of the ant”.
The mystic dwells in the same world as the rest of us. By effort and sac¬
rifice, he has earned the advantage of being more aware of certain aspects of
Being than we are; but the elements of our experience correspond to his. We
cannot help realizing that the only sure knowledge is the knowledge which is
lived. For example, no amount of reading or speculation could make us under¬
stand what the taste of a strawberry is like; there is only one way of knowing
that taste, and that is by actually tasting a strawberry. When that immediate
intuition occurs, we no longer think of ourselves as subject and of the straw¬
berry as object, for the taster and the tasted have, in the most literal sense,
become one. This is a lowly and modest experiment, but it illustrates what is
meant by the identity of knowledge and experience. A truth is not known until
it becomes part of our experience or corresponds to part of our experience.
We can never learn anything about Nature or about ourselves, unless we face
facts. Without doubt some facts are more important than others. Facts may
be beautiful or ugly, good or evil, great or small. Moreover a thing may be
“real” in one sense and not in another. The great art of discernment between
the Real and the unreal is, in one aspect, the technique of distinguishing just how
seriously we should take any particular item of consciousness. As Light on the
THE UNDERSTANDING OF PARTICULAR THINGS
297
Path points out, our knowledge of physical matter, as a result of aeons of experi¬
ence, has become intuitive. We distinguish without effort between physical
things and psychic or mental images. In our waking hours, we assume without
argument that a mountain, which we see with our bodily eyes, is one thing; that
the mountain, which we see in our mind’s eye, is another. A physical mountain
is a concrete and impersonal fact; it continues to exist, regardless of our con¬
venience or inconvenience. A psychic mountain is a “fact” also, in the sense
that it is a datum of consciousness; but it is tenuous and evanescent: it is not a
“self-existent” entity, like a physical mountain. There is no need of labouring
the point. Anyone who confuses material objects with the furniture of his
mind is obviously a candidate for an asylum.
It is painfully apparent, however, that when we are concerned with facts of a
slightly more subtile order, we do not always or easily make an instinctive
distinction between our little private worlds of fantasy, and the great and com¬
mon world. There is the League of Nations, for example. The League, as an
“ideal”, is a confused dream about some sort of world where all nations are
brothers. On the physical plane, in this cycle of history, no such brotherhood
exists or can exist, partly because all the great nations are more or less self-
seeking and some are positively evil; partly because the vast majority of nations
have only the most shadowy kind of existence. Most nations are geographical
designations, and little else; and a brotherhood of geographical designations
does not make sense. Thus as a physical entity the League of Nations has the
status of a nebulous debating society which costs in time and money and exas¬
peration far more than it is worth. When we pretend that it is as real as we
should like it to be, we are deliberately misusing our imagination. We substi¬
tute a glamour for a fact. We try to escape from reality. We refuse to look at
things as they are.
As Woodrow Wilson and others failed to discern between their dreams of
international brotherhood and the state of the world as it is, so the average
human being constantly makes trouble for himself and his fellows, by con¬
fusing that which he pretends to be with that which he actually is. The “ele-
mentals” which make up his “personality” and populate the field of his habitual
consciousness, are as disunited and as shadowy as the bulk of the world’s n^j
tions. However, he persists in the delusion that this inorganic aggregate^
dreams and moods and passions is a united “self” which commands considera¬
tion and esteem from God and humanity.
An immediate problem for everyone is, therefore, to separate actuality from
illusion, truth from fancy, in our relations with our own natures. As the Bud¬
dhist sage remarked, we must learn that our little pictures of ourselves are
neither more nor less real than a “rabbit with horns”. Homed rabbits have no
existence beyond the boundaries of our alleged minds. Their “presence” is
apparent only to the dreamer who invents them. By a blessed dispensation,
the rest of us are not obliged to participate in his “vision”. So it is that no
mortal man sees his personality as others see it. He is, indeed, like a rabbit
dreaming that he is a fox, and always suffering from lacerated feelings because
298
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
his companions continue to treat him like a rabbit. The thing which he fancies
himself to be is not a fact in Nature.
Nevertheless, it is the purpose of each human soul to become real, to become
a fact in Nature, a fact more concrete and lasting than anything in the physical
world. Let us dive briefly into very deep waters, in order to examine a little
what is meant by a “fact in Nature”. The great mystics have testified, with
one voice, from time immemorial, that there is, in the last analysis, one supreme
Fact in Nature, and that Fact is Nature itself, the One Reality, the Divine
Essence, the Eternal Be-ness, which underlies and makes possible all forms and
all beings. This ineffable substance has been remotely symbolized by many
names. Whatever we may presume to call it, it is pre-eminently the “World of
Truth”. This one supreme Fact, as a “thing in itself”, is absolutely beyond the
comprehension of the human intellect, although our highest power of intellec¬
tion is the certain intuition that the “World of Truth” is the only thing that
really is or can be. According to the mystical tradition, it is approached and
felt, not by meditation upon its Absoluteness, which can only appear to us as an
infinite vacuum, but by seeking the gleam of the Real, the purpose of Divine
Nature, within every experience, within every event, within our own hearts.
As Pascal said, repeating an ancient aphorism of the Mysteries, “God is a circle
whose circumference is nowhere and whose centre is everywhere.” The pleni¬
tude of Divine Nature is present everywhere, potentially if not actually. Exist¬
ence on any other terms is impossible. The “World of Truth” is reflected,
however infinitesimally and confusedly, in the humblest detail of existence.
Even the most obscure iota of life partakes, in its own degree, of the nature of
the Real.
Obviously, the degrees of the manifestation of the Real in the world vary
infinitely. “The Breath becomes a stone; the stone becomes a plant; the plant
becomes an animal; the animal becomes a man; the man becomes a god.” Even
the dimmest dream-image has a certain reality on its own plane; there is the
much greater reality of a physical fact; there is the incomparably greater reality
of the inner or transcendental fact, the essence, the Idea—as Plato called it—
which the outer form mirrors more or less adequately or, too often, perverts.
It is of the utmost importance that our vision of physical facts should be clear
and distinct; but let us not make the mistake of the typical man of science who
conceives of the physical as the one and only reality. The Universe is a Great
Deep; we have not begun to fathom the true “waters of space”. Astronomy,
chemistry, zoology and the rest have only deciphered a few words in a sen¬
tence of a chapter of one of the numberless volumes of the Book of Nature.
According to occult science, there is not one point of space where some form of
life and consciousness is not present. Space is crowded with beings, with devas
and angels and archangels, thrones, dominions, principalities and powers,
nature-spirits and elementals of every description, some vaguely conceivable
to us, some wholly inconceivable,—and Space has at least “seven dimensions”.
But there is not one point of space from which the Soul is permanently exiled.
Universal experience is the inheritance of the spiritual man.
THE UNDERSTANDING OF PARTICULAR THINGS
299
However, we need not wait until our inner senses awaken to the splendour of
the inner worlds. We can begin by seeking the deepest reality that can be
found within the experiences which are now available to us. A particular
physical fact, for instance, is like a phrase in a sentence. Isolated from the
whole to which it belongs, it is meaningless. But as a phrase can recall a sen¬
tence to memory, so a fact when clearly seen can awaken, by a sort of induction,
an intuition of a larger reality of which it is a partial expression. In the degree
that we thus sense the inner purpose within the outer form, we see a fact sub
specie ceiernitatis , “under the form of Eternity”. Artists and poets have often
seen things more distinctly “under the form of Eternity” than ordinary men,
and by the force of genius and ardour, have enabled others to share their vision.
Does this not explain why even a simple piece of pottery, made with love by an
individual artisan, has a value which can never be equalled by a machine-made
imitation? In the Louvre, there is a painting by Peter Brueghel the Elder, the
great Flemish artist. It is a winter scene in a farm-yard. Any traveller in
northern France or Flanders passes hundreds of farms like that which Brueghel
used as a model. Anyone can photograph a similar scene. But between any
photograph and the painting, there is a difference corresponding to that be¬
tween a plane and a solid. The winter light reflected from an old wall awakened
in the artist’s heart some nostalgia for the Light which “shineth in darkness;
and the darkness comprehended it not”. Brueghel glimpsed, if only for an
instant,'a commonplace aspect of physical nature “under the form of Eternity”.
Doubtless this sounds vague and “subjective”. But it is quite irrelevant
whether others agree or not with our comments upon Brueghel’s picture. The
point is that everyone who is approximately human must have had some reali¬
zation of an inner and superior truth and beauty to which some form of art or
nature has directed his attention. We can prove the genuineness of such in¬
tuitions by continuous experiment. We should never content ourselves with
the notion that we know all that there is to be known, when we have examined
and analyzed the surface of an event. In the words of the Buddha, we must
learn how to “look through things”. Nothing can be more pertinent to our
destiny than to develop the faculty of seeing things in a perspective which is
more veritable, more real, than the perspectives in which we now see them.
By no other means can we ever hope to gain power and peace.
We can begin anywhere. However, sooner or later, we shall have to
carefully at our own selves. What is it that we think we are? What is it that
we really are, “under the form of Eternity”?
Those who have seriously set themselves the task of answering those ques¬
tions have replied with extraordinary unanimity that the “self” which man
fancies himself to be, is an illusion, a phantom, a “surface appearance”; that
the Self which he is in Truth and Nature, is an undivided fragment of the
Eternal. For example, we read in the Theologia Germanica:
What did the Devil do else, or what was his going astray and his fall else, but that
he claimed for himself to be also somewhat, and would have it that somewhat was his,
that somewhat was due him? This setting up of a claim, and his I and Me and Mine,
300
THE 0 S 0 PHICAL QUARTERLY
these were his going astray and his fall. And thus it is to this day. What else did Adam
do but this same thing? It is said, It was because Adam ate the apple that he was lost
or fell. I say, It was because of his claiming something of his own, and because of his
I and Me and Mine, and the like. Had he eaten seven apples, and yet never claimed
anything for his own, he would not have fallen.
“I and Me and Mine.” Only he who has identified himself with the “United
Spirit of Life”, and who speaks as its representative, can thus express himself
with wisdom and truth. How can we be brought to realize that as the superla¬
tive fact? One thing we can do at once: we can tear aside the iridescent veil
which we have suspended between ourselves and realities. We must not only
school ourselves to face facts, but go forth in quest of them, searching them
out, ever broadening and deepening the zone of our experience. And we must
do this, because the “United Spirit of Life” makes its will known to us by
presenting one fact after another to our attention. “The more we understand
particular things, the more do we understand God.”
It is significant that the Buddha insisted so persistently upon the disciple’s
imminent need to augment his awareness of what is going on in the world and of
what is going on within himself. He did not leave his injunctions in the ab¬
stract; he made them as concrete and as detailed as possible. A primary duty of
the aspirant is to conform imagination, desire and will to the real. This theme
is indeed the specific theme of one of the most famous of his sermons, “The
Four Intent Contemplations”.
Brethren, there is but one way open to mortals for the attainment of purity, for the
overcoming of sorrow and lamentation, for the abolition of misery and grief, for the
acquisition of the correct rule of conduct, for the realization of Nirvana, and that is the
way of the Four Intent Contemplations.
And what are the four?
Whenever, O Brethren, a disciple lives, as respects the body, observant of the body,
strenuous, conscious, contemplative, and has rid himself of lust and grief; as respects
sensations, observant of sensations, strenuous, conscious, contemplative, and has rid him¬
self of lust and grief; as regards the mind, observant of the mind, strenuous, conscious,
contemplative, and has rid himself of lust and grief; as respects the elements of being,
observant of the elements of being, strenuous, conscious, contemplative, and has rid him¬
self of lust and grief. . . .
For example, a disciple, in walking thoroughly comprehends his walking, and in stand¬
ing thoroughly comprehends his standing, and in sitting thoroughly comprehends his
sitting, and in lying down thoroughly comprehends his lying down, and in whatever state
his body may be, thoroughly comprehends that state. . . .
How does a disciple, O Brethren, live as respects the mind, observant of the mind?
He thoroughly comprehends to what state his mind is predisposed and how it is behaving
at each instant, whether it be passionate or free from passion, full of hatred or free from
hatred, infatuated or free from infatuation, intent or distracted, exalted or unexalted,
concentrated oi unconcentrated, free or attached. . . .
We have quoted only a few fragments of the discourse, but the lesson is mani¬
fest. The disciple must gain full control of his powers of perception and action;
he must know what he is doing, and how and why he is doing it. What is his
reward? Not only does he acquire facility in discernment between the real and
the unreal, and between various grades of reality; he ceases also, as a result,
THE UNDERSTANDING OF PARTICULAR THINGS
301
to imagine, to desire, to will the impossible. Moreover, he grows into the reali¬
zation of truths whose existence he had hitherto surmised, but which he had
been unable to imagine clearly because he had not known them by direct in¬
tuition, by contact. Such is the testimony of those who have brought mankind
living proof that a knowledge more extensive and more profound than ours
exists and is attainable. But how can we expect the inner senses and an inner
mind to develop, until we have mastered the right use of the senses and of the
mind which we already have?
“The individual soul is the Eternal”, said Shankara Acharya. “From the
world to the atom, all is the Eternal, the Eternal alone and secondless.” Within
our inmost being, there is the certainty that these words are true. All that is
needed is “to bring that knowledge to consciousness in the self”, displacing the
fancies and delusions which usurp the place of fact and truth. To encourage
ourselves to undertake that great act of purification, let us recall the doctrine
of Theosophy, that the Eternal when “seen face-to-face” does not appear as
an abstract and empty space. It is a plenum, a pleroma, containing the Host of
Heaven, radiating wisdom and compassion and power. More immediately
still, according to Theosophy, it is made manifest to us in the Great Lodge of
Masters, the united brotherhood—the one true international league—of living
men who have found the Truth which we seek, and who have conquered as we
can conquer. Most immediately of all, the Eternal is “personified” for the
individual disciple by an individual Master, his spiritual Father, from whom
or through whom he receives the germ of imperishable genius, the unique spark
of the Eternal, which is his true Self and the paramount fact in his life.
S.V.L.
The wise man is in his smallest actions great: the fool is in his greatest actions
small .— The Talmud.
Wisdom is radiant and fadeth not away. . . . Her true beginning is desire of
discipline; and the care for discipline is love of her .— Wisdom of Solomon, vi.
12, 17.
THEOSOPHY IN SERMONS
There is one distinction in the world's geography which comes immediately to
our minds when we state the different thoughts and desires of men concerning their
religion. We remember how the whole world is in general divided into two hemi¬
spheres upon this matter. One half of the world , the great dim East , is mystic.
Make any one of the great ideas of life distinct and clear , and immediately it seems
to the Oriental to be untrue. He has an instinct which tells him that the vastest
thoughts are too vast for the human mind , and that if they are made to present them¬
selves in forms of statement which the human mind can comprehend , their nature is
violated and their strength is lost.
On the other hand , the Occidental , the man of the West , demands clearness and is
impatient with mystery. He insists on knowing what the eternal and infinite forces
mean to his personal life , how they will make him personally happier and better , almost
how they will build the house over his head , and cook the dinner on his hearth. This
is the difference between the East and the West , between man on the banks of the
Ganges and man on the banks of the Mississippi. Each misunderstands , distrusts ,
and in large degree despises the other. But the two hemispheres together , and not
either one by itself , make up the total world (November 17, 1889). — Phillips
Brooks, Sermons , Vol. 6, p. 279.
I N the volume, Platonic Tradition in English Religious Thought , Dean Inge
says that in the Church, “there is and always has been a living tradition
which constitutes the true Apostolical Succession; we may call it the
Platonic tradition, a stream of spiritual vitality”. Platonism being one mani¬
festation of the ever old, ever new Wisdom Religion, it would seem natural to
find theosophical truths expressed in sermons, since sermons are a medium
through which much teaching is conveyed.
Theosophical truths are indeed found in a multitude of sermons, not from
some particular “school” of theologians, but through century after century, in
an apostolical succession of the spirit that is without distinction of conformity
or creed. Many a man of the various churches has penetrated beneath the
surface of theological rust, and touched the dynamic centre of truth. In con¬
sequence, spiritual laws radiating from that centre—organic and universal
laws—have vitalized his sermons which, after the passage of a hundred, or two
hundred, or three hundred years, contain lessons quite pertinent to the present
day. Thus, Dr. Robert Wilberforce writes: “Union with Christ is not merely
imitative, visionary, metaphorical; it is not only that we feel in our minds as
though we put ourselves under His guidance and took part with Him; but there
is a real action of Christ’s purified, upon our impure, humanity. Hence is He
styled that new Adam, from whom we have as true descent as from our natural
parent. . . . Thus may men recover that image of God, in which our first
parent was created. The very purpose of the Gospel covenant was to give it
302
THEOSOPHY IN SERMONS
303
back. The New Man was to bestow in its perfection whatsoever the first Adam
had lost. As real as our union with the one, must be our communion with the
other. ... By union we mean not the compacting of an external framework,
but the real diffusion of a spiritual presence” (Sermons on the New Birth , pp. 15 ff.)*
It is true that those sermons do not use a theosophical vocabulary, but it is
as easy to perceive their meaning as to translate from English to French. Spe¬
cific theosophical tenets are occasionally referred to, directly or indirectly, but
such reference is exceptional. Thus John Donne (1573-1631) refers to Rein¬
carnation because in Donne’s Renaissance environment, Platonism had given
some currency to the idea. Further, Donne’s wife was of the family of Sir
Thomas More, and More had translated the writings of the celebrated Italian
Platonist, Mirandola. Early in the present century, Dr. Basil Wilberforce
(1841-1916), Archdeacon of Westminster, preached, in the Abbey, upon The¬
osophy and upon Reincarnation. Those sermons show an acquaintance, but
very imperfect, with theosophical teachings, and express some appreciation.
He writes:
‘‘The one attraction in this system, and it is a great attraction, lies in the
assurance it professes to give to man of his essential union with the source of
his own and of universal life, and its recognition of one all-pervading substance,
one all-controlling force in the universe; and the narrow, limited, unphilosophic
conception of conventional Christianity is the secret of the power of Theosophy.”
‘‘Ancient Theosophy has found different expression in different religions and
philosophies down the ages, and nowhere in so clear a realization as in the
ancient Upanishads of India, which have powerfully taught the Eternal one¬
ness of the human and Divine nature, and the essential unity of the human
soul with the Universal Soul” (Sermon on Theosophy, in The Hope that is in
me, p. 236). Archdeacon Wilberforce was, however, a man of devotion and
spiritual insight. After condemning Theosophy, in those particular sermons,
in many others he eloquently interprets Christianity as an evolution of the
spirit, and his presentation rings like the true gold of Theosophy.
“As with the atoms of the planet, so with every conceivable department of
creaturely life, ‘the voice of the Lord’ is pleading with the instinct implanted
in the earthly to evolve into the heavenly; to nations, governments, communi¬
ties, social movements, moral reforms; to art, science, literature, religion, sani^A
tation, just as to the cosmic dust, from which all things came, the unceasing^
command from the Eternal righteousness is, ‘0 earth, earth, earth, hear the
voice of the Lord’; develop, exercise, unfold, perfect, purify, Christianize. It is
the same ‘voice of the Lord’, the same Word of the Father, the same pressure
from without stimulating the power within, which kindles into evolution dust
life, earth life, plant life, animal life, man life, spirit life” (Sermon on “Cosmic
Consciousness”, in Power with God, p. 133).
Bishop Phillips Brooks used the text: “With whatsoever measure ye mete,
i^hall be measured to you again”, to prove that there is a universal “Law
^Return”. “The Law of Return”! That is not a misleading definition, is it,
of the Law of Karma? Bishop Brooks wrote:
3©4
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
“It is a law of vast extent and wonderful exactness. The world is far more
orderly than we believe; a deeper and truer justice runs through it than we
imagine. We all go about calling ourselves victims, discoursing on the cruel
world, and wondering that it should treat us so, when really we are only meeting
the rebound of our own lives. What we have been to things about us, has made
it necessary that they should be this to us. As we have given ourselves to them,
so they have given themselves to us. This is the law I want to trace with you,
only begging you again to keep your minds clear of any materialism which would
think that in mere earth itself resides this power of just and discriminating
reply. It is as we and all things exist together in the great embracing and per¬
vading element of God, that all things give themselves to us as we give ourselves
to them. So all the phenomena of life are at the same time divine judgments if
we are only wise enough to read them” {Sermons, Vol. 3, p. 268). Such reference
or mention as that made by Donne, Wilberforce, and Brooks very seldom oc¬
curs. As a rule, the sermons are confined to Christian topics, and use Christian
vocabulary.
Thus, setting forth no novel or sensational doctrine, but strictly Christian
teaching, the preachers of these sermons—a long line of them—incurred little
or no suspicion of heresy, but continued “in good standing” with their authori¬
ties. In England, the friends with whom Thomas Arnold, Pusey, and Jowett
associated themselves bandied the word “heresy” back and forth, but “party
politics” had much to do with their unfortunate disagreements. In New Eng¬
land, Horace Bushnell’s interpretation of Christianity as an expression of uni¬
versal truth and law, stirred questions among people schooled to sermons that
were designed to reach the intellect by a logical sequence of dogma. Dr. Bush-
nell’s parish heartily approved his views, and wished him to be unhampered in
his expression; by withdrawing from the association of Congregational Churches,
and continuing as an independent parish, it forestalled any ecclesiastical in¬
quiry. Around Phillips Brooks, also, there were heard whispers about a “creed¬
less” bishop. His dynamic preaching of universal, spiritual laws was beyond
the understanding of those who were accustomed only to dogma, rigid as in
death. The envy of “parties”, too small to contain his greatness, was responsi¬
ble, perhaps, for those whispers.
Mystical sermons have been persistent. Those who thirsted for instruction
in the inner life could always find it, no matter how dead the age might seem.
The continuity of the stream through the period following the Reformation is
narrated in a valuable book that has a misleading title, Dr. John Tulloch’s
Rational Thought in England in the XVIIth Century. The word, “rational” in
that title really means “mystical”. After the seventeenth century, preacher
after preacher handed on the torch. A great ecclesiastic who followed chrono¬
logically the group of Cambridge Platonists was William Beveridge, chaplain
to the royal family (William and Mary), and Bishop of St. Asaph. Dr. Bev¬
eridge died in 1708, and his sermons were published a few years later. Those
sermons were closely studied by the Wesley brothers, John and Charles, during
student days at Oxford. Later, when the Wesleys began to preach, it was no
THEOSOPHY IN SERMONS
305
new doctrine that they put forth, but such teaching as Dr. Beveridge had
delivered, year after year, in royal chapels and cathedrals. John Wesley took
to the demonstrative crowd of the streets and mines what the bishop had
preached to less emotional congregations.
After John Wesley’s death in 1791, there followed a dreary period of reli¬
gious deadness that has been many times described, by Newman and Ruskin
among others. The childhood and youth of Carlyle lay in that period. It is
said to be reflected in the novels of Jane Austen, whose clerical personages are
untouched by religion. Yet even in that period, the stream of true religion
still flowed. Newman mentions Dr. Daniel Wilson (1778-1858), who became
Bishop of Calcutta, and says the Oxford students listened with wide open ears
to his forceful sermons. The following passages from a sermon on the Char¬
acter of Christ fairly represent Dr. Wilson.
“Nothing is so rare or so difficult as the combination of the various duties
and graces which constitute the Christian character; and yet it is in this com¬
bination that the evidence of a real change of heart principally lies. There are
some dispositions of mind and some duties which are, from our natural tempera¬
ment, our age, our station, and our circumstances, so natural and easy to us,
as scarcely to be deemed distinct marks of our regeneration. In fact they are
often little more than apparent virtues; they vanish with every change of cir¬
cumstances, they give way to selfish and excessive passions, and even decline
into the positive correspondent vices, unless they are checked and balanced by
the opposite, and to us more difficult, graces and duties, which should accom¬
pany and guard them.
“Now, in our divine Master, there was the most perfect combination of every
excellency. He reconciled the most remote and discordant qualities. When
asserting his authority and summoning all the world to his tribunal, he spake
with an inexpressible dignity and majesty: on other occasions he was the most
humble and meek of men. Even under all his sufferings and ignominy, there
shone forth a superiority and greatness of mind, which confounded his enemies.
He displayed also the utmost tenderness and mildness, and yet the most un¬
yielding boldness and fortitude. His meekness did not degenerate into apathy.
Nor did his boldness become fierce and ungovernable. There was in him
union of opposite virtues, which constitutes a perfect character: whilst othws
have virtues of one description only. All was in order, all in proportion, all
from principle, all in harmony.
“He combined, in like manner, the most outgoing compassion to sinners with
the greatest hatred of sin; the most exquisite sensibility, with a perfect command
of his feelings; the purest spirituality of mind, with a consideration of all the
minute wants and circumstances of his hearers; the highest love to the souls of
men, with the most affectionate regard to their bodies; the most complete su¬
periority to the world, with a respectful submission to authorities ecclesiastical
and civil; an entire separation from the follies and sins of mankind, without a
%ait of austerity or misanthropy.
“Christians can readily follow their Master in some one branch of these graces.
3°6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
We can be compassionate; but then we are so candid as to countenance sin. We
can show a lively sensibility of affection; but then we fall under its power and
are subdued. We can be spiritually minded; but then we are not so willing to
attend to the minor details of ordinary duty. We can express great tenderness
for the bodies of men, but we leave their souls, comparatively speaking, to
perish. Or we may profess a love to their souls, but we contribute sparingly
and reluctantly to relieve the pains and sufferings of our common nature. We
can express a contempt for the world; but then we at the same time fall into
sin by doing it in a cynical, inconsistent, covetous, censorious, pharisaical spirit.
We can defend the truth; but with the zeal of a partizan, and without sufficient
respect for the persons or opinions of our adversaries.
“We lean with all our weight on one side. We think it some excuse that our
inclination and turn of mind has a peculiar bias; whereas we should study our
Lord’s character in order expressly to copy those parts of it to which our natural
dispositions would least attract us. In this way we shall unite, as our Lord did,
all the milder virtues with all the more firm and intrepid ones; we shall display
the graces of the contemplative life with the efforts of the active,—a union
which may be said to comprise the whole compass of our obedience to God”
(,Sermons , p. 390 ff.).
Nor was it the stream of sermons only that was guided; there were also devo¬
tional books. A Scotch rector, Henry Scougal (1650-1678), published before
his early death, a short treatise on The Life of God in the Soul of Man. The
argument of this mystical writing is that “religion is a union of the soul with
God, a real participation of the divine nature, the very image of God drawn
upon the soul, or in the apostle’s phrase, ‘It is Christ formed within us’.” That
little book made an impression upon its generation, and a copy of it was taken
by an emigrant to Virginia, where it fell into the hands of the local vicar. Rec¬
ognizing its unusual value, the vicar prevailed upon Benjamin Franklin to
reprint it in 1799. A copy of the Philadelphia reprint came into the possession
of the youthful Emerson, whose marginal notations testify to its value to him.
Mention has been made of Dr. William Beveridge (1637-1708), Bishop of St.
Asaph. After Keble’s memorable sermon in 1833 had started a revival of reli¬
gion at Oxford, the six volumes of Bishop Beveridge’s sermons were republished.
Pusey, Newman, and Keble looked with pride and gratitude to Beveridge as one
of their vital links with the past. He was a spiritual ancestor who had passed
on the old inner interpretation of religion which the materialist Liberalism of
1830 was threatening to extinguish. In his own day, Beveridge was called “the
great restorer and reviver of primitive piety”. Extracts from a sermon on the
text, “Set your affections on things above”, will give an indication of the depth
and breadth of his preaching, and of the saturation of his mind with the ideas
of Platonism (Sermons, Vol. 6, p. 169 ff.).
“Man being a perfect microcosm, composed of two essential parts, a soul and
a body, whereof the one was taken from the superior, and the other from this
inferior world: hence it necessarily follows, that although both these parts do
equally concur unto the constitution of a man, yet that which is of the purest
THEOSOPHY IN SERMONS
307
nature, and most noble extract, must needs be designed at first to govern and
rule the whole, and by consequence that man, according to his constitution, was
always to live and act according to the dictates and commands of his rational
soul, and not according to the inclinations of his sensitive part: but by the
degeneracy of our first parents, in hearkening to their senses rather than to their
reason, our souls have ever since been subject to the tyranny of our rebellious
senses: and that part which at first was placed at the stem, to sway and order
the whole man, according to those principles of reason which were infused into
it upon that account, is now debased so low as to become a slave to every one
of these senses which it was made to govern. And therefore, our great care in
this world should be to restore our souls to their throne and kingdom again;
so that our flesh may not any longer usurp any power and dominion over them,
as heretofore it hath done, and still will do, unless we keep a strict eye upon it.
“Now, as it was in the first Adam that our souls lost their power, though not
their right, to govern, so it is only by the second that they can ever recover it
again. But our comfort is, that as in Adam we fell from Heaven to earth, so
in Christ we rose again from earth to Heaven; as the Apostle intimates in the
foregoing verse, ‘If ye then be risen with Christ’. For when Christ rose, all
those that by a true faith were united to Him, could not but rise with Him;
yea, so rise with Him in our souls, as to live with Him in Heaven, even whilst
our bodies are upon the earth. . . .
“So although we are in the world, and converse with the things of it, yet we
are not to concern ourselves about them, any further than to do our duty in
the station wherein God hath set us, and prepare ourselves as well as we can
for our going into the other world, our hearts hanging loose and indifferent as
to all things here below, being fixed only upon God, and those glories that are
above. . . .
“For tell me seriously, you that expect ere long to bathe yourselves in those
rivers of pleasure which are at God’s right hand for evermore, can it become
you to drown yourselves in a deluge of carnal pleasures and sensual delights?
You that have such plenty of bread and heavenly manna in your Father’s house,
is it not below you to feed like the prodigal upon husks, with the swine of this
world? You that hope ere long to trample upon the moon, and to be advanced
above the stars themselves, is it fitting for you to lie under a clod of earth? In
a word: You that expect ere long to be invested with all the bliss and happine^^
that a creature is capable of, is it a comely thing for you in the meanwhile to
spend your time in running after shadows, and in playing with childish gew¬
gaws? in raking in the dirt, or treading in the mire? Is this proper work for
the heirs of Heaven to be employed in? . . .
“For the things of this world have no other existence but in our thoughts and
fancies: abstract but the imagination, and they presently vanish and disappear;
so that you may easily wink the greatest beauty into blackness and deformity,
earth’s greatest light into darkness and obscurity. Think gold dirt, and it is
so: think the pomp and grandeur of this transient world vanity, and it is so.
Aiid can such things, or rather nothings, which have no other existence but
308 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
only in the roving fancies of deluded mortals; can they, I say, ever satisfy an
immortal soul ? . . .
“You have an expression in Job, ‘Hast thou entered into the treasures of the
snow?’ What is here meant by treasures of snow? St. Gregory tells you, the
‘treasures of snow are worldly riches, which men take a great deal of care and
pains to gather together, as children do snow, with no small hazard of their
lives; and having rolled it together into heaps, and fashioned them into the
shapes of horses, or giants, and towers, they begin to fancy use, and power and
safety in them: but whilst they are mightily applauding and pleasing themselves
in what they have gotten, there comes a shower and washeth it all away, leaving
nothing in the room of it but dirt and mire. And this is all they get for what
they have done, even to be vexed and troubled for the loss of what they had
got’. . . .
“Nay, the things of this world are so far from making us happy, that we can
never be completely happy, until we leave them. For, where can you expect
to be happy, but in Heaven? But in Heaven, although you will have glory in
its lustre, happiness in its perfection, yet not one dram of any earthly enjoy¬
ment. There is infinite light, and yet neither sun nor moon; there are glorious
robes, and yet neither silks nor satins: there are rivers of pleasures, and yet
neither wine nor water: there are most delicate banquets, feasts of fat things,
and yet neither meat nor drink; there are large possessions, and yet neither
house nor land: there is most ravishing beauty, and yet neither red nor white:
there are rich treasures indeed, and yet neither gold nor silver. In one word;
there is all of Heaven, and yet nothing at all of earth: so little of happiness is
couched under this clod of earth, that it keeps us from it, rather than helps us
to it.
“And then, as the things on earth cannot make us happy themselves, so
neither can they conduce to our being made so. For who ever yet could swim
to Heaven in a deluge of carnal pleasures, or was blown thither by the breath
of popular air? Whom did you ever hear of, that purchased an inheritance
in the land of Canaan out of his revenues in this wilderness? or transported
his goods from this city into that which is above, so as to exchange them there
for crowns of glory, and sceptres of eternal righteousness? If this was feasible,
then I should not wonder that men are so eager for the world, so covetous for
the greatness of it. But do not deceive yourselves, you are never the nearer
Heaven for standing higher upon earth; nor in more likelihood to be rich to
eternity, because you are so in time. . . .
“From whence you cannot but conclude, the world, and all the glory of it,
to be but a mere piece of pageantry that is still passing away from one to an¬
other, and presently is out of sight: all things upon earth being in continual
motion, constant in nothing but inconstancy. . . .
“There are all our brethren, the Saints of the living God; yea, our Elder
Brother Himself, even Jesus Christ, Who is called ‘the First-born among many
brethren’; for thither it was that He ascended when He left these lower regions
of the world: ‘I ascend’, saith He, ‘unto My Father and your Father; and to
THEOSOPHY IN SERMONS
309
My God and your God*. . . . There are the ancient Patriarchs, Prophets and
Apostles: there are all Martyrs and Saints of God, even all that ever lived and
died in the faith of Christ, they are now in Heaven, with one heart and voice
singing forth the praises of the Most High God, and of the Lamb that sitteth
upon the throne for evermore. . . . These and ten thousand times ten thou¬
sand more, are now in Heaven, there solacing themselves in the enjoyment of
the chiefest good, whilst we, their younger brethren, not being yet fully come
to age, are still in this lower world, grappling with its lusts, and striving against
the temptations of it. But, howsoever, though our Father Which is in Heaven
doth not yet see good to admit us into that blessed society ‘of the spirits of just
men made perfect’, not being as yet fitted and qualified sufficiently for it; yet
it is His will and pleasure that our hearts be amongst them, although our per¬
sons cannot; and that we still be thinking of them, and longing to come unto
them, and to be made partakers with them of their celestial glories. In short,
our affections should be with them in Heaven, even whilst our bodies are upon
the earth, so as to be every moment preparing ourselves for that blessed time
when we shall bid adieu to all things upon earth, and go up to take possession
of our inheritance in Heaven. . . .
“Whilst others are busying themselves about the impertinences of this tran¬
sient life, the soul that is truly pious employs its thoughts and studies about
the happiness of Heaven, and the way that leads unto it; his body may be with
his friends below, but his head and his heart are with his God above. . . .
“For which end it is necessary that you often retire from the cares and bustles
of this tumultuous world, and bid your earthly thoughts farewell, commanding
them to stay below, while your aspiring souls go up to take a view of what is
above; where, having fixed yourselves amongst the choir of Saints and Angels,
cast your rolling eyes about, and take an exact survey of the land of Canaan
that flows with milk and honey. Look well that you cannot but behold such
transcendent light and glory, that your eyes will be dazzled, and your hearts
astonished at it. And if you do but listen with an attentive and believing ear,
you cannot but hear such melodious music and celestial concert, as will be sure
to ravish and transport your spirits beyond themselves. And do but rightly
weigh and consider what is there, and you will find that there is not only the
blessed company of the spirits of just men made perfect, together with Angels,^^
Archangels, Cherubims, and Seraphims, with the rest of the celestial hierarchy/^
but there is Christ and God Himself; Whom to know, is the only wisdom:
Whom to serve, is the only freedom; and Whom to enjoy, is the only happi¬
ness that any creature is capable of. And who would not dwell in the ravishing
contemplations of such rare perfections as these?*’
c.c.c.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
HE heat had been unusually trying. There was some excuse for feeble¬
mindedness. But the Philosopher rebelled against it. “Can you
imagine anything more humiliating”, he exclaimed, “than the realiza¬
tion that a difference of a few degrees in temperature and humidity can almost
paralyze one’s mental energies!”
“Why humiliating?” said the Engineer. “After all, the body and brain are
instruments. What happens to a violin if exposed to the same conditions?
Even a Paganini would find himself crippled. More than once recently my
sympathies have gone out to the English schoolboy who got things twisted,—
as I have, in other directions. You remember the story perhaps. The poor
child was being examined on a cruelly hot day, and was asked what he knew of
Oliver Cromwell. At first his mind was a complete blank; then slowly, very
slowly, came the answer: ‘He was the man who said when he was dying, “If I
had served my God as I served my King, I should not be in this state now”.’
It was such a gallant, and such a happy effort to produce something out of noth¬
ing, that if I had been the examiner I should have been tempted to give him
top marks.”
We liked that story. It was invigorating, and therefore highly moral. In
any case it served as an introduction, whether logical or not, to the subject
which all of us had at heart: the appeal of the Convention, some four months
behind us, with the inevitable question which the Student now voiced: “ ‘Watch¬
man, what of the night?”’ No one was willing, however, to accept the implied
commission, so the Recorder asked the Ancient for his personal opinion.
“I believe there was genuine response, and that the average effort of members
has distinctly improved”, was the answer. “In other words, so far, good,
though not nearly enough. The flower has not bloomed, and never will until
the desire to love and serve the Master, as a ch£la alone does, becomes an ob¬
session, or, rather, a consuming determination, obliterating all the other pur¬
poses of life. Think of a mother, obliged to leave her home during the daytime,
but whose only child lies desperately ill at their home. She works that she may
provide her child with food and medical care; and she works as she never worked
before: but what is her motive? where is her heart? That , in the inner life, is
the spirit that breaks through every obstacle, and that literally flies to the out¬
stretched arms of the father who, be it remembered, saw him ‘when he was yet
a great way of . . . and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and
kissed him.’ Is there lack of the Prodigal’s sense of sin? I doubt if there can be
excuse for it! ‘Riotous living’ and waste of substance take many forms, but the
realization of our infidelities and wasted opportunities, and of our long and
shameful immersion in self, if deeply repented, can provide a spring-board from
3 10
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
3 ii
which we may take the leap from this world to the other. Or is it that love is
lacking?—the more basic need of the two. The cure for that has been known
and taught since religious instruction began. All of you are familiar with the oft-
quoted and beautiful passage from the Bhdgavata Purdna which bears directly on
this subject; but I should like to read it, if you (turning to our host) have a copy
within reach, as it is some time, I think, since it was quoted in the Quarterly.”
The volume was promptly produced; whereupon the Ancient read aloud:
In a former Age, O Saint, I (Narada) was born, in a past incarnation, as the son of a
certain serving woman, in the service of maintainers of the Veda, and I was engaged in
boyhood in attendance upon some yogis, who desired to remain together during the rainy
season. These yogis, even if regarding everything equally, were compassionate to me, a
child, who had passed beyond all fickleness, was docile, who had never held a plaything,
who was willing, attentive in service, and of little speech. . . . There, day by day, I
heard heart-ravishing stories of Krishna, by the favour of those yogis who used to sing
[intone] them. And so hearing these, word by word, through my reverence, my intense
love arose for Him-Whose-Glory-is-Loving.
Then arose in me, who had gained a passionate longing for Him-the-Glory-of-Love,
the unshaken conviction-
“And so forth; no need to read more, because the age-old ‘cure’ of which I
was speaking is made more than sufficiently clear. In default of yogis chanting
heart-ravishing stories of Krishna, the modem aspirant, to kindle and increase
his love, should read heart-ravishing stories of the Master, should read the
scriptures, or devotional books, or anything likely to increase his love for his
Master; and, above all, must think and meditate upon what he reads. He must
win through to the ‘passionate longing’ of N&rada if he would get anywhere in
the real sense,—remembering always that if he will provide the wick and the
oil, the attention and the desire, his Master will provide the fire.”
“You are asking a great deal”, lamented our visitor.
“The Master asks everything”, was the reply; “and, when it comes to ch£la-
ship, he cannot and will not accept less. Do not forget that a Master makes
himself responsible for his chela’s life and soul, not only in time but in eternity.
There was nothing new in,—Let the dead bury their dead. Follow me.”
“Considering the appeal of the Convention from a different angle”, the
Philosopher now said, “it seems to me of great significance that the T.S. as a
whole was given an opportunity to adopt in some measure what always have
been the purposes and obligations of its more earnest members. It was a recog¬
nition of the sincerity and devotion of the rank and file, while the response lifted
the Society closer to the heart of the Movement and to the Lodge. It was a
step toward indrawal in the real sense. We do not yet know what will come of
it in terms of personal development, of ‘flowering’; but that the general level
was raised, cannot, I think, be doubted.”
“I agree with you”, said the Ancient. “Further, I believe that many mem¬
bers became convinced, as never before, that their supreme task in life, their
outstanding opportunity, is to become conscious of the Master at the head of
their Ray,—of his nearness to them, of his fatherhood, of his intense interest in
thekkwelfare, of his ceaseless desire to help them in all their righteous efforts,
312
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of their own ability to please and to serve him. Some of us realized long ago
that there is nothing else in life that really counts, that really matters; and that
we shall not have lived in vain if, even at the eleventh hour, we may be instru¬
mental in bringing others to the same realization. We are compelled, therefore,
to be hopeful as we think of what the last Convention, and many previous
Conventions, and all the work of all the years, may still bring forth. We know
that the divine Gardener watches and labours with infinite care and skill; the
question is whether those whom he nurtures will open their hearts and sur¬
render their lives unreservedly to his treatment, for, unlike the plants of our
gardens, we have free will. Plants know when a gardener loves them, and give,
in their way, love for love. Men, having minds, think about it, questioning
whether it can be so, and thus, for lack of simplicity, and of true perception,
shrivel instead of grow. ... In any case, it is not yet too late. Qui vivra ,
vena."
Now the Recorder, not expecting that brains would strike sparks in such
humid weather, had asked the Philosopher and the Historian to bring books
with them which they had read during the summer, and which would be likely
to prove of general interest. So at this point he asked the Philosopher to report.
“I have been reading all kinds of books”, was the response, “but the two that
I found the most significant and encouraging were: The Gates of New Life , by
the Rev. James S. Stewart, pastor of a Presbyterian church in Edinburgh—a
collection of sermons published in New York by Scribner; and St. John of the
Cross: an Introduction to his Philosophy , Theology and Spirituality , by Father
Bede Frost, of the Order of St. Benedict, published in New York by Harper.
“I read the first of these books with intense pleasure and thankfulness, for
it proves that the spirit of Theosophy has had a more far-reaching influence
than I should have thought possible. Imagine, say at the time of H.P.B.’s
death,—imagine reading a book of Scotch Presbyterian sermons and finding in
them not only religious fervour, but breadth of religious sympathy. So often,
alas, as breadth increases, depth of feeling and conviction is reduced to a mere
film. So often, also, books of this kind, from Protestant sources, even when they
show genuine devotion to the Christian Master, and a far broader interpretation
of religious dogma than would have been tolerated years ago, are ruined by
sentimental humanism and by a horror of suffering which leaves no room what¬
ever for a horror of sin. I read this book, fearing on every page to find Pacifism
set up as the inevitable outcome of obedience to Christ’s teaching and example.
I found nothing of the sort.
“Dr. Stewart lays especial emphasis on the (theosophical) doctrine that mere
acceptance of a belief is not religion; that, instead, religion is essentially an
experience. But it will be best to let him speak in his own words. In his sermon
entitled ‘Hearsay or Experience’, he says:
What, in our religious life, are we founding on—mere hearsay, rumour blown down the
centuries from apostolic days, other men’s thoughts of Jesus caught and put in cold
storage and preserved and handed out to us—is that it? Or are we founding not on that,
but on this—a Christ we have spoken to and can speak to daily, face to face and heart to
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
3i3
heart; an experience of Jesus thrilling and throbbing and glorious because vve can say of
it, “This is my own, my very own”; something that has come to us not on the authority
of any Church or creed, not on the authority of our forefathers, not even on the authority
of all the millions of believers who have ever lived, but on the authority of God and our
own souls?
“Those who call themselves Christians, he says, owe it to their Master and
to themselves to find him in as real a sense as Andrew and Peter and others
found him. But how? By obeying three simple maxims, is his answer. ‘The
first is—keep following. . . . The second rule is—keep praying. . . . Finally
there is this—keep loving.’
“Under the head of ‘keep following’, Dr. Stewart’s advice is that which has
been given in the Quarterly, scores if not hundreds of times, though his
expression of it is well worth quoting:
Surrender your will to His moral ideal: for whatever else may be dark in your religion,
this at least is clear, that the purity Jesus stands for, the honour, the manliness, the love,
—all that is far more worth having than any of the allurements of the world. Get your
feet on to that road, for it is down that road somewhere that Jesus is always to be found,
and no one who has sought Him there has ever failed to find Him. Therefore, keep
following.
“Passage after passage from almost any of these sermons could be quoted
with pleasure. ‘A Modern Substitute for the Gospel’ might be an echo (though
it certainly is not an echo) of what genuine Theosophy has preached for many
years.
A new religion has appeared on the field. A substitute for the gospel is offering itself.
It is the worship, not of God, but of man. This is the most serious rival which Chris¬
tianity [and Theosophy] in this generation is facing.
“That the author refers to Theosophy disparagingly is not surprising, for all
he can know of it is one or more of the several varieties so widely advertized in
England, and which differ from the Theosophy of H.P.B. and Judge as the Black
Mass differs from the Last Supper. How far from narrow he is, however, can
be inferred from this passage:
Widen your horizons! There are others, thank God, working for Christ in totally
different ways from yours or mine. There are gates into the kingdom of heaven, sayaj
Revelation, from every point of the compass. There are scores of paths up the hill of"
the Lord. It does not matter who does the work, as long as the work is done.
“Finally, disregarding terminology, could there be a simpler or better state¬
ment of the spiritual combat, in the theosophic sense, than this?
... In every one of us at this moment there is something of self, and something of
Christ. And what God wills is this, that that bit of self in me, the “ego” as we call it,
the thing which says “I”, “mine”, “me”, is progressively to contract and be superseded;
while the other thing, the God principle, is to expand and grow and take control. He—
the indwelling Christ—must increase; and I—the self—must decrease.
* hat a thousand pities that while we, as students of Theosophy, can appre-
and profit by the sermons of Dr. Stewart, he, in spite of his liberality, and
in spite of all that Theosophy could do to clarify and rationalize and elevate
314
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
his faith, has been so prejudiced by misrepresentations and perversions of the
Ancient Wisdom, of the theou sophia of St. Paul, that it would be practically
impossible for him to consider its great message with an open mind.
“This is true to an even greater extent of the author of my second choice—
the study of St. John of the Cross; for he is a Roman Catholic, wedded to the
Sacraments as his Church explains them, and although broad-minded in com¬
parison with many of his fellow-churchmen, is none the less as rigid as a ramrod
in matters concerning ‘the Faith’. In spite of this—and always making allow¬
ance for wide difference in terminology—his closely reasoned and highly philo¬
sophical study of some four hundred pages, cannot fail to impress a student of
Theosophy as remarkably akin in its spirit and conclusions to our own teachings.
Even the Church of Rome has been influenced by H.P.B.’s mission to the world,
though such a statement would be regarded by all Catholic expositors as
preposterous—and perhaps as exacerbating.
“Listen, for instance, to this:
It is this end, the seeing of God in a “face to face” manner, without the intervention of
any creature, notion or idea, about which the whole of the Christian religion is con¬
cerned, and with which, indeed, the best minds not only of the Jewish but of the pagan
world were occupied. To seek God’s face, to appear before Him, “to behold the fair
beauty of the Lord”, “to awake up after His likeness and to be satisfied with it”, to
believe, with Job, “that my redeemer liveth . . . and though worms destroy this body,
yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold,
and not another”, all this Old Testament faith and desire puts to shame much of that
modern, debased Christianity which reduces it to a bourgeois morality, treats it as an
accessory to present happiness and even to success in business and national prosperity.
We have seen, too, how deeply the mind of the pagan philosophers was steeped in the
same belief and desire, many more examples of which might be given.
“The state of Divine Union attainable in this life, says Father Frost, inter¬
preting St. John of the Cross, means:
. . . The total possession of the soul by God in so Divine a manner that “while neither
of them changes its being, each appears to be God”, in which the flame of Divine Love
which is the Holy Spirit [Buddhi active], bums within and transforms the soul, as fire
transforms a log of wood into itself (The Living Flame of Love , I, 3). For “love unites
the soul to God”, and now the soul has “attained to Him according to the whole capacity
of its being”, so that the Divine Love, once purifying and illuminating for the burning
away of all the imperfections of the soul, now so enkindles it that it is enraptured, im¬
mersed and wholly converted into Love itself, knowing nought but love, having no other
exercise but love, whether in doing or suffering, in engaging in affairs temporal or spiritual,
“for its work is to love, and of this work, which is love” the soul has now come to its
consummation and perfection, that which is “the whole desire and aim of the soul, and
that of God in all the works of the soul”.
“All of which is an elaboration and elucidation of St. Paul’s statement: ‘I am
crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.’
“If only these Christian theologians, philosophers, mystics, could realize that
the last word on their own subjects is to be found, clearly set forth, in such
‘heathen’ treatises as the Bhagavad Gita ,—when read in the light of Theosophy .
Krishna—the Master, or the Higher Self, or the ‘light within’ (for, as Judge
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
3i5
wrote, ‘the Mahatmas and the light within are not different’)—Krishna again
and again reveals what is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Only by fullest service, perfect faith,
And uttermost surrender am I known
And seen, and entered into, Indian Prince!
Who doeth all for Me; who findeth Me
In all; adoreth always; loveth all
Which I have made, and Me, for Love’s sole end,
That man, Arjuna! unto Me doth wend.
. . . Nay! but once more
Take My last word, My utmost meaning have!
Precious thou art to Me; right well-beloved!
Listen! 1 tell thee for thy comfort this.
Give Me thy heart! adore Me! serve Me! cling
In faith and love and reverence to Me!
So shalt thou come to Me! I promise true,
For thou art dear to Me!
. . . But, if in this
Thy faint heart fails, bring Me thy failure! . . .
Fly to Me alone!
Make Me thy single refuge! I will free
Thy soul from all its sins! Be of good cheer!
“However, we must not expect too much, too soon, and can afford to be
thankful meanwhile for all that is of value—and there is much—in the exclu¬
sively orthodox approach of such writers as Father Frost. There is so much
in his book that is worth quoting that it is difficult to select outstanding pas¬
sages; but I think this is of special interest:
“Growth in the spiritual life, he says, is an interior growth,—‘a development
of the “inner man” under the influence of the Divine life of grace, a growing up
from spiritual childhood “unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of
the fulness of Christ”, the growth of a life which at every stage needs its proper
treatment, food and care, just as does our physical life.’
“I was glad also to find that he emphasizes a truth which so many Protestants
forget, that the Christian life in itself is ‘distinct from its manifestation in pr^^
tice, with which it is often confounded, as if doing was being instead of the c^>
sequence of being’”.
The Recorder, fearing that some of our readers might find the atmosphere of
St. John of the Cross a shade too rarefied for comfort, now turned to the His¬
torian, asking him to give us the benefit of his summer reading. The Historian
laughed. “I hope”, he said, “that the benefit was greater than the little I have
to say about it. To tell you the truth, all I did in preparation for this meeting,
after you had asked me to make ready, was to mark a couple of passages which
may provide material for those who pursue the third object of the T.S.,—‘the
investigation of the unexplained laws of nature and the psychical powers latent
imman . I have seldom found anything either interesting or convincing in books
ot^Jports sponsored by specialists in psychic phenomena. Even amateur col¬
lectors, such as the late Lord Halifax, of stories and evidences of an unseen
3 l6
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
world, leave me unimpressed. But constantly I have found in the autobiogra¬
phies of soldiers, statesmen, and of those whose interest in such matters is purely
incidental, the recital of perhaps just one experience which has convinced them
that there are ‘more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of’ in their
philosophy, and which would arouse the same conviction in anyone with an
open mind.
“My first extract relates a case of psychic prevision, taken from Memorials of
the Military Life , a recent book by Thomas Washington Metcalfe, published in
England by Ivor Nicholson and Watson. You will notice that the author’s
experience is typical of many if not most purely psychic visions, inasmuch as it
contains no instruction, no guidance, nor the least glimmer of spiritual enlighten¬
ment. Its value lies in the fact that it cannot be explained on any materialistic
basis, and that it tends to upset the rigid conception of time and space to which
the average man clings,—partly, I think, for fear of losing his sense of personal
reality. The story in any case is well suited for hot-weather consumption. I
will read it to you if I may.
It was then that at last I faced the problem of the future, and came to a settlement
with myself. That I did this was mainly due, undoubtedly, to what may have been a
borderland-dream, since perhaps I had dozed while seated huddled-up on the bollard. I
don’t know; but I do not think so. I am inclined to believe it an example of pre-cognition,
a vision such as had occasionally been granted me before, and has been since, during
moments of stress.
To leave, or not to leave the army? that was the question. I cast up the years. Look¬
ing forward a score, my age being then seven-and-twenty, one could not see that they
held the prospect of much. Promotion was slow; the great war with Germany, that a
minority held was bound to come, was regarded as unlikely by the best civilian minds,
because of commercial and financial considerations; whatever one’s other qualifications
might be, the doors of the Staff College were likely to remain closed to a candidate ut¬
terly incapable of passing the simplest examination in mathematics—that was a very
sore point with me, by a fortunate education something of a specialist in languages;
furthermore, though keen enough on some of the details of soldiering, drill, tactics, and
field-work in general, ambitious as regards superior command, there was much that
irked one, and would continue to irk one for the rest of those years, if remaining, as
seemed most probable, a regimental officer.
Hut more than that: music had always been the very breath of life to me, literature
I loved almost as well; I had begun to burn with the desire for a greater freedom wherein
to indulge these tastes. (As a youngster I had been trained as an organist by two very
eminent masters of the instrument, but, as regards writing, had made no published ven¬
ture as yet.) And I had often rather hankered after the public-schoolmaster’s life, with its
facilities for the blending of the arts and athletics. The army, I think, is no bad training-
ground for teaching, supposing the possession of some natural gift—which I fancied one
had. To this I proposed to turn, as to a crutch, being pretty certain that for a while, at
least, I should forfeit the generous allowance from an outraged father, who had more
than once given me his views on “Organ-grinders and creeping Ushers’’. In addition to
the above reasons for wanting to go, there was another. I think now that it bulked more
largely in my mind than I then realized. My intimate life had been dealt a shattering blow
a couple of years before. Much of my joy in living had gone; I was an old man before my
time, much older in spirit than I am now, for all that Fate has since then again crept
under the shield to strike at the heart; I was often lonely, riding or tramping the country¬
side with my wretched thoughts for company, despite the kindly attempts of my brother-
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
3i7
officers to hearten and console. (It goes ill with a man when he screws the neck of his
sense of humour.) So not unnaturally there was an impulse to quit the stage on which
my little tragedy had been played.
And just before dawn silvered the sky above the sharp-cut edge of the sullen hills,
there came that flash of what I call prevision. Just one electric moment, in which details
stood out in a clear light, and then almost instantaneously dissolved. ... I saw, as it
were, a picture suspended half-way between me and the lead-dark background. It had
a gloss, as though lit by an intense light, and was a composite design, combining portions
of an interior and an exterior. Between pillars, high in its loft on a gothic screen of stone,
stood an organ. The pipes were of white metal, the seventeenth-century woodwork was
of an ebony richness, elaborately fretted, and carved with the date of its erection. I had
never seen that organ, not even a photograph of it, that I can remember. But three
years later, freed from the military life, I was to walk into a cathedral transept, and look
up at and recognize that very instrument, and its date as the same. It was not showed
me then, as I sat on the hard iron bollard by the waterside, that the time was to come
when I should look down from my seat at that organ for many Sundays, while gunners in
red and blue and infantrymen in scarlet bawled the set psalm for their service, “The
Lord is my Shepherd”.
The lower part of the picture, that to the left, disclosed a massive stone buttress and a
path bounded by close-cut turf. A man came round the buttress, and smiled at me; a
little elderly man, who wore a hat like a parson’s, though he was not a clergyman, and a
short grey beard. I had never seen him before, did not know his name, nor that he ex¬
isted. Yet, three years after, I met him. We became as father and son; I honoured
and respected my actual father; but this man I loved as I have loved none other. For
only two years did I observe that smile which so often had in it the puckishness of a
happy child’s, see the hands that shook so as they poised over the manuals cease their
trembling as they touched the keys. It is sixteen years since he died. But to me he is
not dead. Of that I have something amounting almost to proof; though not as a dabbler
in spiritualistic practice, neither by trumpet nor trance. However, that can wait: it is
the military life with which I deal.
If what is designed to be must be, and I was shown a glimpse of that fact then, no
doubt my determination dates from it.
“All that I said of that story is equally true of my second: it is typical of
the purely psychic realm,—an experience apparently purposeless, as it ex¬
plained nothing and led nowhere, though of course we do not know its effect
on the man who relates it. His reaction to it, however, was eminently sensible
and open-minded, as you will see. I found it in The India We Served , byjSpr
Walter Roper Lawrence, Bart., G.C.I.E., G.C.V.O., C.B. The author wafltt
that time in charge of a District in Rajputana (Merwdra). His book, which is
of unusual value and interest, was published in England by Cassell and Co.
One day I experienced a curious illusion. It was in the break of the rains, and I went
out in the evening by myself to shoot. The ground was familiar to me, but it was all
changed. There was a large lake where I had formerly walked, and on the lake was a
punt with a paddle. I got in and paddled by the high bank of the lake to a little green
promontory. On it, by the edge of the lake, sat a most lovely girl. I asked her what
the name of the lake was, and where her village was. But she laughed and shook her
head and said nothing. I paddled on, landed on the opposite bank and walked home.
Jwas quite well, and had no fever. I could remember every detail of the place, the dress
the face of the girl, and a few days later I went back to the lake. But there was no
lake and no sign of a punt, and no one had ever seen a lake or a punt in the neighbour¬
hood. Hallucination? I do not think so. I have seen so much in India of what we in
3*8
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
England would call the supernatural, that I have an open mind, and I think that if we
lived with the Hindus, apart from the influence of our own people, we should soon find
that in that land of enchantment there is indeed more than is dreamt of in our philosophy.
“If I am not mistaken”, the Recorder remarked, “that story has appeared
in the Quarterly before. Haven’t you a third, in reserve, to take its place?”
One of our editors interrupted: “It must have been some years ago”, he said,
“and it will bear repetition in any case. Coming from such a source, no one
could reasonably question its genuineness, and it is very striking. I hope you
will include it in the ‘Screen’.”
“I have no third story in reserve”, the Historian now said, in reply to the
Recorder. “There is another book, however, of which I should like to speak,
though for a totally different reason. It is called Victorious Living , and is by
E. Stanley Jones, well known as the author of The Christ of the Indian Road
and of other similar books. Victorious Living consists of a series of meditations
for every day in the year, each meditation concluding with a short prayer. The
subjects dealt with cover a wide range, from ‘How can I find God?’ to ‘The
Kingdom of God is Nigh’; and most of them are admirable in their simplicity
and sincerity of treatment. But like another missionary, C. F. Andrews, author
of What I Owe to Christ and of Christ in the Silence , who also has won a host of
friends and admirers among Hindus and Moslems in India by reason of his
undeniable devotion to Christ as a living Master, combined with great gifts of
sympathy and an exceptionally broad outlook in some directions,—like ‘Charlie’
Andrews, Stanley Jones is pitifully blind as to his Master’s nature in one vitally
important respect; for both these men are ardent, even rabid Pacifists, which,
whatever they may say or think, the Master Christ is not. Their attitude is so
utterly illogical and lacking in common sense, that it is difficult to explain in
men of their gifts. Their first-hand experience of their Master I could
not question, but their ability to ‘hear’ (to receive from him) is distressingly
limited by their preconceptions and prejudices, and, perhaps, by the excessive
development of some of their virtues at the expense of others,—of feminine
gentleness, it may be, at the expense of that intense virility which is so char¬
acteristic of the ‘Lion of Judah’ who is also the Lion of the Western world.
“Mr. Jones writes: ‘There is nothing left to do but to renounce all war. And
that I do. And I’ll tell you why. My chief reason is that war causes men to
sin.’
“Yes, it does cause some men to sin; but it causes other men to leave their
sins for heights of self-sacrifice and nobility of which they would have been
incapable except for the terrible demands which war makes upon them. For
war is both a test and an opportunity; it turns some men into devils, others
into saints. War does that which life itself does—the most peaceful of lives—
but war, that fiery trial, concentrates the experience of a life-time into a few
months or years, and brings to the surface whatever was latent in a man’s
nature, with either the best or the worst in control. War does not create evil
any more than it creates good; it evokes that which already exists. As Emerson
said, ‘We find what we bring’.
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
3i9
“War, says Mr. Jones, ‘stands against everything that Christ stands for. It
sins against Christ. If war is right, Christ is wrong; and if Christ is right, war
is wrong’. But if Mr. Jones had been a Frenchman of military age in 1914,
would Christ have wished him to refuse to fight, and to leave his wife and
children to the mercy of the Hun invader? If Mr. Jones lived in one of our
western towns, and a gang of armed desperados began to ‘shoot things up’,
and to kidnap women that they might hold them for ransom or worse,—would
Christ wish him to stand placidly by, inactive, or to do as I hope we should do,
that is, seize any weapon within reach, and try to rid the world of these devils
let loose? And what is the difference between our gangsters and Germany at
the present time?
“The truth is that both Mr. Jones and Mr. Andrews are thoroughly material¬
istic in their philosophy, in spite of their religious beliefs. They would not
admit it, but their attitude toward war, and all their reasons for ‘renouncing’
it, prove that they regard death and suffering as the greatest of human ills.
This is the essence of materialism, and therefore is as unchristian as any view
of life can be. They would claim, I imagine, to be orthodox in their beliefs. In
that case they must regard Christ as a member of the Trinity, and the Trinity as
omnipotent; but if the death and suffering caused by war are inherently evil,
why does God permit earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and other natural phe¬
nomena, at least as destructive and causing quite as much suffering as war?
For these natural phenomena, as they see it, are not caused by man, and must
be under God’s control. Does not this imply, logically, that they should include
God in their condemnation?
“It is strange, indeed, that men who have so much light up to a certain point,
should fail to distinguish between the killing of a gangster or kidnapper
in order to save a woman or child from his clutches, and the killing by the
gangster of anyone who opposes his evil purpose; should fail to distinguish be¬
tween a war of aggression for greed, dominion and envy, and that waged in self-
defence against the invader, or on behalf of the invaded,—in other words, that
they should fail to realize that it is the motive that counts. They are devoted
to their Indian converts and friends; they ‘renounce war’: logically they should
advocate the withdrawal of all British troops from the North West frontier.
Are they willing to leave their Indian friends, and their own families, defenceless^
against the murdering, pillaging inrush of Afridis and Afghans which would ^
follow any such withdrawal within a few hours? It is ungrateful to accept
protection and to exist because of it, and then to damn the protectors, or in
any case their function, as standing ‘against everything that Christ stands for’.
They hate war, they say. I should like to tell them something: Christ hates
ingratitude.
“But my quarrel with them goes further and deeper than that, for they are
grossly unfair to the Master they claim to serve. They too often drive real men
away from him,—and one of his greatest needs is for real men. I came prepared
for this, and I am going to read to you an extract from the biography of Sir
Mortimer Durand, by Brig.-General Sir Percy Sykes. Durand, the most eminent
320
THE0S0PHICAL QUARTERLY
member in his generation (1850-1924) of the great Indian Civil Service, was a
sincere Christian. This is an entry he made in his diary while still a young
man:
I often think Christians dwell too little on the chivalry of Christ’s nature. There is
too much talk of meekness and submission. I should like to stand in the pulpit and say:
“The Christ whom I preach to you was no coward’s God. Never let that idea be yours.
He was the God of the soldier, brave and ready and strong, gentle and courteous withal,
as every true soldier must be. The man who can wield the sword does not war with the
tongue. Brave and independent as none of you would be in times of danger—morally
and physically brave—scornfully silent before the highest court of his nation—unflinch¬
ing under pain—cool and deliberate in face of murderous mobs. Without blasphemy, a
perfect ideal of a gentleman in word and thought and deed—fearless as Bayard, sans
peur et sans reprochc , pure and loving towards women as the purest always are.” If only
men would preach Him out boldly for what He was, there would be fewer taunts at Chris¬
tianity and contempt for Christians. They strip off all the attributes for which men have
an innate admiration—which He possessed albeit to a marvellous extent—and then hold
up a miserable apology for a God to the eyes of their flock—and tell them to be meek
and gentle and take a kicking on all possible occasions. No wonder men recoil.
“That is splendid”, exclaimed the Student. “Would to heaven there were
more clergymen and ministers with the understanding of Durand, a layman!”
There had been an intermission of several weeks. When we next assembled,
the Philosopher reminded us that the subject we had last discussed was Pacif¬
ism, and suggested that this led directly to the present international situa¬
tion,—the world’s immediate problem. Asked to comment, he pointed out that
with events moving so rapidly, it would be futile to deal with more than certain
underlying principles. “The news to-day [September 17th] is that Chamberlain
has returned to London after an interview with Hitler. We know nothing, so
far, of what was said. I am glad of that visit. It will give Chamberlain a
chance to show the stuff he is made of, and it cannot fail to bring Hitler’s
purposes and methods still further into the open,—which is important, consider¬
ing the illusions under which some people still labour, especially in England,
where Hitler, even to-day, is said to have supporters: think of it!
“After the Great War, badly wanting peace, and as usual judging others by
herself, England supposed that Germany must want peace as badly, and there¬
fore encouraged German revival in ways that drove some of us almost to dis¬
traction. Not only this, but, as everyone knows, England, under a distressing
wave of Pacifism, and blindly believing in Germany’s good faith—the honest
man unable to conceive that all other men are not equally honest—came to
look upon her army and navy as expensive ornaments, and grudged every penny
spent on their maintenance. It was not until the Abyssinian affair had shown
England her helplessness, and until Hitler and Mussolini had howled threats
at her, that she at last woke up to the need for self-protection. Even so, she
learned nothing as to the fundamental difference between races, and Chamber¬
lain’s approach to Hitler will, I fear, show the same old weakness of guileless
trust in an unscrupulous adversary. As a result, Hitler will be too much for
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
321
him, and will gain the time he needs to be entirely ready for the accomplishment
of his purposes (rumour says he will be ready by September 25th). If I am
correct in this general supposition—I do not mean the date, which is of no im¬
portance—the interview will have been barren of results, save to Hitler’s ad¬
vantage,—that is, unless Chamberlain proves himself a bigger man than I have
found reason to suppose. My guess in any case would be that Hitler will ‘do
him up’, and will use him for his own ends without Chamberlain being in the
least aware of it. However, we shall see.
“The truth of course is that Hitler is a wild man, a German intoxicated by
his own fiercely shouted words, mad with egotism, hopelessly irrational,—a dan¬
gerous lunatic at large, though, like so many dangerous lunatics, with a streak
of cunning, of calculating foresight, which amounts almost to genius. Hitler,
without doubt, is trying to get all that he wants by means of bluff, threats,
terrorism—without war; but he is determined to get it even at the cost of war.
And the trouble is that he wants the earth: the German people are so superior
in culture, civilization, fortitude, and in every other respect, to all other peo¬
ples, that if there be any sort of a God anywhere, that God necessarily looks to
the German nation, ever extending its boundaries, to bring the rest of the world
under its dominion. Americans for the most part refuse to take this seriously,
thinking it ‘silly’. It is silly; it is worse than that, it is lunatic: but Germany,
led by a lunatic who voices to perfection her own wildest desires, and who
flatters her vanity and drowns her fears by hammering it into her that these
wild desires are attainable,—Germany, the most easily intoxicated of nations,
has accepted that as its Solar-god-given mission: Deutschland , Deutschland iiher
alles. As an aim it is not new, of course; but the former German Emperor was
a weakling behind his sabre-rattling, and was never entirely trusted by his
people, who feel, in comparison, that Hitler, having killed so many of his former
bosom friends, must be ‘the real thing’,— echt deutsch.
“Now what Hitler wants he has made sufficiently evident,—explicitly so, in
many directions. He wants all the territory within reach, the inhabitants of
which he regards as ‘Nordic’. This includes a valuable slice of Czecho-Slovakia,
the Polish Corridor, Memel, and will include Holland, and the Flemish-speaking
sections of Belgium, as well as Alsace-Lorraine. Further, regardless of racial
origins, he wants the oil-fields of Rumania, and the wheat-fields of Hungary
and the Ukraine. He wants all the Colonies that Germany owned before the
Great War. As I'appttit went en mangeant , this will be only the beginning of
his ever-increasing requirements; and America will soon discover that instead^
being comfortably out of it, as she now imagines, the many Germans in Scrcun
America are already organized to precipitate a crisis there, whenever Hitler is
ready to go to their ‘rescue’, and to absorb as much of South American territory
as seems to him expedient.
“In his eyes, and in the eyes of his followers, none of this will be wrong; it
will not even be ‘irregular’: it will be the fulfilment of Germany’s ‘manifest
destiny’. Unless that be understood, well-meaning but stupid people every¬
where will continue to bray or bleat—as the case may be—that Germans are
322
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
kindly people who would not dream of injuring their neighbours, or of appro¬
priating what does not belong to them. It does belong to them, is the sincere
conviction of hypnotized Germany, and anyone who tries to stand in her way,
as Dr. Dollfuss and Kurt von Schuschnigg tried to stand on behalf of Austria,
—is a devil worthy of death.
“The question is, then, to what extent Chamberlain’s eyes were opened to
these truths as a result of his visit to Berchtesgaden. He claims to be a realist.
Does he understand at last that no concession will keep Hitler quiet for longer
than a brief interval; that history repeats itself, and that the payment of ‘Dane
gelt’ in any form, merely increases the appetite of those who are in fact black¬
mailers? In other words, does the Prime Minister realize at last that he must
be prepared to concede whatever Hitler demands, not only now but contin¬
uously, and that he must choose between that and—War? This does not mean
that, if he accept war as inevitable, he ought of necessity to fight at once, but it
does mean that he should consult his military advisers, who in their turn should
consult their French colleagues, and thus put himself in a position to decide
when and where it would be wisest to allow hostilities to begin.”
The Student interrupted: “In this morning’s paper”, he said, “in a dispatch
from Paris, it is stated that, while there is no war party in France, ‘there is
strong army sentiment that if there is to be war, it must be now or never.’ ”
“I noticed that”, was the reply, “but was not convinced, thinking that news¬
paper correspondents are more likely to be in touch with retired Colonels and
War Department clerks, than with men like General Gamelin who are in com¬
mand. My point is, however, that realism demands a steady, detached facing
of the facts, and action, at the right time and place, as those facts may determine.
If it were not for the sentimentality of public opinion in democratic countries,
the obvious thing to do would be to strike first. You do not wait for the gang¬
ster to shoot you or your friends before trying to plug him as full of holes as a
second’s start makes possible. Surprise, and the first blow, count for much in
any sort of combat.
“It is to be hoped also that England, still playing and praying for peace
(which is all to her credit), will not make the ghastly blunder of allowing Hitler
to bite off one cherry at a time, until, as it were, the tree has been stripped,—
first Austria, then Czecho-Slovakia, and so forth, in each case adding military
strength and great manufacturing and natural resources to those which Germany
already possesses, the total increase to be used finally for the conquest and
enslavement of England herself. So long as Czecho-Slovakia exists with her
present frontiers intact—these frontiers possessing many strategic advantages
besides being well fortified—she can offer stiff resistance to German aggression,
thus diverting German troops from the French, Belgian and Dutch frontiers.
To weaken Czecho-Slovakia, therefore, in an effort to preserve peace, by in¬
sisting upon the surrender to Germany of the Sudeten area as the price of
further British ‘moral’ support, would be as foolish as to stand aside altogether.
England must either throw up her hands now, with full realization that this
means, before long, the end of an independent England and of the British Em-
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
3 2 3
pire, or England must make up her mind to fight, superficially on behalf of a
small republic in central Europe, but actually for the preservation of civilized
conditions in Europe and, above all, of her own existence.”
“It is a terrible situation”, the Historian commented, “and a terrible Karma
for England, which she has brought upon herself, and others, through her own
fatuous refusal to recognize Germany’s real nature and intentions,—intentions
which Germany did not try to conceal, but flaunted in the eyes of the entire
world. I love England, and fear that the penalty she will have to pay for her
wilful blindness, and for her jealousy of French influence in Europe—the in¬
grained desire to preserve ‘the balance of power’, and to strengthen Germany
with that in view—is likely to involve suffering far greater than anything she
had to endure during the Great War.”
“If Neville Chamberlain had been a different kind of man”, the Engineer
now said, “I believe the interview at Berchtesgaden might have resulted in
something better than his own partial enlightenment, which seems to be all the
Philosopher dares hope for. I am reminded of a recent incident in business: a
relatively small manufacturing company received an order for some apparatus
from a large and powerful corporation, a ‘valued customer’. The apparatus
was fabricated and shipped. Shortly afterwards word came that it was defec¬
tive, with loud complaints from the customer’s chief engineer. The Works
Manager of the smaller company, having learned that the apparatus in ques¬
tion had been subjected to tests which he considered utterly unfair and un¬
reasonable, arranged for an interview with this chief engineer, and at once told
him what he thought of these tests. The chief engineer was furious. He jumped
from his chair and, with upraised arm, shouted his anger and resentment: he
was ‘through’ with a company which dared to criticize his, the purchaser’s,
methods. The Works Manager was equal to the occasion. Instead of apol¬
ogizing for what he had said; instead of trying to placate this important cus¬
tomer, he shouted back—pointing to his opponent’s vacant chair: ‘When you
come back to earth, we will discuss this question as engineer with engineer.
Time enough after that, to consider the matter as between buyer and seller.’
His force of character and fearlessness, and the sincerity of his indignation,
struck the other man like a blow in the face. He subsided into his chair; dis¬
cussed the subject rationally, and finally agreed to a settlement which \vaa<
entirely in favour of the Works Manager’s company.
“Hitler is a bully (he can be charming, I am told, when he wants to be), and
the only way to handle a bully is to face him down with a force greater than his
own. If, in reply to Hitler’s tirade—for Hitler begins every interview with a
tirade—Chamberlain had shown genuine anger, and had barked at him in the
tone of a commanding officer that if he dared to touch Czecho-Slovakia ‘we
will wipe you and Germany off the map’, it is quite possible that Hitler would
have collapsed, and would have become sufficiently rational to discuss terms of
s^ement which would have been acceptable to Czecho-Slovakia.”
^Possible, but not probable”, said the Philosopher. “Do not forget that
Hitler has so deeply committed himself to his programme of expansion, both
324
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
in his book, Mein Kampf, and in his speeches, that it would be out of the
question for him to maintain his ascendancy in Germany without putting that
programme into effect. Do not forget either that he is a fanatic. More than
that. In a book which I have not yet had time to read, but at which I have
glanced —Insanity Fair , by Douglas Reed—the author, who witnessed what he
describes, writes of Hitler’s reception in Vienna in March of this year, and of
how frantically he was acclaimed by the people he had conquered. Reed then
says:
It went to his head. It intoxicated him. Endless suffering for Europe was born on
this day. Though his conquest of Austria had been relatively bloodless, Hitler then
tasted blood. His demeanour, as he strode about on the balcony of the old Imperial
Palace with the delirious multitudes shrieking below him, his voice as he spoke to them,
which was that of a man possessed with some ungovernable Berserk rage, all betokened
the man who was coming to think himself a God, all-powerful, invincible, all-avenging.
It was a fearful scene. . . . The Austrians, like the Germans, had been won for race¬
hatred, foreigner-hatred, and the lust of conquest.
“America thinks she can stand aloof. What madness! Wait until New York
and Boston, Philadelphia and Washington are bombed from the air, with the
ultimatum that unless our gold reserves are surrendered, the dose will be re¬
peated indefinitely.
“Some people would think this, and much else that I have been saying,
extravagant; but Hitler is extravagant; it is the brazen, the unprecedented, the
monstrous that appeal to him. Would America have believed, in 1918, that
in twenty years England and France would be threatened by a Germany whose
military force may prove greater than theirs combined? America too will have
to fight for her life, and can do so now, with allies, or can do so in a few years
from now, alone, unaided, against a Germany made ten times as strong by the
conquest and absorption of nations she regards as her rightful prey,—France
included.”
“Surely not France!” our visitor protested. “Has not Hitler said that he
wishes to maintain friendly relations with France?”
“He has”, was the reply; “but this is what he wrote in Mein Kampf:
Not until the Germans have realized that they must engage in an active and final
conflict with France, will it be possible to bring the fruitless struggle to a conclusion—on
condition, however, that Germany sees in the extermination of France a means of pro¬
viding her people with the necessary room for expansion.
“A copy of Mein Kampf is given to every newly married couple in Germany.
It is the Bible of all Nazis.”
“Is civilization doomed?” someone asked.
“It may be so”, was the reply. “That may be the only way to insure a fresh
start on a better, truer basis. It may be the only way in which the guidance of
‘God-instructed men’ can be made possible; for only when people are desperate,
and know at last that of themselves they are helpless, will they be willing to
accept the guidance of those who know, and whose desire to help, fortunately
for us, is unending. One thing is sure: the fate of the world, and of America as
ON THE SCREEN OF TIME
325
part of the world, now hangs in the balance. Without, there is confusion and
darkness and terror; within, it is for us to maintain, each in his own heart, an
immovable centre of faith and confidence in the ultimate triumph of Right.
Masters are. That is enough.”
“Yes”, said our oldest Member, ‘‘and even if Europe were reduced to the
desolation that followed the collapse of the Roman Empire (the fate indicated by
Ferrero), out of that waste and misery would arise a fairer civilization, a nobler
art, a higher and purer thought and life. Whatever betide, let us keep our
faith and courage undimmed. ‘God’s in his heaven: All’s right with the world.’
Nothing that is true and beautiful can ever die. It may pass from sight with
the winter’s frost, but it will bloom again in added loveliness when ‘spring’ re¬
turns once more. We must remember what we were told,—to take ‘long views’.”
T.
. . . And the seventh child went into his closet , and kneeled upon the floor , and
covered his face with his hands. And he cried aloud saying: Oh Lord, how long shall
the wicked triumph! And the cloud of the Lord enveloped him, and he heard a
stern voice from the cloud saying unto him: When the weakling disdains his weak¬
ness, and the coward arises from his cowardice; when he is no longer in terror for
the loss of his possessions, but is in terror for the loss of his soul; when the cause
of the weak and downtrodden constraineth him, and not the shouting of the oppressor;
when he loves righteousness and justice for their own sakes, and not as a cloak
for his self-seeking; then the Lord shall be with him, to defend and uphold him, and
to save him from all his enemies. For no man ever trusted in the Lord from his
heart, and was deceived. Behold, the day of trial is always the day of the Lord.
Turn , therefore, ye people, turn to the Lord , and follow his ways .— The Book op
the Seven Children.
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
... I made man just and right,
Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall,
Such I created all th } ethereal powers
And spirits, both them who stood and them who fail'd,
Truly, they stood who stood, and fell who fell ....
—Milton.
.... The assumption that the mind is a real being, which can be acted upon by
the brain, and which can act on the body through the brain, is the only one com¬
patible with all the facts of experience. — George T. Ladd, in the ‘‘Elements of
Physiological Psychology”.
I
A NEW influence, a breath, a sound—‘‘as of a rushing mighty wind”—has
suddenly swept over a few Theosophical heads. An idea, vague at first,
grew in time into a very definite form, and now seems to be working
very busily in the minds of some of our members. It is this: if we would make
converts, the few ex-occult teachings, which are destined to see the light of
publicity, should be made, henceforward, more subservient to, if not entirely at
one with modern science. It is urged that the so-called esoteric 2 (or late esoteric)
cosmogony, anthropology, ethnology, geology—psychology and, foremost of all,
metaphysics—having been adapted into making obeisance to modern (hence
materialistic) thought, should never henceforth be allowed to contradict (not
openly, at all events) ‘‘scientific philosophy”. The latter, we suppose, means
the fundamental and accepted views of the great German schools, or of Mr.
Herbert Spencer and some other English stars of lesser magnitude; and not
only these, but also the deductions that may be drawn from them by their more
or less instructed disciples.
1 By H. P. Blavatsky. reprinted from Lucifer, vol. vii, October and November. 1890.
1 We say “so-called”, because nothing of what has been given out publicly or in print can any longer be termed
esoteric. [This, and all following footnotes are by H.P.B.]
326
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
327
A large undertaking this, truly; and one, moreover, in perfect conformity
with the policy of the mediaeval Casuists, who distorted truth and even sup¬
pressed it, if it clashed with divine Revelation. Useless to say that we decline
the compromise. It is quite possible—nay, probable and almost unavoidable—
that “the mistakes made” in the rendering of such abstruse metaphysical tenets
as those contained in Eastern Occultism, “should be frequent and often impor¬
tant”. But then all such have to be traced back to the interpreters, not to the
system itself. They have to be corrected on the authority of the same Doctrine,
checked by the teachings grown on the rich and steady soil of Gupta Vidya , not
by the speculations that blossom forth to-day, to die to-morrow—on the shifting
sands of modem scientific guess-work, especially in all that relates to psychology
and mental phenomena. Holding to our motto, “There is no religion higher
than truth”, we refuse most decidedly to pander to physical science. Yet, we
may say this: If the so-called exact sciences limited their activity only to the
physical realm of nature; if they concerned themselves strictly with surgery,
chemistry—up to its legitimate boundaries; and with physiology—so far as the
latter relates to the structure of our corporeal frame, then the Occultists would
be the first to seek help in modem sciences, however many their blunders and
mistakes. But once that, over-stepping material Nature, the physiologists of
the modem “animalistic ” 1 * 3 school pretend to meddle with, and deliver ex cathedrd
dicta on, the higher functions and phenomena of the mind, saying that a careful
analysis brings them to a firm conviction that no more than the animal is man
a free-agent , far less a responsible one—then the Occultist has a far greater right
than the average modem “Idealist” to protest. And the Occultist asserts that
no materialist—a prejudiced and one-sided witness at best—can claim any
authority in the question of mental physiology, or that which is now called by
him the physiology of the soul. No such noun can be applied to the word “soul”,
unless, indeed, by soul only the lower, psychic mind is meant, or that which
develops in man (proportionally with the perfection of his brain) into intellect,
and in the animal into a higher instinct. But since the great Charles Darwin
taught that “our ideas are animal motions of the organ of sense”, everything
becomes possible to the modem physiologist.
Thus, to the great distress of our scientifically inclined Fellows, it is once more
Lucifer's duty to show how far we are at logger-heads with exact science, or
shall we say, how far the conclusions of that science are drifting away from
truth and fact. By “science” we mean, of course, the majority of the men of
science; the best minority, we are happy to say, is on our side, at least as far as
free-will in man and the immateriality of the mind are concerned. The study
of the “Physiology” of the Soul, of the Will in man and of his higher Conscious -
ness from the standpoint of genius and its manifesting faculties, can never be
*
1 "Animalism” is quite an appropriate word to use (whoever invented it) as a contrast to Mr. Tylor’s term
"animism", which he applied to all the " Lower Races" of mankind who believe the soul a distinct entity. He find*
that the words psyche, pneuma, animus, spiritus . etc., all belong to the same cycle of superstition in "the lower
stages of culture", Professor A. Bain dubbing all these distinctions, moreover, as a "plurality of souls" and a
"double materialism". This is the more curious as the learned author of Mind and Body speaks as disparagingly of
DaHM[s "materialism” in Zoonomia, wherein the founder of modern Evolution defines the word idea as "contract-
ingWIbtion. or configuration of the fibres which constitute the immediate organ of sense" ( Mind and Body. p.
190. Note)
328
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
summarized into a system of general ideas represented by brief formulae; no
more than the psychology of material nature can have its manifold mysteries
solved by the mere analysis of its physical phenomena. There is no special organ
of will , any more than there is a physical basis for the activities of self-
consciousness.
If the question is pressed as to the physical basis for the activities of self-consciousness,
no answer can be given or suggested. . . . From its very nature, that marvellous verify¬
ing actus of mind in which it recognizes the states as its own, can have no analogous or
corresponding material substratum. It is impossible to specify any physiological process
representing this unifying actus; it is even impossible to imagine how the description of
any such process could be brought into intelligible relation with this unique mental
power . * 4 *
Thus, the whole conclave of psycho-physiologists may be challenged to define
Consciousness correctly, and they are sure to fail, because Self-consciousness
belongs alone to man and proceeds from the Self, the higher Manas. Only,
whereas the psychic element (or Kama-manas) b is common to both the animal
and the human being—the far higher degree of its development in the latter
resting merely on the greater perfection and sensitiveness of his cerebral cells—
no physiologist, not even the cleverest, will ever be able to solve the mystery
of the human mind, in its highest spiritual manifestation, or in its dual aspect
of the psychic and the noetic (or the manasic ), 6 or even to comprehend the in¬
tricacies of the former on the purely material plane—unless he knows something
of, and is prepared to admit the presence of this dual element. This means that
he would have to admit a lower (animal), and a higher (or divine) mind in man,
or what is known in Occultism as the “personal” and the “impersonal” Egos.
For, between the psychic and the noetic , between the Personality and the Indi¬
viduality , there exists the same abyss as between a “Jack the Ripper”, and a
holy Buddha. Unless the physiologist accepts all this, we say, he will ever be
led into a quagmire. We intend to prove it.
As all know, the great majority of our learned “Didymi” reject the idea of
free-will. Now this question is a problem that has occupied the minds of thinkers
for ages; every school of thought having taken it up in turn and left it as far
from solution as ever. And yet, placed as it is in the foremost ranks of philo¬
sophical quandaries, the modern “psycho-physiologists” claim in the coolest and
most bumptious way to have cut the Gordian knot for ever. For them the
feeling of personal free agency is an error, an illusion, “the collective hallucina¬
tion of mankind”. This conviction starts from the principle that no mental
activity is possible without a brain, and that there can be no brain without a
body. As the latter is, moreover, subject to the general laws of a material world
where all is based on necessity, and where there is no spontaneity, our modern
psycho-physiologist has nolens volens to repudiate any self-spontaneity in human
action. Here we have, for instance, a Lausanne professor of physiology, A. A.
4 Physiological Psychology, etc., p. 545, by George T. Ladd, Professor of Philosophy in Yale University.
4 Or what the Kabalists call Nephesh, the "breath of life".
•The Sanskrit word Manas (Mind) is used by us in preference to the Greek Nous (nofitic) because the latter
word having been so imperfectly understood in philosophy, suggests no definite meaning.
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
329
Herzen, to whom the claim of free-will in man appears as the most unscientific
absurdity. Says this oracle:—
In the boundless physical and chemical laboratory that surrounds man, organic life
represents quite an unimportant group of phenomena; and amongst the latter, the place
occupied by life having reached to the stage of consciousness, is so minute that it is ab¬
surd to exclude man from the sphere of action of a general law, in order to allow in him
the existence of a subjective spontaneity or a free will standing outside of that law . 7
For the Occultist who knows the difference between the psychic and the
noetic elements in man, this is pure trash, notwithstanding its sound scientific
basis. For when the author puts the question—if psychic phenomena do not
represent the results of an action of a molecular character, whither then does
motion disappear after reaching the sensory centres?—we answer that we never
denied the fact. But what has this to do with free-will? That every phenome¬
non in the visible Universe has its genesis in motion, is an old axiom in Occult¬
ism; nor do we doubt that the psycho-physiologist would place himself at
logger-heads with the whole conclave of exact scientists were he to allow the
idea that at a given moment a whole series of physical phenomena may dis¬
appear in the vacuum. Therefore, when the author of the work cited maintains
that the said force does not disappear upon reaching the highest nervous centres,
but that it is forthwith transformed into another series, viz., that of psychic
manifestations, into thought, feeling, and consciousness, just as this same
psychic force when applied to produce some work of a physical (e. g., muscular)
character gets transformed into the latter—Occultism supports him, for it is
the first to say that all psychic activity, from its lowest to its highest manifesta¬
tions, is “nothing but—motion”.
Yes; it is Motion but not all “molecular” motion, as the writer means us to
infer. Motion as the Great Breath ( vide “Secret Doctrine,” vol. i, sub voce )—
ergo “ sound" at the same time —is the substratum of Kosmic-Motion. It is be¬
ginningless and endless, the one eternal life , the basis and genesis of the subjec¬
tive and the objective universe; for Life (or Be-ness) is the Jons et origo of
existence or being. But molecular motion is the lowest and most material of
its finite manifestations. And if the general law of the conservation of energy
leads modem science to the conclusion that psychic activity only represents a
special form of motion, this same law, guiding the Occultists, leads them alsa
to the same conviction—and to something else besides, which psycho-physiologp
leaves entirely out of consideration. If the latter has discovered only in this
century that psychic (we say even spiritual) action is subject to the same general
and immutable laws of motion as any other phenomenon manifested in the ob¬
jective realm of Kosmos, and that in both the organic and the inorganic (?)
worlds every manifestation, whether conscious or unconscious, represents but
the result of a collectivity of causes, then in Occult philosophy this represents
merely the A,B,C, of its science. “All the world is in the Swara ; Swara is
the Spirit itself”—the One Life or motion , say the old books of Hindu
Occult philosophy. “The proper translation of the word Swara is the current
ichophysiologic Gtntrale.
330 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
of the life wave ”, says the author of Nature's Finer Forces , 8 and he goes on to
explain:
It is that wavy motion which is the cause of the evolution of cosmic undifferentiated
matter into the differentiated universe. . . . From whence does this motion come?
This motion is the spirit itself. The word atma (universal soul) used in the book ( vide
infra), itself carries the idea of eternal motion, coming as it does from the root, AT, or
eternal motion; and it may be significantly remarked that the root at is connected with,
is in fact simply another form of, the roots ah, breath, and as, being. All these roots
have for their origin the sound produced by the breath of animals (living beings). . . .
The primeval current of the life-wave is then the same which assumes in man the form
of inspiratory and expiratory motion of the lungs, and this is the all-pervading source
of the evolution and involution of the universe. . . .
So much about motion and the “conservation of energy” from old hooks on
magic , written and taught ages before the birth of inductive and exact modern
science. For what does the latter say more than these books in speaking, for
instance, about animal mechanism , when it says:
From the visible atom to the celestial body lost in space, everything is subject to motion;
. . . kept at a definite distance one from the other, in proportion to the motion which
animates them, the molecules present constant relations, which they lose only by the
addition or the subtraction of a certain quantity of motion . 9
But Occultism says more than this. While making of motion on the material
plane and of the conservation of energy, two fundamental laws, or rather two
aspects of the same omnipresent law— Swara , it denies point blank that these
have anything to do with the free-will of man which belongs to quite a different
plane. The author of Psychophysiologie Gtntrale, treating of his discovery that
psychic action is but motion, and the result of a collectivity of causes—remarks
that as it is so, there cannot be any further discussion upon spontaneity—in the
sense of any native internal proneness created by the human organism; and
adds that the above puts an end to all claim for free-will ! The Occultist denies
the conclusion. The actual fact of man’s psychic (we say manasic or noetic)
individuality is a sufficient warrant against the assumption; for in the case of
this conclusion being correct, or being indeed, as the author expresses it, the
collective hallucination of the whole of mankind throughout the ages , there would
be an end also to psychic individuality.
Now by “psychic” individuality we mean that self-determining power which
enables man to override circumstances. Place half a dozen animals of the same
species under the same circumstances, and their actions, while not identical,
will be closely similar; place half a dozen men under the same circumstances
and their actions will be as different as their characters, i. e. } their psychic
individuality.
8 TheTheosophist, Feb- 1888. p. 27s. by Rama Prasad, President of the Meerut Theosophical Society. As the
Occult book cited by him says: “It is the Swara that has given form to the first accumulations of the divisions of
universe; the 5woro causes evolution and involution; the Swara is God, or more properly the Great Power itself
(Maheshwara ). The Swara is the manifestation of the impression on matter of that power which in man is known
to us as the power which knows itself (mental and psychic consciousness). It is to be understood that the action
of this power never ceases. ... It is unchangeable existence"—and this is the “Motion" of the Scientists and the
universal Breath of Life of the Occultists.
• Animal Mechantsm. a treatise on terrestrial and aerial locomotion, by E. J. Marey, Professor at the College of
France, and Member of the Academy of Medicine.
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
33 i
But if instead of “psychic” we call it the higher Self-conscious Will, then
having been shown by the science of psycho-physiology itself that will has no
special organ , how will the materialists connect it with “molecular” motion at
all? As Professor George T. Ladd says:
The phenomena of human consciousness must be regarded as activities of some other form
of Real Being than the moving molecules of the brain. They require a subject or ground
which is in its nature unlike the phosphorized fats of the central masses, the aggregated
nerve-fibres of nerve-cells of the cerebral cortex. This Real Being thus manifested im¬
mediately to itself in the phenomena of consciousness, and indirectly to others through
the bodily changes, is the Mind [manas). To it the mental phenomena are to be attrib¬
uted as showing what it is by what it does. The so-called mental “faculties” are only the
modes of the behaviour in consciousness of this real being. We actually find, by the only
method available, that this real being called Mind believes in certain perpetually recur¬
ring modes: therefore, we attribute to it certain faculties. . . . Mental faculties are not
entities that have an existence of themselves. . . . They are the modes of the behaviour
in consciousness of the mind. And the very nature of the classifying acts which lead to
their being distinguished, is explicable only upon the assumption that a Real being called
Mind exists , and is to be distinguished from the real beings known as the physical mole¬
cules of the brain's nervous mass . 10
And having shown that we have to regard consciousness as a unit (another
occult proposition) the author adds:
We conclude, then, from the previous considerations: the subject of all the states of con-
sciousness is a real unit-beings called Mind; which is of non-material nature , and acts and
develops according to laws of its own y but is specially correlated with certain material mole¬
cules and masses forming the substance of the Brain . 11
This “Mind” is manas , or rather its lower reflection, which whenever it discon¬
nects itself, for the time being, from kama t becomes the guide of the highest
mental faculties, and is the organ of the free-will in physical man. Therefore,
this assumption of the newest psycho-physiology is uncalled for, and the ap¬
parent impossibility of reconciling the existence of free-will with the law of the
conservation of energy is—a pure fallacy. This was well shown in the “Scientific
Letters of “Elpay” in a criticism of the work. But to prove it finally and set
the whole question definitely at rest, does not even require so high an inter¬
ference (high for us, at any rate) as the Occult laws, but simply a little common
sense. Let us analyze the question dispassionately.
It is postulated by one man, presumably a scientist, that because “psychi^^
action is found subject to the general and immutable laws of motion, there is,
therefore, no free will in man". The “analytical method of exact sciences” has
demonstrated it, and materialistic scientists have decreed to “pass the resolu¬
tion” that the fact should be so accepted by their followers. But there are
other and far greater scientists who thought differently. For instance, Sir Wil¬
liam Lawrence, the eminent surgeon, declared in his lectures 12 that:—
The philo sophical doctrine of the soul, and its separate existence, has nothing to do
and the voluntar >' "“crificial victim":
and E^xpe^rimerftal^Poin^o'f < View^ f pp^°6o6 and^” °' th ' a " d natUre ° f th ' mind ' fr0m thc Physical
“ W - Lawrence: Lectures on Comparative Anatomy. Physiology. Zoology, and the Natural History of Man, London,
1848, p. 6.
332
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
with this physiological question, but rests on a species of proof altogether different.
These sublime dogmas could never have been brought to light by the labours of the anat¬
omist and physiologist. An immaterial and spiritual being could not have been dis¬
covered amid the blood and filth of the dissecting room.
Now, let us examine on the testimony of the materialist how this universal
solvent called the “analytical method” is applied in this special case. The
author of the Psychophysiologie decomposes psychic activity into its compound
elements, traces them back to motion, and, failing to find in them the slightest
trace of free-will or spontaneity, jumps to the conclusion that the latter have no
existence in general; nor are they to be found in that psychic activity which he
has just decomposed. “Are not the fallacy and error of such an unscientific
proceeding self-evident?”, asks his critic; and then argues very correctly that:
At this rate, and starting from the standpoint of this analytical method, one would
have an equal right to deny every phenomenon in nature from first to last. For, do not
sound and light, heat and electricity, like all other chemical processes, once decomposed
into their respective elements, lead the experimenter back to the same motion, wherein
all the peculiarities of the given elements disappear, leaving behind them only “the vibra¬
tions of molecules”? But does it necessarily follow that for all that, heat, light, electricity
—are but illusions instead of the actual manifestations of the peculiarities of our real
world? Such peculiarities are not, of course, to be found in compound elements, simply
because we cannot expect that a part should contain, from first to last, the properties of
the whole. What should we say of a chemist, who, having decomposed water into its
compounds, hydrogen and oxygen, without finding in them the special characteristics of
water, would maintain that such did not exist at all nor could they be found in water?
What of an antiquary who upon examining distributed type and finding no sense in every
separate letter, should assert that there was no such thing as sense to be found in any
printed document? And does not the author of Psycho-physiology act just in this way
when he denies the existence of free-will or self-spontaneity in man, on the grounds that
this distinctive faculty of the highest psychic activity is absent from those compound
elements which he has analyzed?
Most undeniably no separate piece of brick, of wood, or iron, each of which
has once been a part of a building now in ruins, can be expected to preserve the
smallest trace of the architecture of that building—in the hands of the chemist,
at any rate; though it would in those of a psychometer , a faculty by the by, which
demonstrates far more powerfully the law of the conservation of energy than any
physical science does, and shows it acting as much in the subjective or psychic
worlds as on the objective and material planes. The genesis of sound, on this
plane, has to be traced back to the same motion, and the same correlation of
forces is at play during the phenomenon as in the case of every other manifesta¬
tion. Shall the physicist, then, who decomposes sound into its compound ele¬
ment of vibrations and fails to find in them any harmony or special melody,
deny the existence of the latter? And does not this prove that the analytical
method, having to deal exclusively with the elements, and nothing to do with
their combinations , leads the physicist to talk very glibly about motion, vibra¬
tion, and what not, and to make him entirely lose sight of the harmony produced
by certain combinations of that motion or the “harmony of vibrations” ? Criticism,
then, is right in accusing Materialistic psycho-physiology of neglecting these
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
333
all-important distinctions; in maintaining that if a careful observation of facts
is a duty in the simplest physical phenomena, how much more should it be so
when applied to such complex and important questions as psychic force and
faculties? And yet in most cases all such essential differences are overlooked,
and the analytical method is applied in a most arbitrary and prejudiced way.
What wonder, then, if, in carrying back psychic action to its basic elements of
motion, the psycho-physiologist, depriving it during the process of all its essen¬
tial characteristics, should destroy it; and having destroyed it, it only stands to
reason that he is unable to find that which exists in it no longer. He forgets, in
short, or rather purposely ignores the fact, that though, like all other phenomena
on the material plane, psychic manifestations must be related in their final
analysis to the world of vibration (“sound” being the substratum of universal
Akasa ), yet, in their origin, they belong to a different and a higher World of
Harmony. Elpay has a few severe sentences against the assumptions of those
he calls “physico-biologists” which are worthy of note.
Unconscious of their error, the psycho-physiologists identify the compound elements
of psychic activity with that activity itself: hence the conclusion from the standpoint of
the analytical method, that the highest, distinctive specialty of the human soul—free¬
will, spontaneity—is an illusion, and no psychic reality. But as we have just shown,
such identification not only has nothing in common with exact science, but is simply
impermissible, as it clashes with all the fundamental laws of logic, in consequence of
which all these so-called physico-biological deductions emanating from the said identi¬
fication vanish into thin air. Thus to trace psychic action primarily to motion, means
in no way to prove the ‘‘illusion of free-will”. And, as in the case of water, whose specific
qualities cannot be deprived of their reality although they are not to be found
in its compound gases, so with regard to the specific property of psychic action: its spon¬
taneity cannot be refused to psychic reality, though this property is not con¬
tained in those finite elements into which the psycho-physiologist dismembers the activity
in question under his mental scalpel.
This method is “a distinctive feature of modem science in its endeavour to
satisfy inquiry into the nature of the objects of its investigation by a detailed
description of their development 1 \ says G. T. Ladd. And the author of The
Elements of Physiological Psychology adds:—
The universal process of “Becoming” has been almost personified and deifie^fD
as to make it the true ground of all finite and concrete existence. . . . The attest
is made to refer all the so-called development of the mind to the evolution of
the substance of the brain, under purely physical and mechanical causes. This attempt,
then, denies that any real unit-being called the Mind needs to be assumed as undergoing
a process of development according to laws of its own. ... On the other hand,
all attempts to account for the orderly increase in complexity and comprehensiveness of
the mental phenomena by tracing the physical evolution of the brain are wholly unsatis¬
factory to many minds. We have no hesitation in classing ourselves among this number.
Those facts of experience which show a correspondence in the order of the development
of the body and the mind, and even a certain necessary dependence of the latter upon the
former, are, of course, to be admitted; but they are equally compatible with another
»iew of the mind’s development. This other view has the additional advantages that it
flakes room for many other facts of experience which are very difficult of reconciliation
with any materialistic theory. On the whole, the history of each individual 1 s experiences is
such as requires the assumption that a real unit-being (a Mind) is undergoing a process of
334
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
development , in relation to the changing condition or evolution of the brain y and yet in accord¬
ance with a nature and laws of its own (p. 616).
How closely this last “assumption” of science approaches the teachings of
the Occult philosophy will be shown in Part II of this article. Meanwhile, we
may close with an answer to the latest materialistic fallacy, which may be sum¬
marized in a few words. As every psychic action has for its substratum the
nervous elements whose existence it postulates, and outside which it cannot
act; as the activity of the nervous elements is only molecular motion, there is
therefore no need to invent a special and psychic Force for the explanation of
our brain work. Free Will would force Science to postulate an invisible Free-
Wilier , a creator of that special Force.
We agree: “not the slightest need”, of a creator of “that special” or any other
Force. Nor has any one ever claimed such an absurdity. But between creating
and guiding , there is a difference, and the latter implies in no way any creation
of the energy of motion, or, indeed, of any special energy. Psychic mind (\n
contradistinction to manasic or noetic mind) only transforms this energy of the
“unit-being” according to “a nature and laws of its own”—to use Ladd’s felici¬
tous expression. The “unit-being” creates nothing, but only causes a natural
correlation in accordance with both the physical laws and laws of its own ; hav¬
ing to use the Force, it guides its direction, choosing the paths along which it
will proceed, and stimulating it to action. And, as its activity is sui generis , and
independent, it carries this energy from this world of disharmony into its own
sphere of harmony. Were it not independent it could not do so. As it is, the
freedom of man’s will is beyond doubt or cavil. Therefore, as already observed,
there is no question of creation, but simply of guidance. Because the sailor at
the wheel does not create the steam in the engine, shall we say that he does not
direct the vessel?
And, because we refuse to accept the fallacies of some psycho-physiologists as
the last word of science, do we furnish thereby a new proof that free-will is an
hallucination ? We deride the animalistic idea. How far more scientific and
logical, besides being as poetical as it is grand, is the teaching in the Katha Upani-
shad } which, in a beautiful and descriptive metaphor, says that: “The senses
are the horses, body is the chariot, mind ( kama-manas) is the reins, and intellect
(or free-will) the charioteer.” Verily, there is more exact science in the less im¬
portant of the Upanishads , composed thousands of years ago, than in all the
materialistic ravings of modern “physico-biology” and “psychophysiology” put
together!
II.
.... The knowledge of the past , present , and future , is embodied in Kshetrajna
{the “Self”). —Occult Axioms.
Having explained in what particulars, and why, as Occultists, we disagree
with materialistic physiological psychology, we may now proceed to point out
the difference between psychic and noetic mental functions, the noetic not being
recognized by official science.
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
335
Moreover, we, Theosophists, understand the terms “psychic” and “psychism”
somewhat differently from the average public, from science, and even theology,
the latter giving it a significance which both science and Theosophy reject, and the
public in general remaining with a very hazy conception of what is really meant
by the terms. For many, there is little, if any, difference between “psychic”
and “psychological”, both words relating in some way to the human soul. Some
modern metaphysicians have wisely agreed to disconnect the word Mind
{pneuma) from Soul {psyche), the one being the rational, spiritual part, the
other— psyche —the living principle in man, the breath that animates him (from
anima , soul). Yet, if this is so, how in this case refuse a soul to animals ? These
are, no less than man, informed with the same principle of sentient life, the
nephesh of the 2nd chapter of Genesis. The Soul is by no means the mind, nor
can an idiot, bereft of the latter, be called a “soul-less” being. To describe, as
the physiologists do, the human Soul in its relations to senses and appetites,
desires and passions, common to man and the brute, and then endow it with
God-like intellect, with spiritual and rational faculties which can take their
source but in a supersensible world—is to throw for ever the veil of an impene¬
trable mystery over the subject. Yet in modern science, “psychology” and
“psychism” relate only to conditions of the nervous system, mental phenomena
being traced solely to molecular action. The higher noetic character of the Mind-
Principle is entirely ignored, and even rejected, as a “superstition” by both
physiologists and psychologists. Psychology, in fact, has become a synonym
in many cases for the science of psychiatry. Therefore, students of Theosophy
being compelled to differ from all these, have adopted the doctrine that under¬
lies the time-honoured philosophies of the East. What it is, may be found
further on.
To understand better the foregoing arguments and those which follow, the
reader is asked to turn to the editorial in the September Lucifer (“The Dual
Aspect of Wisdom”, p. 3), and acquaint himself with the double aspect of that
which is termed by St. James in his Third Epistle at once—the devilish, terres¬
trial wisdom, and the “wisdom from above”. In another editorial, “Kosmic
Mind” (April, 1890), it is also stated that the ancient Hindus endowed every
cell in the human body with consciousness, giving each the name of a God or
Goddess. Speaking of atoms in the name of science and philosophy, Profes^fl
Ladd calls them in his work “supersensible beings ”. Occultism regards eve^
atom 13 as an “independent entity” and every cell as a “conscious unit”. It
explains that no sooner do such atoms group to form cells, than the latter be¬
come endowed with consciousness, each of its own kind, and with free-will to
act within the limits of law. Nor are we entirely deprived of scientific evidence
for such statements as the two above named editorials well prove. More than
one learned physiologist of the golden minority, in our own day, moreover,
is rapidly coming to the conviction, that memory has no seat, no special organ
of its own in the human brain, but that it has seats in every organ of the body.
^No good ground exists for speaking of any special organ, or seat of memory”,
Hbne of the names of Brahmft is anu or “atom”.
336
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
writes Professor J. T. Ladd. 14 “Every organ indeed, every area, and every
limit of the nervous system has its own memory” (p. 553 loc. cit.).
The seat of memory, then, is assuredly neither here nor there, but everywhere
throughout the human body. To locate its organ in the brain is to limit and
dwarf the Universal Mind and its countless Rays (the Manasa putra) which
inform every rational mortal. As we write for Theosophists, first of all, we
care little for the psychophobian prejudices of the Materialists who may read
this and sniff contemptuously at the mention of “Universal Mind”, and the
Higher noetic souls of men. But, what is memory, we ask. “Both presentation
of sense and image of memory, are transitory phases of consciousness”, we are
answered. But what is Consciousness itself?—we ask again. “We cannot define
Consciousness ”, Professor Ladd tells us. 15 Thus, that which we are asked to do
by physiological psychology is, to content ourselves with controverting the
various states of Consciousness by other people’s private and unverifiable
hypotheses; and this, on “questions of cerebral physiology where experts and
novices are alike ignorant ”, to use the pointed remark of the said author. Hy¬
pothesis for hypothesis then, we may as well hold to the teachings of our Seers,
as to the conjectures of those who deny both such Seers and their wisdom. The
more so, as we are told by the same honest man of science, that “if metaphysics
and ethics cannot properly dictate their facts and conclusions to the science of
physiological psychology, ... in turn this science cannot properly dictate to
metaphysics and ethics the conclusions which they shall draw from facts of
Consciousness, by giving out its myths and fables in the garb of well ascertained
history of the cerebral processes” (p. 544).
Now, since the metaphysics of Occult physiology and psychology postulate
within mortal man an immortal entity, “divine Mind”, or Nous , whose pale
and too often distorted reflection is that which we call “Mind” and intellect in
men—virtually an entity apart from the former during the period of every
incarnation—we say that the two sources of “memory” are in these two “prin¬
ciples”. These two we distinguish as the Higher Manas (Mind or Ego), and the
Kama-Manas , i. e. t the rational, but earthly or physical intellect of man, in¬
cased in, and bound by, matter, therefore subject to the influence of the latter:
the all-conscious Self, that which reincarnates periodically—verily the Word
made flesh!—and which is always the same, while its reflected “Double”, chang¬
ing with every new incarnation and personality, is, therefore, conscious but for
a life-period. The latter “principle” is the Lower Self, or that which, mani¬
festing through our organic system, acting on this plane of illusion, imagines
itself the Ego Sum , and thus falls into what Buddhist philosophy brands as the
“heresy of separateness”. The former, we term Individuality, the latter
Personality. From the first proceeds all the noetic element, from the second, the
psychic , i. e. } “terrestrial wisdom” at best, as it is influenced by all the chaotic
stimuli of the human or rather animal passions of the living body.
The “Higher Ego” cannot act directly on the body, as its consciousness be-
1 * Professor of Philosophy at Yale University.
u Elements of Physiological Psychology.
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
337
longs to quite another plane and planes of ideation: the “lower” Self does: and
its action and behaviour depend on its free will and choice as to whether it will
gravitate more towards its parent (“the Father in Heaven”) or the “animal”
which it informs, the man of flesh. The “Higher Ego”, as part of the essence of
the Universal Mind, is unconditionally omniscient on its own plane, and only
potentially so in our terrestrial sphere, as it has to act solely through its alter ego
—the Personal Self. Now, although the former is the vehicle of all knowledge
of the past, the present, and the future, and although it is from this fountain¬
head that its “double” catches occasional glimpses of that which is beyond the
senses of man, and transmits them to certain brain cells (unknown to science in
their functions), thus making of man a Seer , a soothsayer, and a prophet; yet
the memory of bygone events—especially of the earth earthy—has its seat in
the Personal Ego alone. No memory of a purely daily-life function, of a physi¬
cal, egotistical, or of a lower mental nature—such as, e. g., eating and drinking,
enjoying personal sensual pleasures, transacting business to the detriment of
one’s neighbour, etc., etc., has aught to do with the “Higher” Mind or Ego.
Nor has it any direct dealings on this physical plane with either our brain or
our heart—for these two are the organs of a power higher than the Personality
—but only with our passional organs, such as the liver, the stomach, the spleen,
etc. Thus it only stands to reason that the memory of such-like events must
be first awakened in that organ which was the first to induce the action re¬
membered afterwards, and conveyed it to our “sense-thought”, which is
entirely distinct from the “ super sensuous*' thought. It is only the higher forms
of the latter, the superconscious mental experiences, that can correlate with the
cerebral and cardiac centres. The memories of physical and selfish (or personal)
deeds, on the other hand, together with the mental experiences of a terrestrial
nature, and of earthly biological functions, can of necessity, only be correlated
with the molecular constitution of various Kamic organs, and the “dynamical
associations” of the elements of the nervous system in each particular organ.
Therefore, when Professor Ladd, after showing that every element of the
nervous system has a memory of its own, adds:—“This view belongs to the
very essence of every theory which considers conscious mental reproduction as
only one form or phase of the biological fact of organic memory”—he must
include among such theories the Occult teaching. For no Occultist could ex¬
press such teaching more correctly than the Professor, who says, in winding
his argument: “We might properly speak, then, of the memory of the end-orgsm
of vision or of hearing, of the memory of the spinal cord and of the different
so-called ‘centres’ of reflex action belonging to the cords of the memory of the
medulla oblongata, the cerebellum, etc.” This is the essence of Occult teaching
—even in the Tantra works. Indeed, every organ in our body has its own mem¬
ory. For if it is endowed with a consciousness “of its own kind”, every cell
must of necessity have also a memory of its own kind, as likewise its own psychic
and noetic action. Responding to the touch of both a physical and a metaphysical
Force, 16 the impulse given by the psychic (or psycho-molecular) Force will act
« We
fondly
trust
this very
unscientific term
will throw no
"Animalist” into hysterics beyond recovery.
338
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
from without within ; while that of the noetic (shall we call it Spiritual-dynamical?)
Force works from within without. For, as our body is the covering of the inner
“principles”, soul, mind, life, etc., so the molecule or the cell is the body in which
dwell its “principles”, the (to our senses and comprehension) immaterial atoms
which compose that cell. The cell’s activity and behaviour are determined by
its being propelled either inwardly or outwardly, by the noetic or the psychic
Force, the former having no relation to the physical cells proper. Therefore,
while the latter act under the unavoidable law of the conservation and correla¬
tion of physical energy, the atoms—being psycho-spiritual, not physical units —
act under laws of their own , just as Professor Ladd’s “Unit-Being”, which is our
“Mind-Ego”, does, in his very philosophical and scientific hypothesis. Every
human organ and each cell in the latter has a key-board of its own, like
that of a piano, only that it registers and emits sensations instead of sounds.
Every key contains the potentiality of good or bad, of producing harmony or
disharmony. This depends on the impulse given and the combinations produced;
on the force of the touch of the artist at work, a “double-faced Unity”, indeed.
And it is the action of this or the other “Face” of the Unity that determines the
nature and the dynamical character of the manifested phenomena as a resulting
action, and this whether they be physical or mental. For the whole life of man
is guided by this double-faced Entity. If the impulse comes from the “Wisdom
above”, the Force applied being noetic or spiritual, the results will be actions
worthy of the divine propeller; if from the “terrestrial, devilish wisdom” (psychic
power), man’s activities will be selfish, based solely on the exigencies of his
physical, hence animal, nature. The above may sound to the average reader
as pure nonsense; but every Theosophist must understand when told that there
are Manasic as well as Kamic organs in him, although the cells of his body
answer to both physical and spiritual impulses.
Verily that body, so desecrated by Materialism and man himself, is the temple
of the Holy Grail, the Adytum of the grandest, nay, of all the mysteries of nature
in our solar universe. That body is an iEolian harp, chorded with two sets of
strings, one made of pure silver, the other of catgut. When the breath from the
divine Fiat brushes softly over the former, man becomes like unto his God—
but the other set feels it not. It needs the breeze of a strong terrestrial wind,
impregnated with animal effluvia, to set its animal chords vibrating. It is the
function of the physical, lower mind to act upon the physical organs and their
cells; but it is the higher mind alone which can influence the atoms interacting
in those cells, which interaction is alone capable of exciting the brain, vid the
spinal “ centre ” cord, to a mental representation of spiritual ideas far beyond
any objects on this material plane. The phenomena of divine consciousness
have to be regarded as activities of our mind on another and a higher plane,
working through something less substantial than the moving molecules of the
brain. They cannot be explained as the simple resultant of the cerebral physio¬
logical processes, as indeed the latter only condition them or give them a final
form for purposes of concrete manifestation. Occultism teaches that the liver
and the spleen-cells are the most subservient to the action of our “personal”
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
339
mind, the heart being the organ par excellence through which the “Higher”
Ego acts—through the Lower Self.
Nor can the visions or memory of purely terrestrial events be transmitted
directly through the mental perceptions of the brain—the direct recipient of
the impressions of the heart. All such recollections have to be first stimulated
by and awakened in the organs which were the originators, as already stated,
of the various causes that led to the results, or, the direct recipients and par¬
ticipators of the latter. In other words, if what is called “association of ideas ”
has much to do with the awakening of memory, the mutual interaction and con¬
sistent inter-relation between the personal “Mind-Entity” and the organs of
the human body have far more so. A hungry stomach evokes the vision of a
past banquet, because its action is reflected and repeated in the personal mind.
But even before the memory of the personal Self radiates the vision from the
tablets wherein are stored the experiences of one’s daily life—even to the mi¬
nutest details—the memory of the stomach has already evoked the same. And
so with all the organs of the body. It is they which originate according to their
animal needs and desires the electro-vital sparks that illuminate the field of
consciousness in the Lower Ego; and it is these sparks which in their turn awaken
to function the reminiscences in it. The whole human body is, as said, a vast
sounding board, in which each cell bears a long record of impressions connected
with its parent organ, and each cell has a memory and a consciousness of its
kind, or call it instinct if you will. These impressions are, according to the
nature of the organ, physical, psychic, or mental, as they relate to this or another
plane. They may be called “states of consciousness” only for the want of a
better expression—as there are states of instinctual, mental, and purely ab¬
stract, or spiritual consciousness. If we trace all such “psychic” actions to brain-
work, it is only because in that mansion called the human body the brain is the
front-door, and the only one which opens out into Space. All the others are
inner doors, openings in the private building, through which travel incessantly
the transmitting agents of memory and sensation. The clearness, the vividness,
and intensity of these depend on the state of health and the organic soundness
of the transmitters. But their reality, in the sense of trueness or correctness^
is due to the “principle” they originate from, and the preponderance in th^
Lower Manas of the noetic or of the phrenic (“Kamic”, terrestrial) element.
For, as Occultism teaches, if the Higher Mind-Entity—the permanent and
the immortal—is of the divine homogeneous essence of “Alaya-Akasa”, 17 or
Mahat,—its reflection, the Personal Mind, is, as a temporary “Principle”, of
the Substance of the Astral Light. As a pure ray of the “Son of the Universal
Mind”, it could perform no functions in the body, and would remain powerless
over the turbulent organs of Matter. Thus, while its inner constitution is
Manasic, its “body”, or rather functioning essence, is heterogeneous, and leav-
» d with the Astral Light, the lowest element of Ether. It is a part of the
_fcion of the Manasic Ray, gradually to get rid of the blind, deceptive element
which, though it makes of it an active spiritual entity on this plane, still brings
it Another name for the universal mind.
34 o THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
it into so close contact with matter as to entirely becloud its divine nature and
stultify its intuitions.
This leads us to see the difference between the pure noetic and the terrestrial
psychic visions of seership and mediumship. The former can be obtained by
one of two means; (a) on the condition of paralyzing at will the memory and the
instinctual, independent action of all the material organs and even cells in the
body of flesh, an act which, once that the light of the Higher Ego has consumed
and subjected for ever the passional nature of the personal, lower Ego, is easy,
but requires an adept; and (6) of being a reincarnation of one who, in a previous
birth, had attained through extreme purity of life and efforts in the right direc¬
tion almost to a Ytfgz-state of holiness and saintship. There is also a third pos¬
sibility of reaching in mystic visions the plane of the higher Manas; but it is
only occasional and does not depend on the will of the Seer, but on the extreme
weakness and exhaustion of the material body through illness and suffering.
The Seeress of Prevorst was an instance of the latter case; and Jacob Boehme
of our second category. In all other cases of abnormal seership, of so-called
clairaudience, clairvoyance and trances, it is simply— mediumship.
Now what is a medium? The term medium, when not applied simply to
things and objects, is supposed to be a person through whom the action of
another person or being is either manifested or transmitted. Spiritualists be¬
lieving in communications with disembodied spirits, and that these can manifest
through, or impress sensitives to transmit “messages” from them, regard me¬
diumship as a blessing and a great privilege. We Theosophists, on the other
hand, who do not believe in the “communion of spirits” as Spiritualists do,
regard the gift as one of the most dangerous of abnormal nervous diseases. A
medium is simply one in whose personal Ego, or terrestrial mind ( psuche ), the
percentage of “astral” light so preponderates as to impregnate with it their
whole physical constitution. Every organ and cell thereby is attuned, so to
speak, and subjected to an enormous and abnormal tension. The mind is ever
on the plane of, and quite immersed in, that deceptive light whose soul is
divine, but whose body—the light waves on the lower planes, infernal; for
they are but the black and disfigured reflections of the earth’s memories.
The untrained eye of the poor sensitive cannot pierce the dark mist, the dense
fog of the terrestrial emanations, to see beyond in the radiant field of the eternal
truths. .His vision is out of focus. His senses, accustomed from his birth, like
those of a native of the London slums, to stench and filth, to the unnatural dis¬
tortions of sights and images tossed on the kaleidoscopic waves of the astral
plane—are unable to discern the true from the false. And thus, the pale soulless
corpses moving in the trackless fields of “Kama loka”, appear to him the living
images of the “dear departed” ones; the broken echoes of once human voices,
passing through his mind, suggest to him well co-ordinated phrases, which he
repeats, in ignorance that their final form and polish were received in the inner¬
most depths of his own brain-factory. And hence the sight and the hearing of
that which, if seen in its true nature, would have struck the medium’s heart
cold with horror, now fills him with a sense of beatitude and confidence. He
PSYCHIC AND NOETIC ACTION
34i
really believes that the immeasurable vistas displayed before him are the real
spiritual world, the abode of the blessed disembodied angels.
We describe the broad main features and facts of mediumship, there being no
room in such an article for exceptional cases. We maintain—having unfor¬
tunately passed at one period of life personally through such experiences—that
on the whole, mediumship is most dangerous; and psychic experiences when
accepted indiscriminately lead only to honestly deceiving others, because the
medium is the first self-deceived victim. Moreover, a too close association
with the “Old Terrestrial Serpent” is infectious. The odic and magnetic cur¬
rents of the Astral Light often incite to murder, drunkenness, immorality, and,
as Eliphas L£vi expresses it, natures not altogether pure “can be driven head¬
long by the blind forces set in motion in the Light' ’—by the errors and sins
imposed on its waves.
And this is how the great Mage of the XIXth century corroborates the fore¬
going when speaking of the Astral Light:
We have said that to acquire magical power, two things are necessary: to disengage
the will from all servitude, and to exercise it in control.
The sovereign will (of the adept) is represented in our symbols by the woman who
crushes the serpent's head, and by the resplendent angel who represses the dragon, and
holds him under his foot and spear; the great magical agent, the dual current of light, the
living and astral fire of the earth, has been represented in the ancient theogonies by the
serpent with the head of a bull, a ram, or a dog. It is the double serpent of the caduceus ,
it is the Old Serpent of Genesis , but it is also the brazen serpent of Moses entwined around
the tauy that is to say, the generative lingha. It is also the goat of the witch-sabbath,
and the Baphomet of the Templars; it is the Hyle of the Gnostics; it is the double-tailed
serpent which forms the legs of the solar cock of the Abraxas: finally, it is the Devil of
M. Eudes de Mirville. But in very fact it is the blind force which souls (1. e. t the lower
Manas or Nephesh) have to conquer to liberate themselves from the bonds of the earth;
for if their will does not free “them from this fatal attraction> they will be absorbed in
the current by the force which has produced them, and will return to the central and
eternal fire”. 1 *
The “central and eternal fire” is that disintegrating Force, that gradually
consumes and bums out the Kama-rupa , or “personality”, in the Kama-loka,
whither it goes after death. And verily, the Mediums are attracted by the
astral light; it is the direct cause of their personal “souls” being absorbed “by
the force which has produced” their terrestrial elements. And, therefore, as
the same Occultist tells us: ^
All the magical operations consist in freeing one’s self from the coils of the Anci^|
Serpent; then to place the foot on its head, and lead it according to the operator's
“I will give unto thee”, says the Serpent, in the Gospel myth, “all the kingdoms of the
earth, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.” The initiated should reply to him, “I will
not fall down, but thou shalt crouch at my feet; thou wilt give me nothing, but I will
make use of thee and take whatever I wish. For I am thy Lord and Master!”
And as such, the Personal Ego , becoming at one with its divine parent, shares
in the immortality of the latter. Otherwise. . . .
Enough, however. Blessed is he who has acquainted himself with the dual
powers at work in the Astral Light; thrice blessed he who has learned to dis¬
cern the Noetic from the Psychic action of the “Double-Faced” God in him, and
who knows the potency of his own Spirit—or “Soul Dynamics”.
Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie, quoted in Isis Unveiled.
fxV
REVIEWS
Chinese Women: Yesterday and To-Day , by Florence Ayscough; Houghton
Mifflin Company, Boston, 1937; price, S3.50.
Florence Ayscough has written several extremely interesting books on China,
and her work, with Amy Lowell, on the translation of Chinese poetry, is well
known. Her latest book is somewhat disappointing. It is well written and full
of information, but surprisingly lacking in discrimination.
Chinese women, enclosed in their secluded court yards, theoretically occu¬
pied a position of equality with men, although their sphere of action was en¬
tirely different. “The theoretical position of women is clearly set forth in the
ancient learning: Chinese philosophy, based on belief in the interaction of the
principles of Yin and Yang [Negative and Positive], which by this interaction
produce everything in the visible palpable world, postulates equal importance
of the functions pertaining to each.” Mrs. Ayscough quotes a chapter of the
Book of Rites:
Hearken to the Son-of-Heaven regarding tenets for men. Hearken to Her-who-is-
equal-to-the-Sovereign regarding compliance required of women. * Son of Heaven directs
inherent principle of Yang essence; She-who-is-His-equal regulates Yin qualities. Son
of Heaven rules all without; She-who-is-His-equal directs all within. If tenets of men be
not cultivated, functions of Yang essence will not evolve, their opposition will be mani¬
fest in the sky, sun will suffer eclipse as though consumed by a living creature. If com¬
pliance of women be not cultivated, Yin qualities will not develop, their opposition will
be manifest in the sky, moon will suffer eclipse. When the sun vanishes, Son of Heaven
puts on plain robes of raw silk, rectifies government within Six Palace Halls, purifies
\ ang essence in All-below-the-sky. When the moon is consumed, She-who-is-equal-to-
the-Sovereign dresses in plain robe of raw silk, regulates administration of Six Palace
Halls, purifies Yin qualities in All-below-the-sky. Son of Heaven is to His Consort as
sun to moon, as Yang to \ in. Each essential to the other, she perfects the whole.
In every civilization and nation, whatever the customs regulating society,
there are seemingly horrible injustices and suffering. Whether behind the
“baton door”, in the harem, or in the department store or office, the lot of count¬
less women is unfortunate; but so is that of men. As Mephistophilis remarks
in Marlowe s Faustus , This is Hell, nor am I out of it”. However, women, at
all times, are not without resources, and are generally able to adjust conditions
more or less to their satisfaction. The Chinese women are no exception. “In
talking once with a Japanese gentleman regarding women of different countries
342
REVIEWS
343
and their characteristics, I mentioned the Chinese. An expression of terror
came over his face. ‘But they’, he said, ‘are very fierce’.”
Mrs. Ayscough gives most interesting descriptions of the life of women in
former times, and contrasts it with conditions since the Revolution. She quotes
from old books and ballads. She has chapters on ‘‘Girlhood: Then and Now”,
‘‘Marriage: Then and Now”, “Education”, “Professions”, etc. She writes a
short history of the three Soong sisters, Mrs. H. H. Rung, Mrs. Sun Yat-sen,
and Mrs. Chiang-Kai-Shih. These ladies, the daughters of a Chinese missionary
convert to Christianity, were all educated in America. Mrs. Chiang Kai-Shih
is well known to readers of the daily Press, and is a horrible example of the
exuberant vulgarity of modem publicity. Mrs. Ayscough, by some legerde¬
main, is able to extend her admiration for the virtues of the ancient Chinese
ladies—modesty, discretion, good taste—to the blatancy of her contempo¬
raries.
Part Two of the book contains just such an amazing antithesis. The first
part is given to the life of a revolutionary heroine, Ch’iu Chin, Gem of Autumn.
Ch’iu Chin devoted herself to overthrowing the Manchu dynasty, and to the
modern education of women. She was decapitated by the Manchu authorities.
To-day, a monument has been raised to her memory. She undoubtedly pos¬
sessed many heroic qualities, and was actuated by a zeal for what she considered
to be the liberation of her country. It would be unjust to minimize the courage
and spirit of self-sacrifice which she displayed, but one is filled with a profound
sadness when one considers its mistaken* application. What benefits has the
downfall of the imperial system conferred on China? What advantages has
mass-education to offer in place of real, racial culture? The great women, whom
Mrs. Ayscough considers to have formed the atavistic ancestry of Ch’iu Chin,
and whose lives are described after hers, would not acknowledge their progeny.
The V amor Maiden Hua Mu-lan, who fought for twelve years in the wars
against the barbarians, disguised as a man, did so only to save her old father
from military service. Pan Chao, the historian, the “most famous woman of
China”, who wrote the still popular book Precepts for Women in about the year
i°6 A.D., would have been unutterably shocked by the actions and theories of
Gem of Autumn. Mrs. Ayscough gives a translation of Pan Chao’s charming
book, “People of old had a saying: ‘Is perfect virtue far away? I seek ardently
for perfect virtue; ... it descends, a bird, to earth.’ This saying may be<
applied to the qualities of Woman.”
The great-aunt of Pan Chao, Pan chieh-yu, is also celebrated in Chinese
history:
The Emperor, in his infatuation, once requested her to drive with him in his “chariot”.
With sensitive regard for what rulers should and should not do, she refused, saying that
it was the place of courtiers, not ladies, to accompany the Son of Heaven in public. This
incident is depicted on the famous scroll by Ku K’ai-chih in the British Museum. The
lady, with flowing scarlet streamers, her lacquer black hair dressed high in an elaborate
head-dress, gently reproves the Monarch for his suggestion.
Later, she incurred his displeasure, and retired to live with the Dowager
344 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Empress, sending him the well known poem on the Autumn Fan, entitled “A
Song of Grief”:
Newly cut, stretched, argent, white,
Pure white as frost, as snow,
A fan: perfectly formed—the circle of happiness.
Round, round, a bright moon.
Treasured in sleeve, taken out, put back,
Moved, waved, it wafts a gentle breeze.
Often fear, when Autumn Season comes,
When cold wind, whirling, dispels fiery heat,
Discarded, laid by, it will be left in bamboo box.
Favour, passion, midway through life are severed.
Part Three contains a condensed version of another famous book for the in¬
struction of women, a collection of biographies of out-standing examples of
feminine virtue. They are charming stories. Everyone who loves China will
be interested in Mrs. Ayscough’s book, but the discriminating reader will ask
himself how much of the old China still exists. Looking upon the breakdown
of its ancient ethics, upon its present anarchy, one may well despair, and fancy
it lost for ever. Surely, nothing real is ever lost. The power and virtue which
China possessed are preserved, and will incarnate again. Do not the Masters
of Wisdom say, “Take long views”? St.C. LaD.
Les Grands Cimitibres sous la Lune , by Georges Bemanos; Librairie Plon,
Paris, 1938; price, $1.25.
M. Bernanos is perhaps best known as the author of the powerful novel, Sous
le Soleil de Satan. He is a Catholic, and his sympathies are definitely royalist
and traditionalist; but he is temperamentally a “free-lance”. We doubt whether
he finds it easy to co-operate with anyone. He has the terrible gift of seeing
clearly the shortcomings of his compatriots, especially of those who belong to
his own caste; and he has the even more terrible gift of exposing those short¬
comings with mordant irony. He has the virtues and the vices of the satirist.
He can speak the truth fearlessly, but he is sometimes very unjust. Possibly
one trouble with France to-day is that she has too many “free-lances”, too
many satirists. As more than one historian has remarked, the French have
seldom co-operated voluntarily unless they have been driven to unite under the
relentless pressure of a foreign foe. Few great nations have suffered more from
the ravages of civil war; few, if any, have been capable of such a “sacred union”
in times of real extremity.
To be fair to M. Bemanos, however, his sardonic humour does not conceal
the deeper motives which impel him to write. He sympathizes with the poor
and the down-trodden, with the victims of oppression and hypocrisy in all lands.
It is his abiding love of France which stirs his rage against those who profess to
speak in her name, but whose primary concern, as he firmly believes, is the pres¬
ervation of their personal privileges. He is unable to free himself from the
sense of impending doom, as he contemplates the series of catastrophes which
are threatening the very foundations of Christian civilization.
REVIEWS
345
In this book M. Bemanos describes his immediate contact with some of the
worst horrors and barbarities of the Spanish Revolution. As it happened, his
point of contact was the island of Majorca, and the “barbarians” who com¬
mitted the atrocities were not the so-called Loyalists but adherents of the In¬
surgent cause. The disgust and righteous indignation which M. Bemanos felt,
has been increased by the efforts of many conservatives and Catholic ecclesias¬
tics to represent the Insurgents as the heroes of a “Holy War”. He literally
cannot contain himself when he hears General Franco described as a preux
chevalier , and his “alliance” with Mussolini and Hitler as a “Crusade”. He
holds no brief whatsoever for the Loyalists or their radical sympathizers in
other countries, but he is oppressed by the thought that the “defenders of civili¬
zation” can apparently imagine only one way of suppressing the communists,
and that is by largely adopting their aims and tactics. Many citizens of the
contemporary world sympathize with his equal condemnation of the rival ideolo¬
gies of fascism and communism, which are supposed to be so different but which
are fundamentally so very much alike.
M. Bernanos is convinced that what is at stake is the preservation of any
sort of Christian civilization. It is not a question merely of maintaining the
right to hold, transmit and exchange personal property, for the totalitarian
state—whether it be controlled by the “right” or by the “left”—absorbs the
most elementary rights and liberties of the individual, including the most fun¬
damental of all, the right of practising the faith which he has inherited from his
fathers. M. Bemanos insists upon the fact that Christian civilization cannot
be successfully defended by methods which would disgrace a savage. But he
argues that this is the actual programme of many who are the most vociferous
in the claim that they are custodians of the Master’s word:
In my opinion, to practise freely my faith, in the spirit of the Gospel—pardon me—
it is not only necessary to permit me to practise it;.it is also necessary that I be not con¬
strained to practise it. We cannot be driven to the love of God by threat and menace.
The clergy have sometimes forgotten this fact. . . . Two thousand years ago there were
pronounced against the Pharisees the most severe words of the Gospel, words of a sever¬
ity which astounds the heart, and to-day this race is not yet near extinction. Which of
you can boast that he has not in his veins a single drop of the blood of those vipers? li
you cannot defend your parishes [from Pharisaism], we have the right to fear that^c
will make the law in your armies. ... I should like to express myself more simply, with
simpler words. We shall not leave the sword of Christian France in such hands. We
shall face the worst, if need be with Samaritans, publicans, thieves and adulterers as our
comrades, following the example given us by the Master whom we serve.
These are hard words, and they are typical of the spirit of the book. The
gentle reader may find them provocative, if not excessive. The fact is that the
problems which impose themselves upon the nations to-day, drive men to im¬
agine desperate remedies. In 1914 the division between good and evil was
clear-cut; no superlative wisdom was required to recognize that the Allies were
fighting on the side of the Angels. But at present, both in politics and war, it
•not always easy to decide which is the side of the Angels, or whether they are
on any side. Many of us feel that if we were Spaniards, we should support the
346
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
Insurgents; but it is painfully evident that we should be serving what M. Ber-
nanos calls “General Lesser-of-Two-Evils” rather than a positive Good. Not
only in Spain, but in many other regions, where there is a better cause, the
wrong people too often uphold it; where there is a worse cause, it is too often
defended by men of good will.
M. Bernanos does not pose as a physician with a ready eure for the evils which
he denounces. However, he seems to hope that it may yet be possible to
mobilize in a last defence of honour and truth those who, like Cato of Utica,
love true liberty more dearly than they love their lives. We believe that this
is indeed the only hope. The Roman Empire was sacked by barbarians, but
the essence of civilization was preserved, because throughout the dark centuries
there were always a few who never forgot the ancient virtues, or that honour
and truth and spiritual liberty are more important than life itself.
Students of Theosophy have a special and glorious opportunity to make such
a belief an effective power, a power which may yet save humanity from a
Dark Age far more desolate than its predecessor. But this power will not be
gained by trying to force one more ideology upon a world already overburdened
with “ideas”, which it cannot understand and which only enflame its elemental
passions. One makes honour and truth and liberty manifest to others, by be¬
coming oneself honourable and true and free. Y.L.
The Occult Way , by P. G. Bowen; Rider & Co., London, 1938; price, 105. 6 d.
It would have been difficult to out-do the pretensions of Mrs. Besant and
Leadbeater to occult attainment,—pretensions continued on their own behalf
by those (“Bishop” Arundale among them) upon whom Mrs. Besant and her
tutelary genius conferred “Arhatship”. But Adyar now has a rival, Mr. P. G.
Bowen, author of The Sayings of the Ancient One , published a few years ago, and,
quite recently, of the book under review, The Occult Way. On the title-page of
this book Mr. Bowen is described as President of The Hermetic Society, Dublin,
which was formed by George W. Russell (“A.E.”) when the latter, at one time
an ardent supporter of Judge, lost his bearings, in the theosophic sense, after
the schism of Mrs. Tingley. It is claimed that, “This book was written in ful¬
filment of a task laid upon the author by the late A.E.” We doubt, however,
if George Russell would at any time have countenanced its contents. So far as
we are aware, he never went astray in his fidelity to the standards of H.P.B.
and Judge in matters of sex, while one of our most serious objections to Mr.
Bowen’s occult claims is that his teaching under this head would have been
repudiated by H.P.B. and Judge with all the vigour of which they were capable.
In these matters they were absolutely uncompromising, as every representative
of the Great Lodge must be. It is an infallible test, which Adyar notoriously
has not survived, and which Mr. Bowen not only discards but reverses, going so
far as to class celibacy with “unnatural practices” in sex as conducive “to
mediumship and other undesirable psychic states”, declaring further that “a
completely celibate life, except for a few exceptional persons, is a definite bar to
advance beyond the scope of Lesson IV” (an elementary stage). Judge would
REVIEWS
347
have stigmatized this as monstrous, and as proof in itself of Black, not of White
Lodge origin.
Mr. Bowen claims for The Sayings of the Ancient One, and for the teachings
of his Occult Way, that he owes them to ancient manuscripts, written in “an
archaic form of Bantu [Zulu] unknown to Philology”, and explained to him by
adepts of an African school. Such claims are not original, and may be distorted
psychic echoes, although, on the other hand, schools of that nature—survivals
from Atlantean days—are known to exist, and are known to be regarded as evil
by the Masters served by H.P.B. and Jurjge.
This warning is all the more necessary because the author refers to The Secret
Doctrine , Light on the Path, Letters that have Helped Me, and to translations by
Charles Johnston, with approval, and because, without acknowledging his in¬
debtedness, he obviously derives enough from those sources to serve as a cloak
for the objectionable features of his teaching. T.
Master Kung: The Story of Confucius, by Carl Crow; Harper & Brothers,
New York and London, 1938; price, $3.50.
It is not easy to write the biography of a sage, for the simple reason that
wisdom can only be understood truly by the wise. “We find what we bring.”
Thus every great religious leader has been persistently misrepresented by his
so-called followers. Some apprehension of this fact seems to have impelled Mr.
Crow to write this book. He likes and admires Chinese civilization, and gen¬
uinely reveres the memory of Confucius who so completely embodied the noblest
qualities of the Chinese nature. But he is convinced that the Chinese them¬
selves have lost the sense of the philosopher’s real genius by converting him
into a pious legend. Mr. Crow is determined to rescue Confucius from the arid
speculations of the Confucian literati.
All the world has heard of the great Chinese sage Confucius, but few know of Master
Kung, though the two characters are embodied in the same person. Master Kung is the
sincere, lovable, entirely human scholar and gentleman who was born in the sixth century
before Christ, lived a blameless life, suffered more disillusionments and disappointments
than usually fall to the lot of men, and died feeling that his life had been a failure. Con¬
fucius was the creation of generations of later scholars who deified the man, interpreted
his acts and sayings by methods which would justify this deification, and so created an
intellectual Frankenstein monster, a fleshless creature conceived and born between the
covers of a text-book.
In brief, Mr. Crow has tried to reconstruct the story of Confucius from the
available sources, letting the simple facts speak for themselves. We do not
question his excellent intentions, nor do we seriously object to his rather liberal
use of the imagination to fill in the spaces where the sources provide little or no
material. But Mr. Crow cannot evade the universal law. He too has found
what he has brought. Inevitably he has interpreted the facts to suit himself.
He has followed the profession of journalism, and brings to his subject the pre¬
conceptions of a newspaper correspondent who instinctively looks everywhere
for evidences of “politics”. His “Master Kung” is, in the last analysis, a poli¬
tician. To be sure, he regards Confucius as that rarest of phenomena, a genuine
348
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
idealist and reformer; but an unwary reader of this book might easily be con¬
vinced that Confucius conceived his mission to be primarily that of a political
legislator and administrator.
We believe that meditation upon the sources enforces a very different inter¬
pretation. Confucius was, in our opinion, essentially a mystic to whom had
come a revelation that the principles of justice and true happiness are not man¬
made, but are rooted in Universal or Absolute Nature, in that which his con¬
temporary, Lao-Tse, called the Tao. He observed that the people had fallen
into evil ways, because they had ceased to plan their lives in accordance with
the laws of “harmonious proportion” which govern all relationships in Heaven
and upon earth. The natural hierarchical order which supports all beings, had
been disregarded and ruptured, both in the family and the state. The father
no longer protected the child, and the child did not serve and honour the father.
The prince who should have recognized his responsibility to Heaven for the
contentment and virtue of his subjects, in fact thought of them as victims to be
taxed to the limit for his personal glory and pleasure. To heal the maladies
which were consuming China twenty-five hundred years ago, Confucius first of
all strove without remission to show forth in his own life the eternal virtues,
and then to form a body of disciples who would fortify and transmit the tradi¬
tions of the Golden Age which he had revived. It was evidently part of his
purpose to convert or at least to influence the ruling caste; for he was convinced
that if the upper classes could be cured of their worst delusions, the entire social
order would begin to recover. This explains his interest in the political develop¬
ments of his epoch.
Mr. Crow occasionally glimpses these deeper implications of Confucius’s
career. He says that “in his teachings to his disciples, as well as in the example
of his life, he had set up a standard of ethics and conduct which would be handed
down from father to son and from teacher to disciple through many genera¬
tions”. There is frequent reference to the sage’s life-long study of music and
ceremonial and the forms of human courtesy. But Mr. Crow’s emphasis is
upon politics. He seems to be most comfortable when he is “reconstructing”
the intrigues of princes and ministers or tracing his hero’s alleged efforts to
obtain office without sacrificing his principles.
When Confucius completed his edition of the ancient ballads, he expressed
this simple judgment: “The three hundred odes may be summed up in one
sentence: thought without depravity.” Mr. Crow comments that “Master
Kung established a literary standard which has placed all Chinese literature on
a plane of its own, characterized by an austere morality.” The general tone of
this book is relatively high, if judged by conventional modern standards, but
Mr. Crow would have been wise to adopt the rigorous standards of Confucius
himself. Wit and humour are indispensable allies of common-sense; but it is
not necessary to call them into action whenever the subject of sex is mentioned.
His innuendoes upon this subject are comparatively mild, but they are none the
less tiresome and irrelevant and improper. They have no place in the biography
of a pure and exalted soul. S.L.
QUESTIONS
test**
ANSWERS
tSW/
Question No. 41 i. —IIow can one use one's belief in Reincarnation in a practical way in every¬
day life?
Answer. —Theosophy teaches that the purpose of life is conscious union with the Divine.
This stage in evolution is reached through chdlaship, for which the vast majority of mankind
is not yet ready, but is a goal towards which they should be aiming and striving. In the years
since H.P.B. brought to the West, knowledge of the Eastern Wisdom, reincarnation has be¬
come familiar, in name at least, and a perceptibly larger number of people in the West profess
belief in it. Many, however, regard it merely as an interesting subject of speculation, and
through indifference or sloth do nothing about it. Others use it as a means of flattering their
vanity in various ways, such as imagining that in a past life they were some noted persons or
accomplished wonderful deeds. Others use it as an excuse for making no attempt to reach
the ultimate goal of humanity on the ground that they have any number of lives in which
to accomplish that purpose.
One way of looking at the subject of reincarnation is to attempt to realize the truth of the
theosophical statement that past, present and future are one, and that time is an illusion.
What we are to-day is the result of what we have been in past incarnations,—our faults, weak¬
nesses and sins, also our good qualities, such as they are. What we shall be in the future will
depend upon what we accomplish in this incarnation, and every thought, every word, every
act in the present has a direct and important bearing upon our next incarnation. It has been
said that one reason why most people cannot remember past incarnations is that they are
unable to remember the happenings of their present lives. A helpful practice would be to
try to recall at the end of each day the events of the day and every thought, word and act.
If we were to adopt the practice of making a daily resolution, and of examining ourselves to
learn wherein we have failed to carry it out, and the reasons therefor, we should be aided
greatly in recollection, and enabled in time to become conscious of every thought that passes
through our minds, and our reaction to it. G.H.M.
Answer. —What is needed is conviction of the truth of reincarnation. Many people believe
in reincarnation, but do next to nothing about it. To students of Theosophy, however, reii
carnation should be a dominant fact of life, about which at present there is one very practia
and all-important thing to be done: to contribute, each in his own way, towards the birth of
chGlaship from within the ranks of the Society. We know that century after century, during
the last quarter, the Lodge has tried unsuccessfully to gather together a comparatively small
group of people whose unselfishness and devotion would make it possible to keep the outer
expression of the Movement alive in the world over the turn of the century. This time, how¬
ever, the Society—founded by the Lodge Messenger, Madame Blavatsky, and by Mr. Judge
and others, in 1875, as the present outer expression of the Movement—has been carried over
the turn of the cycle and into the second quarter of the twentieth century. In other words,
the reincarnation of the Movement has reached a "dead centre”, a point at which chMaship is
necessary if the T.S. is to continue actively in the world. Theosophical philosophy makes
ve^fc
n w
:al
349
350
* THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
clear that we do not reincarnate at random, but are drawn back into the world, time after
time, in groups. With the help of the Masters, we can succeed this time, if we act in whole¬
hearted unison with the age-old comrades of our corps. It is said that chfilas work together as
the fingers of one hand. G.M.W.K.
Answer.—A conviction of the truth of reincarnation transforms one’s entire scale of values.
Those who regard each life-time as only a day in the pilgrimage of an immortal soul, who
realize that their own past actions, desires and thoughts have made them what they now
are, that they can change these as they change themselves, their future being absolutely in
their own hands to make or mar, and that the qualities they win may be theirs for all eternity,
—have every incentive to fight and fight hard. If you were packing a spiritual suit-case,
what qualities would you want to take with you for your next life? What kind of man do
you want to be—indolent, self-indulgent, boorish in manner, cowardly in action, vain, self-
deceived? Or valorous, resourceful, hard-working, clear-sighted, with a sense of humour, an
aristocrat at heart whatever the outer circumstances? To make a list of the qualities one
would want, is illuminating. What a man desires and works for—or desires and yields to—
to-day, determines what he will become “next time”.
It is helpful to look forward; it is also helpful to look back, imagining ourselves in our next
incarnation to be remembering this one. In that light, how does a contemplated course of
action appear? What should we like to remember having done? There are few better ways
of attaining to detachment. A belief in reincarnation may also be a great aid to contentment
of heart. There is so much, in this rich and varied world, that one would like for oneself and
for those one loves, and that one knows will not be attained in this life. Never mind. There
will be many other lives and many other opportunities.
To those who are seeking discipleship, seeking to fit themselves to aid in the work of Mas¬
ters for the world, the belief in reincarnation gives significance to every event. Masters are
interested not only in religion, but in every department of human activity—in music, art,
statecraft, diplomacy, business—in whatever affects the souls and characters of men. Those
who would aid them, must be prepared to work in any sphere and must seek to fit themselves
to do so. They must desire all abilities and all talents, and to eliminate all weaknesses. Every
event then becomes an opportunity to gain or to strengthen some quality they would wish to
have, to be able to place it at the service of their Master, to widen the field in which they can
be used, and to make their service more efficient. J.F.B.M.
NOTICE
The regular meetings of the New York Branch of The Theosophical Society will be held
throughout the winter and spring at 64, Washington Mews (between Washington Square and
East Eighth Street), on alternate Saturday evenings, beginning at half-past eight and closing
at ten o’clock. Branch members will receive a printed announcement giving the dates. The
same announcement will also be mailed to non-members who send their names to the Secre¬
tary T.S., P. O. Box 64, Station O, New York. Out-of-town members of the Society are in¬
vited to attend these meetings whenever they are in New York, and visitors who may be
interested in Theosophy are always welcome.
INDEX TO VOLUME XXXV
Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna, I,
Blavatsky , H. P
G.B ...
Cavd .
Centurion .
Convention, 1938; K .
Correspondence.
Cyclic Law in Biology* RET
c.c.c .
Emperor Akbar, The; J. F.
Force and Its Moulds; J. F
Fragments; Cav 6 .
Head, Heart and Hand; R.
Inspiration; Henry Bedinger
In Memoriam: Dr. Thomas
Johnston, Charles .
G.M.W.K . ....
Living Pictures; H. B. Mitchell .
•S'. V. L.
Mitchell, Henry Bedinger. .
Mitchell, J.F.B ..
Notes and Comments
Nourishment; G. M. W. K.
On Having a Purpose in Life; Z
On the Screen op Time; T
Prayer-Wheels or Power?; P.
Psychic and Noetic Action; H. P. Blavatsky
Questions and Answers.
Reflecting on a Neighbour; J. C. .
Reprints: Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, I, H
Psychic and Noetic Action* H. P
Johnston.
Blavatsky
INDEX TO VOLUME XXXV
STANDARD BOOKS
Reviews:
Biological Time; P. Lecomte de Noiiy .
China Hand; James Lafayette Hutchison .
Chinese Gardens; Dorothy Graham .
Chinese Women: Yesterday and To-Day; Florence Ayscough
Citadel, The; A. J. Cronin .
Design in Nature; James Ritchie .
Figures de Chefs; Henry Bordeaux .
Grands Cimiti&res sous la Lune, Les; Georges Bernanos .
Great Contemporaries; Winston S. Churchill .
Handicaps; Mary MacCarthy .
In Search of the Mahatmas of Tibet; Edwin G. Schary .
Lost Horizon; James Hilton .
Make Life Worth Living; Rev . Dr. Joseph R. Sizoo .
Master Kung: The Story of Confucius; Carl Crow .
Occult Way, The; P. G. Bowen .
On the Way to Perignan; Jennings C. Wise .
Plato To-day; R. H. S. Crossman .
Return from the U.S.S.R.; Andre Gide .
Science of Prayer, The; Michael Bruce .
Sources Occultes du Romantism, Les; Auguste Viatte .
Souvenir d’un Joumaliste; Lucien Corpechot .
Unflinching; Edgar Christian .
Winged Pharaoh; Joan Grant .
Theosophy in Sermons; C.C. C .
T. S. Activities.88 ,
Blavatsky, H. P. Isis Unveiled, Vols. I and II.cloth, $i:
Complete in one book.cloth, \
Key to Theosophy .cloth, I
Secret Doctrine, The, Vols. I and II and Index... .cloth, i<
Complete in one book, without subject-index volume, :
Theosophical Glossary .cloth, :
Transactions of the Blavatsky Lodge .cloth, :
Voice of the Silence .fabric, 1
Cave. Fragments, Volume I.boards, l
Volume II.boards, 1
Volume III.boards, 1
Gerard, John. Letters to Friends .boards, :
Hillard, Katharine. Abridgment of The Secret Doctrine -cloth, :
Johnston, Charles. BhaGAVAD GIta .Translated, annotated; cloth, 1
imitation leather,
Crest Jewel of Wisdom, The .cloth, :
Great Upanishads, The, Volume I.cloth,
Parables of the Kingdom, The .paper,
PATANJALl’s Yoga Sutras .Translated, annotated; cloth, !
Song of Life, The .paper,
Judge, William Q. Bhagavad GIta . fabric >
Culture of Concentration .P a P er *
Echoes from the Orient .P a P er »
Letters That Have Helped Me, Volumes I and II, each.. .cloth,
Ocean of Theosophy . cloth >
PatanjalFs Yoga Aphorisms . fabr ic,
Keightley, Archibald. Rhythm of Life .paper,
Keightley, Mrs. A. Unity of Religions .paper,
LaDow, Stanley V. Plotinus . ..paper
Mitchell, Henry Bedinger. Meditation, Special edition, .20; paper,
Theosophical Society and Theosophy, The .paper,
Mitchell, J. F. B. Collegiate Education and Standards of
Value .P a P\ r -
Sinnett, A. P. Esoteric Buddhism .cloth,
Occult World, The .cloth,
Torrey, Ray E. Science and its Function in Education -paper,
Walker, E. D. Reincarnation .cloth,
Idyll of the White Lotus. c,oth >
Light on the Path.leather,
Through the Gates of Gold.cloth,
THE QUARTERLY BOOK DEPARTMENT,
P. O. Box 64, Station O, New York.
Understanding of Particular Things, The; 5. V. L.
War; G.B .
Washington, George; J. C .
Without Censor, XI, XII; Centurion .
Devotional: Bhagavad Gita; Crest Jewel of Wisdom; Fragments; The Great Upani¬
shads- 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; Theosophical Glossary; Transactions of
the Blavatsky Lodge; Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras.
Introductory: Culture of Concentration; Echoes from the Orient; Esoteric Buddhism;
Idyll of the White Lotus; Meditation; The Occult World; The Ocean of Theosophy;
jhe Theosophical Society and Theosophy.
Founded by flf# P* Blavatsky at Hew York In IS75
IE 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
underlying these, that "spiritual identity of all Souls with the
Oversoul" which is the basisof true brotherhoods 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 wnich they desire for their own#
The following proclamation was adopted at the Conven*
tion of the Society# held at Boston, April, 1895 s
"The Theosophical Society in America by its delegatesland
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 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¬
ing a higher life hereafter, would team to know the path to
tread in this,"
Applications (or 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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