Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales
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Searchable Full Text of
The Hidden Side of Things by C
THE HIDDEN SIDE
OF THINGS
BY
C
The
Secret Doctrine by H P Blavatsky
Return to Searchable Text Index
1948
THE
THEOSOPHICAL PUBLISHING HOUSE
A
DYAR,
First
Edition 1913
Second
” 1919
Third
” 1923
Fourth
” 1948
FOREWORD
THIS
book has been in contemplation, and even in process of construction, for
the
last ten or twelve years, but only now has it been found possible to publish
it.
It has lost nothing by the delay, for a student of the occult never ceases
to
learn, and I know a good deal more in various ways now than I did twelve
years
ago, even though I see still more clearly than ever what an infinity of
further
knowledge stretches before us for our acquiring.
Much
of what is written here has appeared in the form of articles in The
Theosophist
and elsewhere ; but all has been revised, and considerable additions
have
been made. I trust that it may help some brothers to realise the importance
of
that far larger part of life which is beyond our physical sight -- to
understand
that, as the Lord Buddha Himself has taught us:
The
unseen things are more.
C.
W. LEADBEATER
CONTENTS
FIRST
SECTION
INTRODUCTORY
PAGE
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CHAPTER I
OCCULTISM
3
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CHAPTER II
THE
WORLD AS A WHOLE
A
Wider Outlook. The Fourth Dimension. The Higher World.
The
Purpose of Life 14
SECOND
SECTION
HOW
WE ARE INFLUENCED
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CHAPTER III
BY
PLANETS
Radiations.
The Deity of the Solar System. Different Types of Matter.
The
Living Centres. Their Influence.
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CHAPTER IV
BY
THE SUN
The
Heat of the Sun. The Willow-Leaves. Vitality. The Vitality Globule.
The
Absorption of Vitality. Vitality and Health. Vitality not Magnetism 44
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CHAPTER V
BY
NATURAL SURROUNDINGS
The
Weather. Rocks. Trees. The Seven Types. Animals. Human Beings. Travel 64
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CHAPTER VI
BY
NATURE-SPIRITS
An
Evolution Apart. Lines of Evolution. Overlapping. Fairies. National Types.
On
a Sacred Mountain in
Romances
of Fairyland. Their Attitude towards
Friendship.
Water-Spirits. Freshwater Fairies. Sylphs. Their Amusements.
An
Abnormal Development. The Advantages of Studying Them 84
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CHAPTER VII
BY
CENTRES OF MAGNETISM
Our
Great Cathedrals.
Buildings.
Cemeteries. Universities and Schools. Libraries, Museums and
Galleries.
The Stock-yards of
Rivers
125
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CHAPTER VIII
BY
CEREMONIES
The
Hierarchy. The Three Paths. Christian Magic. The
Anglican
Church. The Music. The Thought-Forms. The Effect of Devotion. Holy
Water.
Baptism. Union is Strength. Consecration. The Bells. Incense. Services
for
the Dead. Other Religions. The Orders of the Clergy 154
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CHAPTER IX
BY
SOUNDS
Sound,
Colour and Form. Religious Music. Singing. Military Music. Sounds
in
Nature. In Domestic Life. Noises 195
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CHAPTER X
BY
PUBLIC OPINION
Race
Prejudice. Popular Prejudice. Political Prejudice. Government. Religious
Prejudice.
Class Prejudice. Public Standards. Caste Prejudice. The Duty of
Freedom.
Business Methods. The Results of Deceit. Prejudice against Persons.
The
Influence of Friends. Popular Superstitions. The Fear of Gossip. A Better
Aspect
211
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CHAPTER XI
BY
OCCASIONAL EVENTS
A
Funeral. The Disposal of the Dead Body. A Surgical Operation. A
Lecture.
A Political Meeting. Crowds. A Séance. A Religious Revival. A
Wave
of Patriotism. War Catastrophes 240
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CHAPTER XII
BY
UNSEEN BEINGS
Sensitive
People. A Remarkable Case. The Vision Investigated. Writing a Book 284
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CHAPTER XIII
OUR
ATTITUDE TOWARDS THESE
INFLUENCES
Protective
Shells. The Etheric Shell. Shields. A Warning. The Astral Shell.
The
Mental Shell. The Best Use of a Shell. A Beautiful Story. The
THIRD
SECTION
HOW
WE INFLUENCE OURSELVES
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CHAPTER XIV
BY
OUR HABITS
Food.
Intoxicating Liquors. Flesh-Eating. Smoking. Drugs. Cleanliness.
Occult
Hygiene. Physical Exercise.
Thoroughness.
Novel and Newspaper-Reading. Speech. Meditation 355
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CHAPTER XV
BY
PHYSICAL ENVIRONMENT
Houses.
Streets. Pictures. Curiosities. Books. Furnishing. Jewellery. Talismans.
Things
We Carry About. Money. Clothing 390
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CHAPTER XVI
BY
MENTAL CONDITIONS
Thought-forms.
Moods. Recurrent Thoughts. Falling in Love. Unset Blossom.
Occultism
and Marriage. Changes in Consciousness 422
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CHAPTER XVII
BY
OUR AMUSEMENTS
Children's
Games. Sport. Fishing. Horse. Racing. Gambling. The Theatre 438
FOURTH
SECTION
HOW
WE INFLUENCE OTHERS
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CHAPTER XVIII
BY
WHAT WE ARE
The
Interrelation of Men. The Duty of Happiness Peace 453
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CHAPTER XIX
BY
WHAT WE THINK
The
Realm of Thought. The Effects of Thought. The Thought-Wave. The
Thought-Form.
What We can do by Thought. The Responsibility of Thought 471
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CHAPTER XX
BY
WHAT WE DO
Work
for the Poor. The Force of the Master. The Manufacture of Talismans.
Varieties
of Talismans. Demagnetisation. Do Little Things Well. Writing a
Letter.
Work during Sleep 501
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CHAPTER XXI
BY
COLLECTIVE THOUGHT
Church
Hymns and Rituals. Congregations. Monasteries. Effect upon the
Dead.
Saving Souls. People who Dislike Ceremonies. Theosophical Meetings 531
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CHAPTER XXII
BY
OUR RELATION TO CHILDREN
The
Duty of Parents. The Plasticity of Childhood. The Influence of Parents.
The
Aura of a Child. Carelessness of Parents. The Necessity for Love.
Religious
Training. Physical Training 552
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CHAPTER XXIII
BY
OUR RELATION TO LOWER KINGDOMS
Domestic
Animals. Birds. Plants. Nature-Spirits. Inanimate Surroundings. A
Ship.
Machines. Unlucky Ships. Stone used in Building. Sea-Sickness 584
FIFTH
SECTION
CONCLUSION
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CHAPTER XXIV
THE
RESULTS OF THE KNOWLEDGE
A
Summary. The Future 605
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CHAPTER XXV
THE
WAY TO SEERSHIP 615
FIRST
SECTION
INTRODUCTORY
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CHAPTER I
OCCULTISM
THE
term ` occultism' is one which has been much misunderstood. In the mind of
the
ignorant it was, even recently, synonymous with magic, and its students were
supposed
to be practitioners of the black art, veiled in flowing robes of
scarlet
covered with cabalistic signs, sitting amidst uncanny surroundings with
a
black cat as a familiar, compounding unholy decoctions by the aid of satanic
evocations.
Even
now, and among those whom education has raised above such superstition as
this,
there still remains a good deal of misapprehension. For them its
derivation
from the Latin word occultus ought to explain at once that it is the
science
of the hidden; but they often regard it contemptuously as nonsensical
and
unpractical, as connected with dreams and fortune-telling, with hysteria and
necromancy,
with the search for the elixir of life and the philosopher' s stone.
Students,
who should know better, perpetually speak as though the hidden side of
things
were intentionally concealed, as though knowledge with regard to it ought
to
be in the hands of all men, but was being deliberately withheld by the
caprice
or selfishness of a few; whereas the fact is that nothing is or can be
hidden
from us except by our own limitations, and that for every man as he
evolves
the world grows wider and wider, because he is able to see more and more
of
its grandeur and its loveliness.
As
an objection against this statement may be cited the well-known fact that, at
each
of the great Initiations which mark the advance of the neophyte along the
path
of the higher progress, a definite new block of knowledge is given to him.
That
is quite true, but the knowledge can be given only because the recipient
has
evolved to the point at which he can grasp it. It is no more being withheld
from
ordinary humanity than the knowledge of conic sections is being withheld
from
the child who is still struggling with the multiplication-table. When that
child
reaches the level at which he can comprehend quadratic equations, the
teacher
is ready to explain to him the rules which govern them. In exactly the
same
way, when a man has qualified himself for the reception of the information
given
at a certain Initiation, he is forthwith initiated. But the only way to
attain
the capacity to imbibe that higher knowledge is to begin by trying to
understand
our present conditions, and to order our lives intelligently in view
of
the facts which we find.
Occultism,
then, is the study of the hidden side of nature; or rather, it is the
study
of the whole of nature, instead of only that small part of it which comes
under
the investigation of modern science. At the present stage of our
development,
by far the greater part of nature is entirely unknown to the
majority
of mankind, because they have as yet unfolded only a minute proportion
of
the faculties which they possess. The ordinary man, therefore, is basing his
philosophy
(so far as he has any) upon entirely inadequate grounds; his actions
are
moulded more or less in accordance with the few laws of nature which he
knows,
and consequently both his theory of life and his daily practice are
necessarily
inaccurate. The occultist adopts a far more comprehensive view; he
takes
into account those forces of the higher worlds whose action is hidden from
the
materialist, and so he moulds his life in obedience to the entire code of
Nature'
s laws, instead of only by occasional reference to a minute fragment of
it.
It
is difficult for the man who knows nothing of the occult to realise how
great,
how serious and how all-pervading are his own limitations. The only way
in
which we can adequately symbolise them is to suppose some form of
consciousness
still more limited than our own, and to think in what directions
it
would differ from ours. Suppose it were possible that a consciousness could
exist
capable of appreciating only solid matter-- the liquid and gaseous forms
of
matter being to it as entirely non-existent as are the etheric and astral and
mental
forms to the ordinary man. We can readily see how for such a
consciousness
any adequate conception of the world in which we live would be
impossible.
Solid matter, which alone could be perceived by it, would constantly
be
found to be undergoing serious modifications, about which no rational theory
could
be formed.
For
example, whenever a shower of rain took place, the solid matter of the earth
would
undergo change; it would in many cases become both softer and heavier when
charged
with moisture, but the reason of such a change would necessarily be
wholly
incomprehensible to the consciousness which we are supposing. The wind
might
lift clouds of sand and transfer them from one place to another; but such
motion
of solid matter would be entirely inexplicable to one who had no
conception
of the existence of the air. Without considering more examples of
what
is already so obvious, we see clearly how hopelessly inadequate would be
such
an idea of the world as would be attainable by this consciousness limited
to
solid matter. What we do not realise so readily, however, is that our present
consciousness
falls just as far short of that of the developed man as this
supposed
consciousness would fall short of that which we now possess.
Theosophical
students are at least theoretically acquainted with the idea that
to
everything there is a hidden side; and they also know that in the great
majority
of cases this unseen side is of far greater importance than that which
is
visible to the physical eye.
To
put the same idea from another point of view, the senses, by means of which
we
obtain all our information about external objects, are as yet imperfectly
developed;
therefore the information obtained is partial. What we see in the
world
about us is by no means all that there is to see, and a man who will take
the
trouble to cultivate his senses will find that, in proportion as he
succeeds,
life will become fuller and richer for him. For the lover of nature,
of
art, of music, a vast field of incredibly intensified and exalted pleasure
lies
close at hand, if he will fit himself to enter upon it. Above all, for the
lover
of his fellow-man there is the possibility of far more intimate
comprehension
and therefore far wider usefulness.
We
are only halfway up the ladder of evolution at present, and so our senses are
only
half-evolved. But it is possible for us to hurry up that ladder-- possible,
by
hard work, to make our senses now what all men' s senses will be in the
distant
future. The man who has succeeded in doing this is often called a seer
or
a clairvoyant.
A
fine word that-- clairvoyant. It means ` one who sees clearly' ; but it has
been
horribly misused and degraded, so that people associate it with all sorts
of
trickery and imposture-- with gypsies who for sixpence will tell a
maid-servant
what is the colour of the hair of the duke who is coming to marry
her,
or with establishments in
the
future is supposed to be lifted for more aristocratic clients.
All
this is irregular and unscientific; in many cases it is mere charlatanry and
bare-faced
robbery. But not always; to foresee the future up to a certain point
is
a possibility; it can be done, and it has been done, scores of times; and
some
of these irregular practitioners unquestionably do at times possess flashes
of
higher vision, though usually they cannot depend upon having them when they
want
them.
But
behind all this vagueness there is a bed-rock of fact-- something which can
be
approached rationally and studied scientifically. It is as the result of many
years
of such study and experiment that I state emphatically what I have written
above--
that it is possible for men to develop their senses until they can see
much
more of this wonderful and beautiful world in which we live than is ever
suspected
by the untrained average man, who lives contentedly in the midst of
Cimmerean
darkness and calls it light.
Two
thousand and five hundred years ago the greatest of Indian teachers, Gautama
the
BUDDHA, said to His disciples: ` Do not complain and cry and pray, but open
your
eyes and see. The truth is all about you, if you will only take the bandage
from
your eyes and look; and it is so wonderful, so beautiful, so far beyond
anything
that men have ever dreamt of or prayed for, and it is for ever and for
ever.'
He
assuredly meant far more than this of which I am writing now, but this is a
step
on the way towards that glorious goal of perfect realisation. If it does
not
yet tell us quite all the truth, at any rate it gives us a good deal of it.
It
removes for us a host of common misconceptions, and clears up for us many
points
which are considered as mysteries or problems by those who are as yet
uninstructed
in this lore. It shows that all these things were mysteries and
problems
to us only because heretofore we saw so small a part of the facts,
because
we were looking at the various matters from below, and as isolated and
unconnected
fragments, instead of rising above them to a standpoint whence they
are
comprehensible as parts of a mighty whole. It settles in a moment many
questions
which have been much disputed-- such, for example, as that of the
continued
existence of man after death. It explains many of the strange things
which
the Churches tell us; it dispels our ignorance and removes our fear of the
unknown
by supplying us with a rational and orderly scheme.
Besides
all this, it opens up a new world to us in regard to our every-day
life--
a new world which is yet a part of the old. It shows us that, as I began
by
saying, there is a hidden side to everything, and that our most ordinary
actions
often produce results of which without this study we should never have
known.
By it we understand the rationale of what is commonly called telepathy,
for
we see that just as there are waves of heat or light or electricity, so
there
are waves produced by thought, though they are in a finer type of matter
than
the others, and therefore not perceptible to our physical senses. By
studying
these vibrations we see how thought acts, and we learn that it is a
tremendous
power for good or for ill-- a power which we are all of us
unconsciously
wielding to some extent-- which we can use a hundredfold more
effectively
when we comprehend its workings. Further investigation reveals to us
the
method of formation of what are called ` thought-forms,' and indicates how
these
can be usefully employed both for ourselves and for others in a dozen
different
ways.
The
occultist studies carefully all these unseen effects, and consequently knows
much
more fully than other men the result of what he is doing. He has more
information
about life than others have, and he exercises his common-sense by
modifying
his life in accordance with what he knows. In many ways we live
differently
now from our forefathers in mediaeval times, because we know more
than
they did. We have discovered certain laws of hygiene; wise men live
according
to that knowledge, and therefore the average length of life is
decidedly
greater now than it was in the Middle Ages. There are still some who
are
foolish or ignorant, who either do not know the laws of health or are
careless
about keeping them; they think that because disease-germs are invisible
to
them, they are therefore of no importance; they don't believe in new ideas.
Those
are the people who suffer first when an epidemic disease arrives, or some
unusual
strain is put upon the community. They suffer unnecessarily, because
they
are behind the times. But they injure not only themselves by their neglect;
the
conditions caused by their ignorance or carelessness often bring infection
into
a district which might otherwise be free from it.
The
matter of which I am writing is precisely the same thing at a different
level.
The microscope revealed disease-germs; the intelligent man profited by
the
discovery, and rearranged his life, while the unintelligent man paid no
attention,
but went on as before. Clairvoyance reveals thought-force and many
other
previously unsuspected powers; once more the intelligent man profits by
this
discovery, and rearranges his life accordingly. Once more also the
unintelligent
man takes no heed of the new discoveries; once more he thinks that
what
he cannot see can have no importance for him; once more he continues to
suffer
quite unnecessarily, because he is behind the times.
Not
only does he often suffer positive pain, but he also misses so much of the
pleasure
of life. To painting, to music, to poetry, to literature, to religious
ceremonies,
to the beauties of nature there is always a hidden side-- a fulness,
a
completeness beyond the mere physical; and the man who can see or sense this
has
at his command a wealth of enjoyment far beyond the comprehension of the man
who
passes through it all with unopened perceptions.
The
perceptions exist in every human being, though as yet undeveloped in most.
To
unfold them means generally a good deal of time and hard work, but it is
exceedingly
well worth while. Only let no man undertake the effort unless his
motives
are absolutely pure and unselfish, for he who seeks wider faculty for
any
but the most exalted purposes will bring upon himself a curse and not a
blessing.
But
the man of affairs, who has no time to spare for a sustained effort to
evolve
nascent powers within himself, is not thereby debarred from sharing in
some
at least of the benefits derived from occult study, any more than the man
who
possesses no microscope is thereby prevented from living hygienically. The
latter
has not seen the disease-germs, but from the testimony of the specialist
he
knows that they exist, and he knows how to guard himself from them. Just in
the
same way a man who has as yet no dawning of clairvoyant vision may study the
writings
of those who have gained it, and in this way profit by the results of
their
labour. True, he cannot yet see all the glory and the beauty which are
hidden
from us by the imperfection of our senses; but he can readily learn how
to
avoid the unseen evil, and how to set in motion the unseen forces of good.
So,
long before he actually sees them, he can conclusively prove to himself
their
existence, just as the man who drives an electric motor proves to himself
the
existence of electricity, though he has never seen it and does not in the
least
know what it is.
We
must try to understand as much as we can of the world in which we live. We
must
not fall behind in the march of evolution, we must not let ourselves be
anachronisms,
for lack of interest in these new discoveries, which yet are only
the
presentation from a new point of view of the most archaic wisdom. “Knowledge
is
power” in this case as in every other; in this case, as in every other, to
secure
the best results, the glorious trinity of power, wisdom and love must
ever
go hand in hand.
There
is a difference, however, between theoretical acquaintance and actual
realisation;
and I have thought that it might help students somewhat towards the
grasp
of the realities to have a description of the unseen side of some of the
simple
transactions of every day life as they appear to clairvoyant vision-- to
one,
let us say, who has developed within himself the power of perception
through
the astral, mental and causal bodies. Their appearance as seen by means
of
the intuitional vehicle is infinitely grander and more effective still, but
so
entirely inexpressible that it seems useless to say anything about it; for on
that
level all experience is within the man instead of without, and the glory
and
the beauty of it is no longer something which he watches with interest, but
something
which he feels in his inmost heart, because it is part of himself.
The
object of this book is to give some hints as to the inner side of the world
as
a whole and of our daily life. We shall consider this latter in three
divisions,
which will resemble the conjugations of our youthful days in being
passive,
middle and active respectively-- how we are influenced, how we
influence
ourselves, and how we influence others; and we shall conclude by
observing
a few of the results which must inevitably flow from a wider diffusion
of
this knowledge as to the realities of existence.
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CHAPTER II
THE
WORLD AS A WHOLE
A
WIDER OUTLOOK
WHEN
we look upon the world around us, we cannot hide from ourselves the
existence
of a vast amount of sorrow and suffering. True, much of it is
obviously
the fault of the sufferers, and might easily be avoided by the
exercise
of a little self-control and common-sense; but there is also much which
is
not immediately self-induced, but undoubtedly comes from without. It often
seems
as though evil triumphs, as though justice fails in the midst of the storm
and
stress of the roaring confusion of life, and because of this many despair of
the
ultimate result, and doubt whether there is in truth any plan of definite
progress
behind all this bewildering chaos.
It
is all a question of the point of view; the man who is himself in the thick
of
the fight cannot judge of the plan of the general or the progress of the
conflict.
To understand the battle as a whole, one must withdraw from the tumult
and
look down upon the field from above. In exactly the same way, to comprehend
the
plan of the battle of life we must withdraw ourselves from it for the time,
and
in thought look down upon it from above-- from the point of view not of the
body
which perishes but of the soul which lives for ever. We must take into
account
not only the small part of life which our physical eyes can see, but the
vast
totality of which at present so much is invisible to us.
Until
that has been done we are in the position of a man looking from beneath at
the
under side of some huge piece of elaborate tapestry which is in process of
being
woven. The whole thing is to us but a confused medley of varied colour, of
ragged
hanging ends, without order or beauty, and we are unable to conceive what
all
this mad clatter of machinery can be doing; but when through our knowledge
of
the hidden side of nature we are able to look down from above, the pattern
begins
to unfold itself before our eyes, and the apparent chaos shows itself as
orderly
progress.
A
more forcible analogy may be obtained by contemplating in imagination the view
of
life which would present itself to some tiny microbe whirled down by a
resistless
flood, such as that which rushes through the gorge of
Boiling,
foaming, swirling, the force of that stream is so tremendous that its
centre
is many feet higher than its sides. The microbe on the surface of such a
torrent
must be dashed hither and thither wildly amidst the foam, sometimes
thrown
high in air, sometimes whirled backwards in an eddy, unable to see the
banks
between which he is passing, having every sense occupied in the mad
struggle
to keep himself somehow above water. To him that strife and stress is
all
the world of which he knows; how can he tell whither the stream is going?
But
the man who stands on the bank, looking down on it all, can see that all
this
bewildering tumult is merely superficial, and that the one fact of real
importance
is the steady onward sweep of those millions of tons of water
downwards
towards the sea. If we can furthermore suppose the microbe to have
some
idea of progress, and to identify it with forward motion, he might well be
dismayed
when he found himself hurled aside or borne backwards by an eddy; while
the
spectator could see that the apparent backward movement was but a delusion,
since
even the little eddies were all being swept onwards with the rest. It is
no
exaggeration to say that as is the knowledge of the microbe struggling in the
stream
to that of the man looking down upon it, so is the comprehension of life
possessed
by the man in the world to that of one who knows its hidden side.
Best
of all, though not so easy to follow because of the effort of imagination
involved,
is the parable offered to us by Mr. Hinton in his Scientific Romances.
For
purposes connected with his argument Mr. Hinton supposes the construction of
a
large vertical wooden frame, from top to bottom of which are tightly stretched
a
multitude of threads at all sorts of angles. If then a sheet of paper be
inserted
horizontally in the frame so that these threads pass through it, it is
obvious
that each thread will make a minute hole in the paper. If then the frame
as
a whole be moved slowly upwards, but the paper kept still, various effects
will
be produced. When a thread is perpendicular it will slip through its hole
without
difficulty, but when a thread is fixed at an angle it will cut a slit in
the
paper as the frame moves.
Suppose
instead of a sheet of paper we have a thin sheet of wax, and let the wax
be
sufficiently viscous to close up behind the moving thread. Then instead of a
number
of slits we shall have a number of moving holes, and to a sight which
cannot
see the threads that cause them, the movement of these holes will
necessarily
appear irregular and inexplicable. Some will approach one another,
some
will recede; various patterns and combinations will be formed and dissolve;
all
depending upon the arrangement of the invisible threads. Now, by a still
more
daring flight of fancy, think not of the holes but of the minute sections
of
thread for the moment filling them, and imagine those sections as conscious
atoms.
They think of themselves as separate entities, they find themselves
moving
without their own volition in what seems a maze of inextricable
confusion,
and this bewildering dance is life as they know it. Yet all this
apparent
complexity and aimless motion is in fact a delusion caused by the
limitation
of the consciousness of those atoms, for only one extremely simple
movement
is really taking place-- the steady upward motion of the frame as a
whole.
But the atom can never comprehend that until it realises that it is not a
separated
fragment, but part of a thread.
`
Which things are an allegory,' and a very beautiful one; for the threads are
ourselves--
our true selves, our souls-- and the atoms represent us in this
earthly
life. So long as we confine our consciousness to the atom, and look on
life
only from this earthly standpoint, we can never understand what is
happening
in the world. But if we will raise our consciousness to the point of
view
of the soul, the thread of which the bodily life is only a minute part and
a
temporary expression, we shall then see that there is a splendid simplicity at
the
back of all the complexity, a unity behind all the diversity. The complexity
and
the diversity are illusions produced by our limitations; the simplicity and
the
unity are real.
The
world in which we live has a hidden side to it, for the conception of it in
the
mind of the ordinary man in the street is utterly imperfect along three
quite
distinct lines. First, it has an extension at its own level which he is at
present
quite incapable of appreciating; secondly, it has a higher side which is
too
refined for his undeveloped perceptions; thirdly, it has a meaning and a
purpose
of which he usually has not the faintest glimpse. To say that we do not
see
the whole of our world is to state the case far too feebly; what we see is
an
absolutely insignificant part of it, beautiful though that part may be. And
just
as the additional extension is infinite compared to our idea of space, and
cannot
be expressed in its terms, so are the scope and the splendour of the
whole
infinitely greater than any conception that can possibly be formed of it
here,
and they cannot be expressed in any terms of that part of the world which
we
know.
THE
FOURTH DIMENSION
The
extension spoken of under the first head has often been called the fourth
dimension.
Many writers have scoffed at this and denied its existence, yet for
all
that it remains a fact that our physical world is in truth a world of many
dimensions,
and that every object in it has an extension, however minute, in a
direction
which is unthinkable to us at our present stage of mental evolution.
When
we develop astral senses we are brought so much more directly into contact
with
this extension that our minds are more or less forced into recognition of
it,
and the more intelligent gradually grow to understand it; though there are
those
of less intellectual growth who, even after death and in the astral world,
cling
desperately to their accustomed limitations and adopt most extraordinary
and
irrational hypotheses to avoid admitting the existence of the higher life
which
they so greatly fear.
Because
the easiest way for most people to arrive at a realisation of the fourth
dimension
of space is to develop within themselves the power of astral sight,
many
persons have come to suppose that the fourth dimension is an exclusive
appanage
of the astral world. A little thought will show that this cannot be so.
Fundamentally
there is only one kind of matter existing in the universe,
although
we call it physical, astral or mental according to the extent of its
subdivision
and the rapidity of its vibration. Consequently the dimensions of
space--
if they exist at all-- exist independently of the matter which lies
within
them; and whether that space has three dimensions or four or more, all
the
matter within it exists subject to those conditions, whether we are able to
appreciate
them or not.
It
may perhaps help us a little in trying to understand this matter if we
realise
that what we call space is a limitation of consciousness, and that there
is
a higher level at which a sufficiently developed consciousness is entirely
free
from this. We may invest this higher consciousness with the power of
expression
in any number of directions, and may then assume that each descent
into
a denser world of matter imposes upon it an additional limitation, and
shuts
off the perception of one of these directions. We may suppose that by the
time
the consciousness has descended as far as the mental world only five of
these
directions remain to it; that when it descends or moves outward once more
to
the astral level it loses yet one more of its powers, and so is limited to
the
conception of four dimensions; then the further descent or outward movement
which
brings it into the physical world cuts off from it the possibility of
grasping
even that fourth dimension, and so we find ourselves confined to the
three
with which we are familiar.
Looking
at it from this point of view, it is clear that the conditions of the
universe
have remained unaffected, though our power of appreciating them has
changed;
so that, although it is true that when our consciousness is functioning
through
astral matter we are able to appreciate a fourth dimension which
normally
is hidden from us while we work through the physical brain, we must not
therefore
make the mistake of thinking that the fourth dimension belongs to the
astral
world only and that physical matter exists somehow in a different kind of
space
from the astral or mental. Such a suggestion is shown to be unjustified by
the
fact that it is possible for a man using his physical brain to attain by
means
of practice the power of comprehending some of the four-dimensional forms.
I
do not wish here to take up fully the consideration of this fascinating
subject;
those who would follow it further should apply themselves to the works
of
Mr. C. H. Hinton-- Scientific Romances and The Fourth Dimension -- the former
book
for all the interesting possibilities connected with this study, and the
latter
for the means whereby the mind can realise the fourth dimension as a
fact.
For our present purposes it is necessary only to indicate that here is an
aspect
or extension of our world which, though utterly unknown to the vast
majority
of men, requires to be studied and to be taken into consideration by
those
who wish to understand the whole of life instead of only a tiny fragment
of
it.
THE
HIGHER WORLD
There
is a hidden side to our physical world in a second and higher sense which
is
well known to all students of Theosophy, for many lectures have been
delivered
and many books have been written in the endeavour to describe the
astral
and mental worlds-- the unseen realm which interpenetrates that with
which
we are all familiar, and forms by far the most important part of it. A
good
deal of information about this higher aspect of our world has been given in
the
fifth and the sixth of the Theosophical manuals, and in my own book upon The
Other
Side of Death; so here I need do no more than make a short general
statement
for the benefit of any reader who has not yet met with those works.
Modern
physicists tell us that matter is interpenetrated by aether-- a
hypothetical
substance which they endow with many apparently contradictory
qualities.
The occultist knows that there are many varieties of this finer
interpenetrative
matter, and that some of the qualities attributed to it by the
scientific
men belong not to it at all, but to the primordial substance of which
it
is the negation. I do not wish here to turn aside from the object of this
book
to give a lengthy disquisition upon the qualities of aether; those who wish
to
study this subject may be referred to the book upon Occult Chemistry , p. 93
.
Here it must suffice to say that the true aether of space exists, just as
scientific
men have supposed, and possesses most of the curious contradictory
qualities
ascribed to it. It is not, however, of that aether itself, but of
matter
built up out of the bubbles in it, that the inner worlds of finer matter
are
built, of which we have spoken just now. That with which we are concerned at
the
moment is the fact that all the matter visible to us is interpenetrated not
only
by aether, but also by various kinds of finer matter, and that of this
finer
matter there are many degrees.
To
the type which is nearest to the physical world occult students have given
the
name astral matter; the kind next above that has been called mental, because
out
of its texture is built that mechanism of consciousness which is commonly
called
the mind in man; and there are other types finer still, with which for
the
moment we are not concerned. Every portion of space with which we have to do
must
be thought of as containing all these different kinds of matter. It is
practically
a scientific postulate that even in the densest forms of matter no
two
particles ever touch one another, but each floats alone in its field of
aether,
like a sun in space. Just in the same way each particle of the physical
aether
floats in a sea of astral matter, and each astral particle in turn floats
in
a mental ocean; so that all these additional worlds need no more space than
does
this fragment which we know, for in truth they are all parts of one and the
same
world.
Man
has within himself matter of these finer grades, and by learning to focus
his
consciousness in it, instead of only in his physical brain, he may become
cognisant
of these inner and higher parts of the world, and acquire much
knowledge
of the deepest interest and value. The nature of this unseen world,
its
scenery, its inhabitants, its possibilities, are described in the works
above
mentioned. It is the existence of these higher realms of nature that makes
occultism
possible; and few indeed are the departments of life in which their
influence
has not to be considered. From the cradle to the grave we are in close
relation
with them during what we call our waking life; during sleep and after
we
are even more intimately connected with them, for our existence is then
almost
confined to them.
Perhaps
the greatest of the many fundamental changes which are inevitable for
the
man who studies the facts of life is that which is produced in his attitude
towards
death. This matter has been fully treated elsewhere; here I need state
only
that the knowledge of the truth about death robs it of all its terror and
much
of its sorrow, and enables us to see it in its true proportion and to
understand
its place in the scheme of our evolution. It is perfectly possible to
learn
to know about all these things instead of accepting beliefs blindly at
secondhand,
as most people do; and knowledge means power, security and
happiness.
THE
PURPOSE OF LIFE
The
third aspect of our world which is hidden from the majority is the plan and
purpose
of existence. Most men seem to muddle through life without any
discernible
object, except possibly the purely physical struggle to make money
or
attain power, because they vaguely think that these things will bring them
happiness.
They have no definite theory as to why they are here, nor any
certainty
as to the future that awaits them. They have not even realised that
they
are souls and not bodies, and that as such their development is part of a
mighty
scheme of cosmic evolution.
When
once this grandest of truths has dawned upon a man' s horizon there comes
over
him that change which occidental religion calls conversion-- a fine word
which
has been sadly degraded by improper associations, for it has often been
used
to signify nothing more than a crisis of emotion hypnotically induced by
the
surging waves of excited feeling radiated by a half-maddened crowd. Its true
meaning
is exactly what its derivation implies, ` a turning together with' .
Before
it, the man, unaware of the stupendous current of evolution, has, under
the
delusion of selfishness, been fighting against it; but the moment that the
magnificence
of the Divine Plan bursts upon his astonished sight there is no
other
possibility for him but to throw all his energies into the effort to
promote
its fulfilment, to ` turn and go together with' that splendid stream of
the
love and the wisdom of God.
His
one object then is to qualify himself to help the world, and all his
thoughts
and actions are directed towards that aim. He may forget for the moment
under
the stress of temptation, but the oblivion can be only temporary; and this
is
the meaning of the ecclesiastical dogma that the elect can never finally fail
.
Discrimination has come to him, the opening of the doors of the mind, to adopt
the
terms employed for this change in older faiths; he knows now what is real
and
what is unreal, what is worth gaining and what is valueless. He lives as an
immortal
soul who is a Spark of the Divine Fire, instead of as one of the beasts
that
perish-- to use a biblical phrase which, however, is entirely incorrect,
inasmuch
as the beasts do not perish, except in the sense of their being
reabsorbed
into their group-soul.
Most
truly for this man an aspect of life has been displayed which erst was
hidden
from his eyes. It would even be truer to say that now for the first time
he
has really begun to live, while before he merely dragged out an inefficient
existence.
SECOND
SECTION
HOW
WE ARE INFLUENCED
-------
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CHAPTER III
BY
PLANETS
RADIATIONS
THE
first fact which it is necessary for us to realise is that everything is
radiating
influence on its surroundings, and these surroundings are all the
while
returning the compliment by pouring influence upon it in return. Literally
everything--
sun, moon, stars, angels, men, animals, trees, rocks-- everything
is
pouring out a ceaseless stream of vibrations, each of its own characteristic
type;
not in the physical world only, but in other and subtler worlds as well.
Our
physical senses can appreciate only a limited number of such radiations. We
readily
feel the heat poured forth by the sun or by a fire, but we are usually
not
conscious of the fact that we ourselves are constantly radiating heat; yet
if
we hold out a hand towards a radiometer the delicate instrument will respond
to
the heat imparted by that hand even at a distance of several feet, and will
begin
to revolve. We say that a rose has a scent and that a daisy has none; yet
the
daisy is throwing off particles just as much as the rose, only in the one
case
they happen to be perceptible to our senses, and in the other they are not.
From
early ages men have believed that the sun, the moon, the planets and the
stars
exercised a certain influence over human life. In the present day most
people
are content to laugh at such a belief, without knowing anything about it;
yet
anyone who will take the trouble to make a careful and impartial study of
astrology
will discover much that cannot be lightly thrown aside. He will meet
with
plenty of errors, no doubt, some of them ridiculous enough; but he will
also
find a proportion of accurate results which is far too large to be
reasonably
ascribed to coincidence. His investigations will convince him that
there
is unquestionably some foundation for the claims of the astrologers, while
at
the same time he cannot but observe that their systems are as yet far from
perfect.
When
we remember the enormous space that separates us from even the nearest of
the
planets, it is at once obvious that we must reject the idea that they can
exercise
upon us any physical action worth considering; and furthermore, if
there
were any such action, it would seem that its strength should depend less
upon
the position of the planet in the sky than upon its proximity to the
earth--
a factor which is not usually taken into account by astrologers. The
more
we contemplate the matter the less does it seem rational or possible to
suppose
that the planets can affect the earth or its inhabitants to any
appreciable
extent; yet the fact remains that a theory based upon this apparent
impossibility
often works out accurately. Perhaps the explanation may be found
along
the line that just as the movement of the hands of a clock shows the
passage
of time, though it does not cause it, so the motions of the planets
indicate
the prevalence of certain influences, but are in no way responsible for
them.
Let us see what light occult study throws upon this somewhat perplexing
subject.
THE
DEITY OF THE SOLAR SYSTEM
Occult
students regard the entire solar system in all its vast complexity as a
partial
manifestation of one great living Being, and all its parts as expressing
aspects
of Him. Many names have been given to Him; in our Theosophical
literature
He has often been described under the Gnostic title of the Logos--
the
Word that was in the beginning with God, and was God; but now we usually
speak
of Him as the Solar Deity. All the physical constituents of the solar
system--
the sun with its wonderful corona, all the planets with their
satellites,
their oceans, their atmospheres and the various aethers surrounding
them--
all these are collectively His physical body, the expression of Him in
the
physical realm.
In
the same way the collective astral worlds-- not only the astral worlds
belonging
to each of the physical planets, but also the purely astral planets of
all
the chains of the system (such, for example, as planets B and F of our
chain)--
make up His astral body, and the collective worlds of the mental realm
are
His mental body-- the vehicle through which He manifests Himself upon that
particular
level. Every atom of every world is a centre through which He is
conscious,
so that not only is it true that God is omnipresent, but also that
whatever
is is God.
Thus
we see that the old pantheistic conception was quite true, yet it is only a
part
of the truth, because while all nature in all its worlds is nothing but His
garment,
yet He Himself exists outside of and above all this in a stupendous
life
of which we can know nothing-- a life among other Rulers of other systems.
Just
as all our lives are lived literally within Him and are in truth a part of
His,
so His life and that of the Solar Deities of countless other systems are a
part
of a still greater life of the Deity of the visible universe; and if there
be
in the depths of space yet other universes invisible to us, all of their
Deities
in turn must in the same way form part of One Great Consciousness which
includes
the whole.
DIFFERENT
TYPES OF MATTER
In
these ` bodies' of the Solar Deity on their various levels there are certain
different
classes or types of matter, which are fairly equally distributed over
the
whole system. I am not speaking here of our usual division of the worlds and
their
subsections-- a division which is made according to the density of the
matter,
so that in the physical world, for example, we have the solid, liquid,
gaseous,
etheric, super-etheric, sub-atomic and atomic conditions of matter--
all
of them physical, but differing in density. The types which I mean
constitute
a totally distinct series of cross-divisions, each of which contains
matter
in all its different conditions, so that if we denote the various types
by
numbers, we shall find solid, liquid and gaseous matter of the first type,
solid,
liquid and gaseous matter of the second type, and so on all the way
through.
These
types of matter are as thoroughly intermingled as are the constituents of
our
atmosphere. Conceive a room filled with air; any decided vibration
communicated
to the air, such as a sound, for example, would be perceptible in
every
part of the room. Suppose that it were possible to produce some kind of
undulation
which should affect the oxygen alone without disturbing the nitrogen,
that
undulation would still be felt in every part of the room. If we allow that,
for
a moment, the proportion of oxygen might be greater in one part of the room
than
another, then the oscillation, though perceptible everywhere, would be
strongest
in that part. Just as the air in a room is composed (principally) of
oxygen
and nitrogen, so is the matter of the solar system composed of these
different
types; and just as a wave (if there could be such a thing) which
affected
only the oxygen or only the nitrogen would nevertheless be felt in all
parts
of the room, so a movement or modification which affects only one of these
types
produces an effect throughout the entire solar system, though it may be
stronger
in one part than in another.
This
statement is true of all worlds, but for the sake of clearness let us for
the
moment confine our thought to one world only. Perhaps the idea is easiest to
follow
with regard to the astral. It has often been explained that in the astral
body
of man, matter belonging to each of the astral sub-sections is to be found,
and
that the proportion between the denser and the finer kinds shows how far
that
body is capable of responding to coarse or refined desires, and so is to
some
extent an indication of the degree to which the man has evolved himself.
Similarly
in each astral body there is matter of each of these types, and in
this
case the proportion between them will show the disposition of the man--
whether
he is devotional or philosophic, artistic or scientific, pragmatic or
mystic.
THE
LIVING CENTRES
Now
each of these types of matter in the astral body of the Solar Deity is to
some
extent a separate vehicle, and may be thought of as also the astral body of
a
subsidiary Deity or Minister, who is at the same time an aspect of the Deity
of
the system, a kind of ganglion or force-centre in Him. Indeed, if these types
differ
among themselves, it is because the matter composing them originally came
forth
through these different living Centres, and the matter of each type is
still
the special vehicle and expression of the subsidiary Deity through whom it
came,
so that the slightest thought, movement or alteration of any kind in Him
is
instantly reflected in some way or other in all the matter of the
corresponding
type. Naturally each such type of matter has its own special
affinities,
and is capable of vibrating under influences which may probably
evoke
no response from the other types.
Since
every man has within himself matter of all these types, it is obvious that
any
modification in or action of any one of these great living Centres must to
some
degree affect all beings in the system. The extent to which any particular
person
is so affected depends upon the proportion of the type of matter acted
upon
which he happens to have in his astral body. Consequently we find different
types
of men as of matter, and by reason of their constitution, by the very
composition
of their astral bodies, some of them are more susceptible to one
influence,
some to another.
The
types are seven, and astrologers have often given to them the names of
certain
of the planets. Each type is divided into seven sub-types, because each
`
planet' may be either practically uninfluenced, or it may be affected
predominantly
by any one of the other six. In addition to the forty-nine
definite
sub-types thus obtained, there are any number of possible permutations
and
combinations of influences, often so complicated that it is no easy matter
to
follow them. Nevertheless, this gives us a certain system of classification,
according
to which we can arrange not only human beings, but also the animal,
vegetable
and mineral kingdoms, and the elemental essence which precedes them in
evolution.
Everything
in the solar system belongs to one or other of these seven great
streams,
because it has come out through one or other of these great
Force-Centres,
to which therefore it belongs in essence, although it must
inevitably
be affected more or less by the others also. This gives each man,
each
animal, each plant, each mineral a certain fundamental characteristic which
never
changes-- sometimes symbolised as his note, his colour or his ray.
This
characteristic is permanent not only through one chain-period, but through
the
whole planetary scheme, so that the life which manifests through elemental
essence
of type A will in the due course of its evolution ensoul successively
minerals,
plants, and animals of type A; and when its group-soul breaks up into
units
and receives the Third Outpouring, the human beings which are the result
of
its evolution will be men of type A and no other, and under normal conditions
will
continue so all through their development until they grow into Adepts of
type
A.
In
the earlier days of Theosophical study we were under the impression that this
plan
was carried out consistently to the very end, and that these Adepts
rejoined
the Solar Deity through the same subsidiary Deity or Minister through
whom
they originally came forth. Further research shows that this thought
requires
modification. We find that bands of egos of many different types join
themselves
together for a common object.
For
example, in the investigations connected primarily with the lives of Alcyone
it
was found that certain bands of egos circled round the various Masters, and
came
closer and closer to Them as time went on. One by one, as they became fit
for
it, these egos reached the stage at which they were accepted as pupils or
apprentices
by one or other of the Masters. To become truly a pupil of a Master
means
entering into relations with Him whose intimacy is far beyond any tie of
which
we know on earth. It means a degree of union with Him which no words can
fully
express, although at the same time a pupil retains absolutely his own
individuality
and his own initiative.
In
this way each Master becomes a centre of what may be truly described as a
great
organism, since his pupils are veritably members of Him. When we realise
that
He Himself is in just the same way a Member of some still greater Master we
arrive
at a conception of a mighty. organism which is in a very real sense one,
although
built up of thousands of perfectly distinct egos.
Such
an organism is the Heavenly Man who emerges as the result of the evolution
of
each great root-race. In Him, as in an earthly man, are seven great centres,
each
of which is a mighty Adept; and the Manu and the Bodhisattva occupy in this
great
organism the place of the brain and the heart centres respectively. Round
Them--
and yet not round Them, but in Them and part of Them, although so fully
and
gloriously ourselves-- shall we, Their servants, be; and this great figure
in
its totality represents the flower of that particular race, and includes all
who
have attained Adeptship through it. Each root-race is thus represented at
its
close by one of these Heavenly Men; and They, these splendid totalities,
will,
as Their next stage in evolution, become Ministers Themselves of some
future
Solar Deity. Yet each one of these contains within Himself men of all
possible
types, so that each of these future Ministers is in truth a
representative
not of one line but of all lines.
When
looked at from a sufficiently high level the whole solar system is seen to
consist
of these great living Centres or Ministers, and the types of matter
through
which each is expressing Himself. Let me repeat here for the sake of
clearness,
what I wrote some time ago on this subject in The Inner Life, vol. i,
page
217:
Each
of these great living Centres has a sort of orderly periodic change or
motion
of his own, corresponding perhaps on some infinitely higher level to the
regular
beating of the human heart, or to the inspiration and expiration of the
breath.
Some of these periodic changes are more rapid than others, so that a
complicated
series of effects is produced; and it has been observed that the
movements
of the physical planets in their relation to one another furnish a
clue
to the operation of these influences at any given moment. Each of these
Centres
has His special location or major focus within the body of the sun, and
a
minor exterior focus which is always marked by the position of a planet.
The
exact relation can hardly be made clear in our three-dimensional
phraseology;
but we may perhaps put it that each Centre has a field of influence
practically
co-extensive with a solar system; that if a section of this field
could
be taken it would be found to be elliptical; and that one of the foci of
each
ellipse would always be the sun, and the other would be the special planet
ruled
by that Minister. It is probable that, in the gradual condensation of the
original
glowing nebula from which the system was formed, the location of the
planets
was determined by the formation of vortices at these minor foci, they
being
auxiliary points of distribution of these influences-- ganglia, as it
were,
in the solar system.
It
must of course be understood that we are referring here not to the curious
astrological
theory which considers the sun himself as a planet, but to the real
planets
which revolve round him.
THEIR
INFLUENCE
The
influences belonging to these great types differ widely in quality, and one
way
in which this difference shows itself is in their action upon the living
elemental
essence both in man and around him. Be it ever remembered that this
dominance
is exerted in all worlds, not only in the astral, though we are just
now
confining ourselves to that for simplicity' s sake. These mysterious
agencies
may have, and indeed must have, other and more important lines of
action
not at present known to us; but this at least forces itself upon the
notice
of the observer, that each Centre produces its own special effect upon
the
manifold varieties of elemental essence.
One,
for example, will be found greatly to stimulate the activity and the
vitality
of those kinds of essence which specially appertain to the Centre
through
which it comes, while apparently checking and controlling others; the
sway
of another type will be seen to be strong over a quite different set of
essences
which belong to its Centre, while apparently not affecting the previous
set
in the least. There are all sorts of combinations and permutations of these
mystic
powers, the action of one of them being in some cases greatly intensified
and
in others almost neutralised by the presence of another.
Since
this elemental essence is vividly active in the astral and mental bodies
of
man, it is clear that any unusual excitation of any of these classes of that
essence--
any sudden increase in its activity-- must undoubtedly affect to some
extent
either his emotions or his mind, or both; and it is also obvious that
these
forces would work differently on different men, because of the varieties
of
essence entering into their composition.
These
influences neither exist nor are exercised for the sake of the man or with
any
reference to him, any more than the wind exists for the sake of the vessel
which
is helped or hindered by it; they are part of the play of cosmic forces of
whose
object we know nothing, though we may to some extent learn how to
calculate
upon them and to use them. Such energies in themselves are no more
good
nor evil than any other of the powers of nature: like electricity or any
other
great natural force they may be helpful or hurtful to us, according to the
use
that we make of them. Just as certain experiments are more likely to be
successful
if undertaken when the air is heavily charged with electricity, while
certain
others under such conditions will most probably fail, so an effort
involving
the use of the powers of our mental and emotional nature will more or
less
readily achieve its object according to the influences which predominate
when
it is made.
It
is of the utmost importance for us to understand that such pressure cannot
dominate
man' s will in the slightest degree; all it can do is in some cases to
make
it easier or more difficult for that will to act along certain lines. In no
case
can a man be swept away by it into any course of action without his own
consent,
though he may evidently be helped or hindered by it in any effort that
he
chances to be making. The really strong man has little need to trouble
himself
as to the agencies which happen to be in the ascendant, but for men of
weaker
will it may sometimes be worth while to know at what moment this or that
force
can most advantageously be applied. These factors may be put aside as a
negligible
quantity by the man of iron determination or by the student of true
occultism;
but since most men still allow themselves to be the helpless sport of
the
forces of desire, and have not yet developed anything worth calling a will
of
their own, their feebleness permits these influences to assume an importance
in
human life to which they have intrinsically no claim.
For
example, a certain variety of pressure may occasionally bring about a
condition
of affairs in which all forms of nervous excitement are considerably
intensified,
and there is consequently a general sense of irritability abroad.
That
condition cannot cause a quarrel between sensible people; but under such
circumstances
disputes arise far more readily than usual, even on the most
trifling
pretexts, and the large number of people who seem to be always on the
verge
of losing their tempers are likely to relinquish all control of themselves
on
even less than ordinary provocation. It may sometimes happen that such
influences,
playing on the smouldering discontent of ignorant jealousy, may fan
it
into an outburst of popular frenzy from which wide-spread disaster may ensue.
Even
in such a case as this we must guard ourselves against the fatal mistake of
supposing
the influence to be evil because man' s passions turn it to evil
effect.
The force itself is simply a wave of activity sent forth from one of the
Centres
of the Deity, and is in itself of the nature of an intensification of
certain
vibrations-- necessary perhaps to produce some far-reaching cosmic
effect.
The increased activity produced incidentally by its means in the astral
body
of a man offers him an opportunity of testing his power to manage his
vehicles;
and whether he succeeds or fails in this, it is still one of the
lessons
which help in his evolution. Karma may throw a man into certain
surroundings
or bring him under certain influences, but it can never force him
to
commit a crime, though it may so place him that it requires great
determination
on his part to avoid that crime. It is possible, therefore, for an
astrologer
to warn a man of the circumstances under which at a given time be
will
find himself, but any definite prophecy as to his action under those
circumstances
can only be based upon probabilities-- though we may readily
recognise
how nearly such prophecies become certainties in the case of the
ordinary
will-less man. From the extraordinary mixture of success and failure
which
characterise modern astrological predictions, it seems fairly certain that
the
practitioners, of this art are not fully acquainted with all the necessary
factors.
In a case into which only those factors enter which are already fairly
well
understood, success is achieved; but in cases where unrecognised factors
come
into play we have naturally more or less complete failure as the result.
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CHAPTER IV
BY
THE SUN
THE
HEAT OF THE SUN
THOSE
who are interested in astronomy will find the occult side of that science
one
of the most fascinating studies within our reach. Obviously it would be at
once
too recondite and too technical for inclusion in such a book as this, which
is
concerned more immediately with such of the unseen phenomena as affect us
practically
in our daily life; but the connection of the sun with that life is
so
intimate that it is necessary that a few words should be said about him.
The
whole solar system is truly the garment of its Deity, but the sun is His
veritable
epiphany-- the nearest that we can come in the physical realm to a
manifestation
of Him, the lens through which His power shines forth upon us.
Regarded
purely from the physical point of view, the sun is a vast mass of
glowing
matter at almost inconceivably high temperatures, and in a condition of
electrification
so intense as to be altogether beyond our experience.
Astronomers,
supposing his heat to be due merely to contraction, used to
calculate
how long he must have existed in the past, and how long it would be
possible
for him to maintain it in the future; and they found themselves unable
to
allow more than a few hundred thousand years either way, while the geologists
on
the other hand claim that on this earth alone we have evidence of processes
extending
over millions of years. The discovery of radium has upset the older
theories,
but even with its aid they have not yet risen to the simplicity of the
real
explanation of the difficulty.
One
can imagine some intelligent microbe living in or upon a human body and
arguing
about its temperature in precisely the same way. He might say that it
must
of course be a gradually cooling body, and he might calculate with
exactitude
that in so many hours or minutes it must reach a temperature that
would
render continued existence impossible for him. If he lived long enough,
however,
he would find that the human body did not cool, as according to his
theories
it should do, and no doubt this would seem to him very mysterious,
unless
and until he discovered that he was dealing not with a dying fire but
with
a living being, and that as long as the life remained the temperature would
not
sink. In exactly the same way if we realise that the sun is the physical
manifestation
of the Solar Deity, we shall see that the mighty life behind it
will
assuredly keep up its temperature, as long as may be necessary for the full
evolution
of the system.
THE
WILLOW-LEAVES
A
similar explanation offers us a solution of some of the other problems of
solar
physics. For example, the phenomena called from their shape the `
willow-leaves'
or ` rice-grains,' of which the photosphere of the sun is
practically
composed, have often puzzled exoteric students by the apparently
irreconcilable
characteristics which they present. From their position they can
be
nothing else than masses of glowing gas at an exceedingly high temperature,
and
therefore of great tenuity; yet though they must be far lighter than any
terrestrial
cloud, they never fail to maintain their peculiar shape, however
wildly
they may be tossed about in the very midst of storms of power so
tremendous
that they would instantly destroy the earth itself.
When
we realise that behind each of these strange objects there is a splendid
Life--
that each may be considered as the physical body of a great Angel-- we
comprehend
that it is that Life which holds them together and gives them their
wonderful
stability. To apply to them the term physical body may perhaps mislead
us,
because for us the life in the physical seems of so much importance and
occupies
so prominent a position in the present stage of our evolution. Madame
Blavatsky
has told us that we cannot truly describe them as solar inhabitants,
since
the Solar Beings will hardly place themselves in telescopic focus, but
that
they are the reservoirs of solar vital energy, themselves partaking of the
life
which they pour forth.
Let
us say rather that the willow-leaves are manifestations upon the physical
level
maintained by the solar Angels for a special purpose, at the cost of a
certain
sacrifice or limitation of their activities on the higher levels which
are
their normal habitat. Remembering that it is through these willow-leaves
that
the light, heat and vitality of the sun come to us, we may readily see that
the
object of this sacrifice is to bring down to the physical level certain
forces
which would otherwise remain unmanifested, and that these great Angels
are
acting as channels, as reflectors, as specialisers of divine power-- that
they
are in fact doing at cosmic levels and for a solar system what, if we are
wise
enough to use our privileges, we ourselves may do on a microscopical scale
in
our own little circle, as will be seen in a later chapter.
VITALITY
We
all know the feeling of cheerfulness and well-being which sunlight brings to
us,
but only students of occultism are fully aware of the reasons for that
sensation.
Just as the sun floods his system with light and heat, so does he
perpetually
pour out into it another force as yet unsuspected by modern
science--
a force to which has been given the name ` vitality' . This is
radiated
on all levels, and manifests itself in each realm-- physical,
emotional,
mental and the rest-- but we are specially concerned for the moment
with
its appearance in the lowest, where it enters some of the physical atoms,
immensely
increases their activity, and makes them animated and glowing.
We
must not confuse this force with electricity, though it in some ways
resembles
it. The Deity sends forth from Himself three great forms of energy;
there
may be hundreds more of which we know nothing; but at least there are
three.
Each of them has its appropriate manifestation at every level which our
students
have yet reached; but for the moment let us think of them as they show
themselves
in the physical world. One of them exhibits itself as electricity,
another
as vitality, and the third as the serpent-fire, of which I have already
written
in The Inner Life.
These
three remain distinct, and none of them can at this level be converted
into
either of the others. They have no connection with any of the Three Great
Outpourings;
all of those are definite efforts made by the Solar Deity, while
these
seem rather to be results of His life-- His qualities in manifestation
without
any visible effort. Electricity while it is rushing through the atoms,
deflects
them and holds them in a certain way-- this effect being in addition to
and
quite apart from the special rate of vibration which it also imparts to
them.
But
the action of vitality differs in many ways from that of electricity, light
or
heat. Any of the variants of this latter force cause oscillation of the atom
as
a whole-- an oscillation the size of which is enormous as compared with that
of
the atom; but this other force which we call vitality comes to the atom not
from
without, but from within.
THE
VITALITY GLOBULE
The
atom is itself nothing but the manifestation of a force; the Solar Deity
wills
a certain shape which we call an ultimate physical atom, and by that
effort
of His will some fourteen thousand million bubbles are held in that
particular
form. It is necessary to emphasise the fact that the cohesion of the
bubbles
in that form is entirely dependent upon that effort of will, so that if
that
were for a single instant withdrawn, the bubbles must fall apart again, and
the
whole physical realm would simply cease to exist in far less than the period
of
a flash of lightning. So true is it that the whole world is nothing but
illusion,
even from this point of view, to say nothing of the fact that the
bubbles
of which the atom is built are themselves only holes in koilon, the true
aether
of space.
So
it is the will-force of the Solar Deity continually exercised which holds the
atom
together as such; and when we try to examine the action of that force we
see
that it does not come into the atom from outside, but wells up within it--
which
means that it enters it from higher dimensions. The same is true with
regard
to this other force which we call vitality; it enters the atom from
within,
along with the force that holds that atom together, instead of acting
upon
it entirely from without, as do those other varieties of force which we
call
light, heat or electricity.
When
vitality wells up thus within the atom it endows it with an additional
life,
and gives it a power of attraction, so that it immediately draws round it
six
other atoms, which it arranges in a definite form, this making what has been
called
in Occult Chemistry a hyper-meta-proto-element. But this element differs
from
all others which have so far been observed, in that the force which creates
it
and holds it together comes from the second Aspect of the Solar Deity instead
of
from the third This vitality-globule is drawn upon page 45 of Occult
Chemistry,
where it stands first at the left hand of the top line in the
diagram.
It is the little group which makes the exceedingly brilliant bead upon
the
male or positive snake in the chemical element oxygen, and it is also the
heart
of the central globe in radium.
These
globules are conspicuous above all others which may be seen floating in
the
atmosphere, on account of their brilliance and extreme activity-- the
intensely
vivid life which they show. These are probably the fiery lives so
often
mentioned by Madame Blavatsky, though she appears to employ that term in
two
senses. In The Secret Doctrine, vol. ii, 709, it seems to mean the globule
as
a whole, in vol. i, 283, it probably means the original
additionally-vitalised
atoms, each of which draws round itself six others.
While
the force that vivifies the globules is quite different from light, it
nevertheless
appears to depend upon light for its power of manifestation. In
brilliant
sunshine this vitality is constantly welling up afresh, and the
globules
are generated with great rapidity and in incredible numbers; but in
cloudy
weather there is a great diminution in the number of globules formed, and
during
the night the operation appears to be entirely suspended. During the
night,
therefore, we may be said to be living upon the stock manufactured during
the
previous day, and though it appears practically impossible that it should
ever
be entirely exhausted, that stock evidently does run low when there is a
long
succession of cloudy days. The globule, once charged, remains as a
sub-atomic
element, and does not appear to be subject to any change or loss of
force
unless and until it is absorbed by some living creature.
THE
ABSORPTION OF VITALITY
This
vitality is absorbed by all living organisms, and a sufficient supply of it
seems
to be a necessity of their existence. In the case of men and the higher
animals
it is absorbed through the centre or vortex in the etheric double which
corresponds
with the spleen. It will be remembered that that centre has six
petals,
made by the undulatory movement of the forces which cause the vortex.
But
this undulatory movement is itself caused by the radiation of other forces
from
the centre of that vortex. Imaging the central point of the vortex as the
hub
of a wheel, we may think of these last-mentioned forces as represented by
spokes
radiating from it in straight lines. Then the vortical forces, sweeping
round
and round, pass alternately under and over these spokes as though they
were
weaving a kind of etheric basket-work, and in this way is obtained the
appearance
of six petals separated by depressions.
When
the unit of vitality is flashing about in the atmosphere, brilliant as it
is,
it is almost colourless, and may be compared to white light. But as soon as
it
is drawn into the vortex of the force-centre at the spleen it is decomposed
and
breaks up into streams of different colours, though it does not follow
exactly
our division of the spectrum. As its component atoms are whirled round
the
vortex, each of the six spokes seizes upon one of them, so that all the
atoms
charged with yellow rush along one, and all those charged with green along
another,
and so on, while the seventh disappears through the centre of the
vortex--
through the hub of the wheel, as it were. Those rays then rush off in
different
directions, each to do its special work in the vitalisation of the
body.
As I have said, however, the divisions are not exactly those which we
ordinarily
use in the solar spectrum, but rather resemble the arrangement of
colours
which we see on higher levels in the causal, mental and astral bodies.
For
example, what we call indigo is divided between the violet ray and the blue
ray,
so that we find only two divisions there instead of three; but on the other
hand
what we call red is divided into two-- rose red and dark red. The six
radiants
are therefore violet, blue, green, yellow, orange, and dark red; while
the
seventh or rose red atom (more properly the first, since this is the
original
atom in which the force first appeared) passes down through the centre
of
the vortex. Vitality is thus clearly sevenfold in its constitution, but it
rushes
through the body in five main streams, as has been described in some of
the
Indian books,¹ (¹ “To them spoke the principal life: Be not lost in delusion
I
even, fivefold dividing myself, uphold this body by my support.” --
Prashnopanishad
. ii, 3. “From this proceed these seven flames.” -- Ibid ., iii,
5.)
for after issuing from splenic centre the blue and the violet join into one
ray,
and so do the orange and the dark red.
(1)
The violet-blue ray flashes upwards to the throat, where it seems to divide
itself,
the light blue remaining to course through and vivify the throat-centre,
while
the dark blue and violet pass on into the brain. The dark blue expends
itself
in the lower and central parts of the brain, while the violet floods the
upper
part and appears to give special vigour to the force-centre at the top of
the
head, diffusing itself chiefly through the nine hundred and sixty petals of
the
outer part of that centre.
(2)
The yellow ray is directed to the heart, but after doing its work there,
part
of it also passes on to the brain and permeates it, directing itself
principally
to the twelve-petalled flower in the midst of the highest
force-centre.
(3)
The green ray floods the abdomen and, while centring especially in the solar
plexus,
evidently vivifies the liver, kidneys and intestines, and the digestive
apparatus
generally.
(4)
The rose-coloured ray runs all over the body along the nerves, and is
clearly
the life of the nervous system. This is what is commonly described as
vitality--
the specialised vitality which one man may readily pour into another
in
whom it is deficient. If the nerves are not fully supplied with this rosy
light
they become sensitive and intensely irritable, so that the patient finds
it
almost impossible to remain in one position, and yet gains but little ease
when
he moves to another. The least noise or touch is agony to him, and he is in
a
condition of acute misery. The flooding of his nerves with specialised
vitality
by some healthy person brings instant relief, and a feeling of healing
and
peace descends upon him. A man in robust health usually absorbs and
specialises
so much more vitality than is actually needed by his own body that
he
is constantly radiating a torrent of rose-coloured atoms, and so
unconsciously
pours strength upon his weaker fellows without losing anything
himself;
or by an effort of his will he can gather together this superfluous
energy
and aim it intentionally at one whom he wishes to help.
The
physical body has a certain blind, instinctive consciousness of its own,
corresponding
in the physical world to the desire-elemental of the astral body;
and
this consciousness seeks always to protect it from danger, or to procure for
it
whatever may be necessary. This is entirely apart from the consciousness of
the
man himself, and it works equally well during the absence of the ego from
the
physical body during sleep. All our instinctive movements are due to it, and
it
is through its activity that the working of the sympathetic system is carried
on
ceaselessly without any thought or knowledge on our part.
While
we are what we call awake, this physical elemental is perpetually occupied
in
self-defence; he is in a condition of constant vigilance, and he keeps the
nerves
and muscles always tense. During the night or at any time when we sleep
he
lets the nerves and muscles relax, and devotes himself specially to the
assimilation
of vitality, and the recuperation of the physical body. He works at
this
most successfully during the early part of the night, because then there is
plenty
of vitality, whereas immediately before the dawn the vitality which has
been
left behind by the sunlight is almost completely exhausted. This is the
reason
for the feeling of limpness and deadness associated with the small hours
of
the morning; this is also the reason why sick men so frequently die at that
particular
time. The same idea is embodied in the old proverb that: “An hour' s
sleep
before
elemental
accounts for the strong recuperative influence of sleep, which is
often
observable even when it is a mere momentary nap.
This
vitality is indeed the food of the etheric double, and is just as necessary
to
it as is sustenance to the grosser part of the physical body. Hence when the
body
is unable for any reason (as through sickness, fatigue or extreme old age)
to
prepare vitality for the nourishment of its cells, this physical elemental
endeavours
to draw in for his own use vitality which has already been prepared
in
the bodies of others; and thus it happens that we often find ourselves weak
and
exhausted after sitting for a while with a person who is depleted of
vitality,
because he has drawn away from us by suction the rose-coloured atoms
before
we were able to extract their energy.
The
vegetable kingdom also absorbs this vitality, but seems in most cases to use
only
a small part of it. Many trees draw from it almost exactly the same
constituents
as does the higher part of man' s etheric body, the result being
that
when they have used what they require, the atoms which they reject are
precisely
those charged with the rose-coloured light which is needed for the
cells
of man' s physical body. This is specially the case with such trees as the
pine
and the eucalyptus; and consequently the very neighbourhood of these trees
gives
health and strength to those who are suffering from lack of this part of
the
vital principle-- those whom we call nervous people. They are nervous
because
the cells of their bodies are hungry, and the nervousness can only be
allayed
by feeding them; and often the readiest way to do that is thus to supply
them
from without with the special kind of vitality which they need.
(5)
The orange-red ray flows to the base of the spine and thence to the
generative
organs, with which one part of its functions is closely connected.
This
ray appears to include not only the orange and the darker reds, but also a
certain
amount of dark purple, as though the spectrum bent round in a circle and
the
colours began over again at a lower octave. In the normal man this ray
energises
the desires of the flesh, and also seems to enter the blood and keep
up
the heat of the body; but if a man persistently refuses to yield to his lower
nature,
this ray can by long and determined effort be deflected upwards to the
brain,
where all three of its constituents undergo a remarkable modification.
The
orange is raised into pure yellow, and produces a decided intensification of
the
powers of the intellect; the dark red becomes crimson, and greatly increases
the
power of unselfish affection; while the dark purple is transmuted into a
lovely
pale violet, and quickens the spiritual part of man' s nature. The man
who
achieves this transmutation will find that sensual desires no longer trouble
him,
and when it becomes necessary for him to arouse the serpent-fire, he will
be
free from the most serious of the dangers of that process. When a man has
finally
completed this change, this orange-red ray passes straight into the
centre
at the base of the spine, and from that runs upwards along the hollow of
the
vertebral column, and so to the brain.
VITALITY
AND HEALTH
The
flow of vitality in these various currents regulates the health of the parts
of
the body with which they are concerned. If, for example, a person is
suffering
from a weak digestion, it manifests itself at once to any person
possessing
etheric sight, because either the flow and action of the green stream
is
sluggish or its amount is smaller in proportion than it should be. Where the
yellow
current is full and strong, it indicates, or more properly produces,
strength
and regularity in the action of the heart. Flowing round that centre,
it
also interpenetrates the blood which is driven through it, and is sent along
with
it all over the body. Yet there is enough of it left to extend into the
brain
also, and the power of high philosophical and metaphysical thought appears
to
depend to a great extent upon the volume and activity of this yellow stream,
and
the corresponding awakening of the twelve-petalled flower in the middle of
the
force-centre at the top of the head.
Thought
and emotion of a high spiritual type seem to depend largely upon the
violet
ray, whereas the power of ordinary thought is stimulated by the action of
the
blue mingled with part of the yellow. It has been observed that in some
forms
of idiocy the flow of vitality to the brain, both yellow and blue-violet,
is
almost entirely inhibited. Unusual activity or volume in the light blue which
is
apportioned to the throat-centre is accompanied by the health and strength of
the
physical organs in that part of the body. It gives, for example, strength
and
elasticity to the vocal chords, so that special brilliance and activity are
noticeable
in the case of a public speaker or a great singer. Weakness or
disease
in any part of the body is accompanied by a deficiency in the flow of
vitality
to that part.
As
the different streams of atoms do their work, the charge of vitality is
withdrawn
from them, precisely as an electrical charge might be. The atoms
bearing
the rose-coloured ray grow gradually paler as they are swept along the
nerves,
and are eventually thrown out from the body through the pores-- making
thus
what was called in Man Visible and Invisible the health-aura. By the time
that
they leave the body most of them have lost the rose-coloured light, so that
the
general appearance of the emanation is bluish-white. That part of the yellow
ray
which is absorbed into the blood and carried round with it loses its
distinctive
colour in just the same way.
The
atoms, when thus emptied of their charge of vitality, either enter into some
of
the combinations which are constantly being made in the body, or pass out of
it
through the pores, or through the ordinary channels. The emptied atoms of the
green
ray, which is connected chiefly with digestive processes, seem to form
part
of the ordinary waste material of the body, and to pass out along with it,
and
that is also the fate of the atoms of the red-orange ray in the case of the
ordinary
man. The atoms belonging to the blue rays, which are used in connection
with
the throat-centre, generally leave the body in the exhalations of the
breath;
and those which compose the dark blue and violet rays usually pass out
from
the centre at the top of the head.
When
the student has learnt to deflect the orange-red rays so that they also
move
up through the spine, the empty atoms of both these and the violet-blue
rays
pour out from the top of the head in a fiery cascade, which is frequently
imaged
as a flame in ancient statues of the BUDDHA and other great Saints. When
empty
of the vital force the atoms are once more precisely like any other atoms;
the
body absorbs such of them as it needs, so that they form part of the various
combinations
which are constantly being made, while others which are not
required
for such purposes are cast out through any channel that happens to be
convenient.
The
flow of vitality into or through any centre, or even its intensification,
must
not be confused with the entirely different development of the centre which
is
brought about by the awakening of the serpent-fire at a later stage in man' s
evolution.
We all of us draw in vitality and specialise it, but many of us do
not
utilise it to the full, because in various ways our lives are not as pure
and
healthy and reasonable as they should be. One who coarsens his body by the
use
of meat, alcohol or tobacco can never employ his vitality to the full in the
same
way as can a man of purer living. A particular individual of impure life
may
be, and often is stronger in the physical body than certain other men who
are
purer; that is a matter of their respective karma; but other things being
equal,
the man of pure life has an immense advantage.
VITALITY
NOT MAGNETISM
The
vitality coursing along the nerves must not be confused with what we usually
call
the magnetism of the man-- his own nerve-fluid, generated within himself.
It
is this fluid which keeps up the constant circulation of etheric matter along
the
nerves, corresponding to the circulation of blood through the veins; and as
oxygen
is conveyed by the blood to all parts of the body, so vitality is
conveyed
along the nerves by this etheric current. The particles of the etheric
part
of man' s body are constantly changing, just as are those of the denser
part;
along with the food which we eat and the air which we breathe we take in
etheric
matter, and this is assimilated by the etheric part of the body. Etheric
matter
is constantly being thrown off from the pores, just as is gaseous matter,
so
that when two persons are close together each necessarily absorbs much of the
physical
emanations of the other.
When
one person mesmerises another, the operator by an effort of will gathers
together
a great deal of this magnetism and throws it into the subject, pushing
back
his victim' s nerve-fluid, and filling its place with his own. As the brain
is
the centre of this nervous circulation, this brings that part of the subject'
s
body which is affected under the control of the manipulator' s brain instead
of
the victim' s, and so the latter feels what the mesmerist wishes him to feel.
If
the recipient' s brain be emptied of his own magnetism and filled with that
of
the performer, the former can think and act only as the latter wills that he
should
think and act; he is for the time entirely dominated.
Even
when the magnetiser is trying to cure, and is pouring strength into the
man,
he inevitably gives along with the vitality much of his own emanations. It
is
obvious that any disease which the mesmeriser happens to have may readily he
conveyed
to the subject in this way; and another even more important
consideration
is that, though his health may be perfect from the medical point
of
view, there are mental and moral diseases as well as physical, and that, as
astral
and mental matter are thrown into the subject by the mesmerist along with
the
physical current, these also are frequently transferred.
Vitality,
like light and heat, is pouring forth from the sun continually, but
obstacles
frequently arise to prevent the full supply from reaching the earth.
In
the wintry and melancholy climes miscalled the temperate, it too often
happens
that for days together the sky is covered by a funeral pall of heavy
cloud,
and this affects vitality just as it does light; it does not altogether
hinder
its passage, but sensibly diminishes its amount. Therefore in dull and
dark
weather vitality runs low, and over all living creatures there comes an
instinctive
yearning for sunlight.
When
vitalised atoms are thus more sparsely scattered, the man in rude health
increases
his power of absorption, depletes a larger area, and so keeps his
strength
at the normal level; but invalids and men of small nerve-force, who
cannot
do this, often suffer severely, and find themselves growing weaker and
more
irritable without knowing why. For similar reasons vitality is at a lower
ebb
in the winter than in the summer, for even if the short winter day be sunny,
which
is rare, we have still to face the long and dreary winter night, during
which
we must exist upon such vitality as the day has stored in our atmosphere.
On
the other hand the long summer day, when bright and cloudless, charges the
atmosphere
so thoroughly with vitality that its short night makes but little
difference.
From
the study of this question of vitality, the occultist cannot fail to
recognise
that, quite apart from temperature, sunlight is one of the most
important
factors in the attainment and preservation of perfect health-- a
factor
for the absence of which nothing else can entirely compensate. Since this
vitality
is poured forth not only upon the physical world but upon all others as
well,
it is evident that, when in other respects satisfactory conditions are
present,
emotion, intellect and spirituality will be at their best under clear
skies
and with the inestimable aid of the sunlight.
All
the colours of this order of vitality are etheric, yet it will be seen that
their
action presents certain correspondences with the signification attached to
similar
hues in the astral body. Clearly right thought and right feeling react
upon
the physical body, and increase its power to assimilate the vitality which
is
necessary for its well-being. It is reported that the Lord BUDDHA once said
that
the first step on the road to Nirvana is perfect physical health; and
assuredly
the way to attain that is to follow the Noble Eightfold Path which He
has
indicated. “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all
these
things shall be added unto you”-- yes, even physical health as well.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER V
BY
NATURAL SURROUNDINGS
THE
WEATHER
THE
vagaries of the weather are proverbial, and though observation and study of
its
phenomena enable us to venture upon certain limited predictions, the
ultimate
cause of most of the changes still escapes us, and will continue to do
so
until we realise that there are considerations to be taken into account
besides
the action of heat and cold, of radiation and condensation. The earth
itself
is living; this ball of matter is being used as a physical body by a vast
entity--
not an Adept or an angel, not a highly developed being at all, but
rather
something which may be imagined as a kind of gigantic nature-spirit, for
whom
the existence of our earth is one incarnation. His previous incarnation was
naturally
in the moon since that was the fourth planet of the last chain, and
equally
naturally his next incarnation will be in the fourth planet of the chain
that
will succeed ours when the evolution of our terrestrial chain is completed.
Of
his nature or the character of his evolution we can know but little, nor does
it
in any way concern us, for we are to him but as tiny microbes or parasites
upon
his body, and in all probability he is unaware even of our existence, for
nothing
that we can do can be on a scale large enough to affect him.
For
him the atmosphere surrounding the earth must be as a kind of aura, or
perhaps
rather corresponding to the film of etheric matter which projects ever
so
slightly beyond the outline of man' s dense physical body; and just as any
alteration
or disturbance in the man affects this film of aether, so must any
change
of condition in this spirit of the earth affect the atmosphere. Some such
changes
must be periodic and regular, like the motions produced in us by
breathing,
by the action of the heart or by an even movement, such as walking;
others
must be irregular and occasional, as would be the changes produced in a
man
by a sudden start, or by an outburst of emotion.
We
know that violent emotion, astral in its origin though it be, produces
chemical
changes and variations of temperature in the human physical body;
whatever
corresponds to such emotion in the spirit of the earth may well cause
chemical
changes in his physical body also, and variations of temperature in its
immediate
surroundings. Now variations of temperature in the atmosphere mean
wind;
sudden and violent variations mean storm; and chemical changes beneath the
surface
of the earth not infrequently cause earthquakes and volcanic eruptions.
No
student of occultism will fall into the common error of regarding as evil
such
outbursts as storms or eruptions, because they sometimes destroy human
life;
for he will recognise that, whatever the immediate cause may be, all that
happens
is part of the working of the great immutable law of justice, and that
He
who doeth all things most certainly doeth all things well. This aspect of
natural
phenomena, however, will be considered in a later chapter.
It
cannot be questioned that men are much and variously affected by the weather.
There
is a general consensus of opinion that gloomy weather is depressing; but
this
is mainly due to the fact that in the absence of sunlight there is, as has
already
been explained, a lack of vitality. Some people, however, take an actual
delight
in rain or snow or high wind. There is in these disturbances something
which
produces a distinct pleasurable sensation which quickens their vibrations
and
harmonises with the key-note of their nature. It is probable that this is
not
entirely or even chiefly due to the physical disturbance; it is rather that
the
subtle change in the aura of the spirit of the earth (which produces or
coincides
with this phenomenon) is one with which their spirits are in sympathy.
A
still more decided instance of this is the effect of a thunder-storm. There
are
many people in whom it produces a curious sense of overwhelming fear
entirely
out of proportion to any physical danger that it can be supposed to
bring.
In others, on the contrary, the electrical storm produces wild
exultation.
The influence of electricity on the physical nerves no doubt plays a
part
in producing these unusual sensations, but their true cause lies deeper
than
that.
The
effect produced upon people by these various manifestations depends upon the
preponderance
in their temperament of certain types of elemental essence which,
because
of this sympathetic vibration, used to be called by mediaeval enquirers
earthy,
watery, airy or fiery. Exactly in the same way the effect of the various
sections
of our surroundings will be greater or less upon men according as they
have
more or less of one or other of these constituents in their composition. To
the
man who responds most readily to earth influences, the nature of the soil
upon
which his house is built is of primary importance, but it matters
comparatively
little to him whether it is or is not in the neighbourhood of
water;
whereas the man who responds most readily to the radiations of water
would
care little about the soil so long as he had the ocean or a lake within
sight
and within easy reach.
ROCKS
Influence
is perpetually radiated upon us by all objects of nature, even by the
very
earth upon which we tread. Each type of rock or soil has its own special
variety,
and the differences between them are great, so that their effect is by
no
means to be neglected. In the production of this effect three factors bear
their
part-- the life of the rock itself, the kind of elemental essence
appropriate
to its astral counterpart, and the kind of nature-spirits which it
attracts.
The life of the rock is simply the life of the Second Great Outpouring
which
has arrived at the stage of ensouling the mineral kingdom, and the
elemental
essence is a later wave of that same divine Life which is one
chain-period
behind the other, and has yet in its descent into matter reached
only
the astral world. The nature-spirit belong to a different evolution
altogether,
to which we shall refer in due course.
The
point for us to bear in mind for the moment is that each kind of soil--
granite
or sandstone, chalk, clay or lava, has its definite influence upon those
who
live on it-- an influence which never ceases. Night and day, summer and
winter,
year in and year out, this steady pressure is being exercised, and it
has
its part in the moulding of races and districts, types as well as
individuals.
All these matters are as yet but little comprehended by ordinary
science,
but there can be no doubt that in time to come these effects will be
thoroughly
studied, and the doctors of the future will take them into account,
and
prescribe a change of soil as well as of air for their patients.
An
entirely new and distinct set of agencies is brought into play wherever water
exists,
whether it be in the form of lake, river or sea-- powerful in different
ways
in all of them truly, but most powerful and observable in the last. Here
also
the same three factors have to be considered-- the life of the water
itself,
the elemental essence pervading it, and the type of nature-spirits
associated
with it.
TREES
Strong
influences are radiated by the vegetable kingdom also, and the different
kinds
of plants and trees vary greatly in their effect. Those who have not
specially
studied the subject invariably under-rate the strength, capacity and
intelligence
shown in vegetable life. I have already written upon this in The
Christian
Creed, p. 51 (2nd edition), so I will not repeat myself here, but will
rather
draw attention to the fact that trees-- especially old trees-- have a
strong
and definite individuality, well worthy the name of a soul. This soul,
though
temporary, in the sense that it is not yet a reincarnating entity, is
nevertheless
possessed of considerable power and intelligence along its own
lines.
It
has decided likes and dislikes, and to clairvoyant sight it shows quite
clearly
by a vivid rosy flush an emphatic enjoyment of the sunlight and the
rain,
and distinct pleasure also in the presence of those whom it has learnt to
like,
or with whom it has sympathetic vibrations. Emerson appears to have
realised
this, for he is quoted in Hutton' s Reminiscences as saying of his
trees:
“I am sure they miss me; they seem to droop when I go away, and I know
they
brighten and bloom when I go back to them and shake hands with their lower
branches.”
An
old forest tree is a high development of vegetable life, and when it is
transferred
from that kingdom it does not pass into the lowest form of animal
life.
In some cases its individuality is even sufficiently distinct to allow it
to
manifest itself temporarily outside its physical form, and when that is so it
often
takes the human shape. Matters may be otherwise arranged in other solar
systems
for aught we know, but in ours the Deity has chosen the human form to
enshrine
the highest intelligence, to be carried on to the utmost perfection as
His
scheme develops: and because that is so, there is always a tendency among
lower
kinds of life to reach upwards towards that form, and in their primitive
way
to imagine themselves as possessing it.
Thus
it happens that such creatures as gnomes or elves, whose bodies are of
fluidic
nature, of astral or etheric matter which is plastic under the influence
of
the will, habitually adopts some approximation to the appearance of humanity.
Thus
also when it is possible for the soul of a tree to externalise itself and
become
visible, it is almost always in human shape that it is seen. Doubtless
these
were the dryads of classical times; and the occasional appearance of such
figures
may account for the widely-spread custom of tree-worship. Omne ignotum
pro
magnifico; and if primitive man saw a huge, grave human form come forth from
a
tree, he was likely enough in his ignorance to set up an altar there and
worship
it, not in the least understanding that he himself stood far higher in
evolution
than it did, and that its very assumption of his image was an
acknowledgment
of that fact.
The
occult side of the instinct of a plant is also exceedingly interesting; its
one
great object, like that of some human beings, is always to found a family
and
reproduce its species; and it has certainly a feeling of active enjoyment in
its
success, in the colour and beauty of its flowers and in their efficiency in
attracting
bees and other insects. Unquestionably plants feel admiration
lavished
upon them and delight in it; they are sensitive to human affection and
they
return it in their own way.
When
all this is borne in mind, it will readily be understood that trees
exercise
much more influence over human beings than is commonly supposed, and
that
he who sets himself to cultivate sympathetic and friendly relations with
all
his neighbours, vegetable as well as animal and human, may both receive and
give
a great deal of which the average man knows nothing, and may thus make his
life
fuller, wider, more complete.
THE
SEVEN TYPES
The
classification of the vegetable kingdom adopted by the occultist follows the
line
of the seven great types mentioned in our previous chapter on planetary
influences,
and each of these is divided into seven sub-types. If we imagine
ourselves
trying to tabulate the vegetable kingdom, these divisions would
naturally
be perpendicular, nor horizontal. We should not have trees as one
type,
shrubs as another, ferns as a third, grasses or mosses as a fourth; rather
we
should find trees, shrubs, ferns, grasses, mosses of each of the seven types,
so
that along each line all the steps of the ascending scale are represented.
One
might phrase it that when the Second Outpouring is ready to descend, seven
great
channels, each with its seven subdivisions, lie open for its choice; but
the
channel through which it passes gives it a certain colouring-- a set of
temperamental
characteristics-- which it never wholly loses, so that although in
order
to express itself it needs matter belonging to all the different types, it
has
always a preponderance of its own type, and always recognisably belongs to
that
type and no other, until after its evolution is over it returns as a
glorified
spiritual power to the Deity from whom it originally emerged as a mere
undeveloped
potentiality.
The
vegetable kingdom is only one stage in this stupendous course, yet these
different
types are distinguishable in it, just as they are among animals or
human
beings, and each has its own special influence, which may be soothing or
helpful
to one man, distressing or irritating to another, and inert in the case
of
a third, according to his type and to his condition at the time. Training and
practice
are necessary to enable the student to assign the various plants and
trees
to their proper classes, but the distinction between the magnetism
radiated
by the oak and the pine, the palm tree and the banyan, the olive and
the
eucalyptus, the rose and the lily, the violet and the sunflower, cannot fail
to
be obvious to any sensitive person. Wide as the poles asunder is the
dissimilarity
between the ` feeling' of an English forest and a tropical jungle,
or
the bush of Australia or New Zealand.
ANIMALS
For
thousand of years man has lived so cruelly that all wild creatures fear and
avoid
him, so the influence upon him of the animal kingdom is practically
confined
to that of the domestic animals. In our relations with these our
influence
over them is naturally far more potent than theirs over us, yet this
latter
is by no means to be ignored. A man who has really made friends with an
animal
is often much helped and strengthened by the affection lavished upon him.
Being
more advanced, a man is naturally capable of greater love than an animal
is;
but the animal' s affection is usually more concentrated, and he is far more
likely
to throw the whole of his energy into it than a man is.
The
very fact of the man' s higher development gives him a multiplicity of
interests,
among which his attention is divided; the animal often pours the
entire
strength of his nature into one channel, and so produces a most powerful
effect.
The man has a hundred other matters to think about, and the current of
his
love consequently cannot but be variable; when the dog or the cat develops a
really
great affection it fills the whole of his life, and he therefore keeps a
steady
stream of force always playing upon its object-- a factor whose value is
by
no means to be ignored.
Similarly
the man who is so wicked as to provoke by cruelty the hatred and fear
of
domestic animals becomes by a righteous retribution the centre of converging
forces
of antipathy; for such conduct arouses deep indignation among
nature-spirits
and other astral and etheric entities, as well as among all
right-minded
men, whether living or dead.
HUMAN
BEINGS
Since
it is emphatically true that no man can afford to be disliked or feared by
his
cat or dog, it is clear that the same consideration applies with still
greater
force to the human beings who surround him. It is not easy to
overestimate
the importance to a man of winning the kindly regard of those with
whom
he is in constant association-- to overrate the value to a schoolmaster of
the
attitude towards him of his pupils, to a merchant of the feeling of his
clerks,
to an officer of the devotion of his men; and this entirely apart from
the
obvious effects produced in the physical world. If a man holding any such
position
as one of these is able to arouse the enthusiastic affection of his
subordinates,
he becomes the focus upon which many streams of such forces are
constantly
converging. Not only does this greatly uplift and strengthen him, but
it
also enables him, if he understands something of the working of occult laws,
to
be of far greater use to those who feel the affection, and to do much more
with
them than would otherwise be possible.
To
obtain this result it is not in the least necessary that they should agree
with
him in opinion; with the particular effect with which we are at present
concerned
their mental attitude has no connection whatever; it is a matter of
strong,
kindly feeling. If the feeling should unfortunately be of an opposite
kind--
if the man is feared or despised-- currents of antipathy are perpetually
flowing
towards him, which cause weakness and discord in the vibrations of his
higher
vehicles, and also cut him off from the possibility of doing satisfactory
and
fruitful work with those under his charge.
It
is not only the force of the feeling sent out by the person; like attracts
like
in the astral world as well as the physical. There are always masses of
vague
thought floating about in the atmosphere, some of them good and some evil,
but
all alike ready to reinforce any decided thought of their own type. Also
there
are nature-spirits of low order, which enjoy the coarse vibrations of
anger
and hatred, and are therefore very willing to throw themselves into any
current
of such nature. By doing so they intensify the undulations, and add
fresh
life to them. All this tends to strengthen the effect produced by the
converging
streams of unfavourable thought and feeling.
It
has been said that a man is known by the company he keeps. It is also to a
large
extent true that he is made by it, for those with whom he constantly
associates
are all the while unconsciously influencing him and bringing him by
degrees
more and more into harmony with such undulations as they radiate. He who
is
much in the presence of a large-minded and unworldly man has a fine
opportunity
of himself becoming large-minded and unworldly, for a steady though
imperceptible
pressure in that direction is perpetually being exerted upon him,
so
that it is easier for him to grow in that way than in any other. For the same
reason
a man who spends his time loafing in a public-house with the idle and
various
is exceedingly likely to end by becoming idle and vicious himself. The
study
of the hidden side of things emphatically endorses the old proverb that
evil
communications corrupt good manners.
This
fact of the enormous influence of close association with a more advanced
personality
is well understood in the East, where it is recognised that the most
important
and effective part of the training of a disciple is that he shall live
constantly
in the presence of his teacher and bathe in his aura. The various
vehicles
of the teacher are all vibrating with a steady and powerful swing at
rates
both higher and more regular than any which the pupil can yet maintain,
though
he may sometimes reach them for a few moments; but the constant pressure
of
the stronger thought-waves of the teacher gradually raises those of the pupil
into
the same key. A person who has as yet but little musical ear finds it
difficult
to sing correct intervals alone, but if he joins with another stronger
voice
which is already perfectly trained, his task becomes easier-- which may
serve
as a kind of rough analogy.
The
great point is that the dominant note of the teacher is always sounding, so
that
its action is affecting the pupil night and day without need of any special
thought
on the part of either of them. Growth and change must of course be
ceaselessly
taking place in the vehicles of the pupil, as in those of all other
men;
but the powerful undulations emanating from the teacher render it easy for
this
growth to take place in the right direction, and exceedingly difficult for
it
to go any other way, somewhat as the splints which surround a broken limb
ensure
that its growth shall be only in the right line, so as to avoid
distortion.
No
ordinary man, acting automatically and without intention, will be able to
exercise
even a hundredth part of the carefully-directed influence of a
spiritual
teacher; but numbers may to some extent compensate for lack of
individual
power, so that the ceaseless though unnoticed pressure exercised upon
us
by the opinions and feelings of our associates leads us frequently to absorb
without
knowing it many of their prejudices. It is distinctly undesirable that a
man
should remain always among one set of people and hear only one set of views.
It
is eminently necessary that he should know something of other sets, for only
in
that way can he learn to see good in all; only thoroughly understanding both
sides
of any case can he form an opinion that has any right to be called a real
judgment.
The prejudiced person is always and necessarily an ignorant person;
and
the only way in which his ignorance can be dispelled is by getting outside
his
own narrow little circle, and learning to look at things for himself and see
what
they really are-- not what those who know nothing about them suppose them
to
be.
TRAVEL
The
extent to which our human surroundings influence us is only realised when we
change
them for awhile, and the most effective method of doing this is to travel
in
a foreign country. But true travel is not to rush from one gigantic
caravanserai
to another, consorting all the time with one' s own countrymen, and
grumbling
at every custom which differs from those of our particular Little
Pedlington.
It is rather to live for a time quietly in some foreign land, trying
to
get really to know its people and to understand them; to study a custom and
see
why it has arisen, and what good there is in it, instead of condemning it
off-hand
because it is not our own. The man who does this will soon come to
recognise
the characteristic traits of the various races -- to comprehend such
fundamental
diversities as those between the English and the Irish, the Hindu
and
the American, the Breton and the Sicilian, and yet to realise that they are
to
be looked upon not as one better than another, but as the different colours
that
go to make up the rainbow, the different movements that are all necessary,
as
parts of the great oratorio of life.
Each
has its part to play in affording opportunity for the evolution of egos who
need
just its influence, who are lacking in just its characteristics. Each race
has
behind it a mighty angel, the Spirit of the Race, who under the direction of
the
Manu preserves its special qualities and guides it along the line destined
for
it. A new race is born when in the scheme of evolution a new type a
temperament
is needed; a race dies out when all the egos who can be benefited by
it
have passed through it. The influence of the Spirit of a Race thoroughly
permeates
the country or district over which his supervision extends, and is
naturally
a factor of the greatest importance to any visitor who is in the least
sensitive.
The
ordinary tourist is too often imprisoned in the triple armour of aggressive
race-prejudice;
he is so full of conceit over the supposed excellencies of his
own
nation that he is incapable of seeing good in any other. The wiser
traveller,
who is willing to open his heart to the action of higher forces, may
receive
from this source much that is valuable, both of instruction and
experience.
But in order to do that, he must begin by putting himself in the
right
attitude; he must be ready to listen rather then to talk, to learn rather
than
to boast, to appreciate rather than to criticise, to try to understand
rather
than rashly to condemn.
To
achieve such a result is the true object of travel, and we have a far better
opportunity
for this than was afforded to our forefathers. Methods of
communication
are so much improved that it is now possible for almost anyone to
achieve
quickly and cheaply journeys that would have been entirely impossible a
century
ago, except for the rich and leisured class. Along with these
possibilities
of intercommunication has come the wide dissemination of foreign
news
by means of the telegraph and the newspaper press, so that even those who
do
not actually leave their own country still know much more about others than
was
ever possible before. Without all these facilities there never could have
been
a Theosophical Society, or at least it could not have had its present
character,
nor could it have reached its present level of effectiveness.
The
first object of the Theosophical Society is the promotion of universal
brotherhood,
and nothing helps so much to induce brotherly feeling between
nations
as full and constant intercourse with one another. When people know one
another
only by hearsay, all sorts of absurd prejudices grow up, but when they
come
to know one another intimately, each finds that the other is after all a
human
being much like himself, with the same interests and objects, the same
joys
and sorrows.
In
the old days each nation lived to a large extent in a condition of selfish
isolation,
and if trouble of some sort fell upon one, it had usually no
resources
but its own upon which it could depend. Now the whole world is so
closely
drawn together that if there is a famine in India help is sent from
America;
if an earthquake devastates one of the countries of Europe,
subscriptions
for the sufferers pour in at once from all the others. However far
away
as yet may be the perfect realisation of universal brotherhood, it is clear
that
we are at least drawing nearer to it; we have not yet learnt entirely to
trust
one another, but at least we are ready to help one another, and that is
already
a long step upon the roads towards becoming really one family.
We
know how often travel is recommended as a cure for many physical ills,
especially
for those which manifest themselves through the various forms of
nervous
derangement. Most of us find it to be fatiguing, yet also undeniably
exhilarating,
though we do not always realise that this is not only because of
the
change of air and of the ordinary physical impressions, but also because of
the
change of the etheric and astral influences which are connected with each
place
and district.
Ocean,
mountain, forest or waterfall-- each has its own special type of life,
astral
and etheric as well as visible; and, therefore, its own special set of
impressions
and influences. Many of these unseen entities are pouring out
vitality,
and in any case, the vibrations which they radiate awaken unaccustomed
portions
of our etheric double, and of our astral and mental bodies, and the
effect
is like the exercise of muscles which are not ordinarily called into
activity--
somewhat tiring at the time, yet distinctly healthy and desirable in
the
long run.
The
town-dweller is accustomed to his surroundings, and usually does not realise
the
horror of them until he leaves them for a time. To dwell beside a busy main
street
is from the astral point of view like living on the brink of an open
sewer--
a river of fetid mud which is always throwing up splashes and noisome
odours
as it rolls along. No man, however unimpressionable, can endure this
indefinitely
without deterioration, and an occasional change into the country is
a
necessity on the ground of moral as well as physical health. In travelling
from
the town into the country, too, we leave behind us to a great extent the
stormy
sea of warring human passion and labour, and such human thoughts as still
remain
to act upon us are usually of the less selfish and more elevated kind.
In
the presence of one of nature' s great wonders, such as the Falls of Niagara,
almost
everyone is for the time drawn out of himself, and out of the petty round
of
daily care and selfish desire, so that his thought is nobler and broader, and
the
thought-forms which he leaves behind him are correspondingly less disturbing
and
more helpful. These considerations once more make it evident that in order
to
obtain the full benefit of travel a man must pay attention to nature and
allow
it to act upon him. If he is wrapped up all the while in selfish and
gloomy
thoughts, crushed by financial trouble, or brooding over his own sickness
and
weakness, little benefit can be derived from the healing influences.
Another
point is that certain places are permeated by certain special types of
thought.
The consideration of this matter belongs rather to another chapter, but
we
may introduce it so far as to mention that the frame of mind in which people
habitually
visit a certain place reacts strongly upon all the other visitors to
it.
Popular seaside resorts in England have about them an air of buoyancy and
irresponsibility,
a determined feeling of holiday life, of temporary freedom
from
business and of the resolution to make the most of it, from the influence
of
which it is difficult to escape. Thus the jaded and overworked man who spends
his
well-earned holiday in such a place, obtains quite a different result from
that
which would follow if he simply stayed quietly at home. To sit at home
would
probably be less fatiguing, but also much less stimulating.
To
take a country walk is to travel in miniature, and in order to appreciate its
healthful
effect we must bear in mind what has been said of all the different
vibrations
issuing from various kinds of trees or plants, and even from
different
kinds of soil or rock. All these act as kind of massage upon the
etheric,
astral and mental bodies, and tend to relieve the strain which the
worries
of our common life persistently exert upon certain parts of these
vehicles.
Glimpses
of the truth on these points may sometimes be caught from the
traditions
of the peasantry. For example, there is a widely-spread belief that
strength
may be gained from sleeping under a pine-tree with the head to the
north.
For some cases this is suitable, and the rationale of it is that there
are
magnetic currents always flowing over the surface of the earth which are
quite
unknown to ordinary men. These by steady, gentle pressure gradually comb
out
the entanglements and strengthen the particles both of the astral body and
of
the etheric part of the physical, and thus bring them more into harmony and
introduce
rest and calm. The part played by the pine-tree is, first, that its
radiations
make the man sensitive to those magnetic currents, and bring him into
a
state in which it is possible for them to act upon him, and secondly, that (as
has
already been explained) it is constantly throwing off vitality in that
special
condition in which it is easiest for man to absorb it.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER VI
BY
NATURE-SPIRITS
AN
EVOLUTION APART
ANOTHER
factor which exercises great influence under certain restrictions is the
nature-spirit.
We may regard the nature-spirits of the land as in a sense the
original
inhabitants of the country, driven away from some parts of it by the
invasion
of man, much as the wild animals have been. Just like wild animals, the
nature-spirits
avoid altogether the great cities and all places where men most
do
congregate, so that in those their effect is a negligible quantity. But in
all
quiet country places, among the woods and fields, upon the mountains or out
at
sea, nature-spirits are constantly present, and though they rarely show
themselves,
their influence is powerful and all-pervading, just as the scent of
the
violets fills the air though they are hidden modestly among the leaves.
The
nature-spirits constitute an evolution apart, quite distinct at this stage
from
that of humanity. We are familiar with the course taken by the Second
Outpouring
through the three elemental kingdoms, down to the mineral and upward
through
the vegetable and animal, to the attainment of individuality at the
human
level. We know that, after that individuality has been attained, the
unfolding
of humanity carries us gradually to the steps of the Path, and then
onward
and upward to Adeptship and to the glorious possibilities which lie
beyond.
This
is our line of development, but we must not make the mistake of thinking of
it
as the only line. Even in this world of ours the divine life is pressing
upwards
through several streams, of which ours is but one, and numerically by no
means
the most important. It may help us to realise this if we remember that
while
humanity in its physical manifestation occupies only quite a small part of
the
surface of the earth, entities at a corresponding level on other lines of
evolution
not only crowd the earth far more thickly than man, but at the same
time
populate the enormous plains of the sea and the fields of the air.
LINES
OF EVOLUTION
At
this present stage we find these streams running parallel to one another, but
for
the time quite distinct. The nature-spirits, for example, neither have been
nor
ever will be members of a humanity such as ours, yet the indwelling life of
the
nature-spirit comes from the same Solar Deity as our own, and will return to
Him
just as ours will. The streams may be roughly considered as flowing side by
side
as far as the mineral level, but as soon as they turn to commence the
upward
arc of evolution, divergence begins to appear. This stage of
immetalisation
is naturally that at which life is most deeply immersed in
physical
matter but while some of the streams retain physical forms through
several
of the further stages of their development, making them, as they
proceed,
more and more an expression of the life within , there are other
streams
which at once begin to cast off the grosser, and for the rest of their
unfolding
in this world use only bodies composed of etheric matter.
One
of these streams, for example, after finishing that stage of its evolvement
in
which it is part of the mineral monad, instead of passing into the vegetable
kingdom
takes for itself vehicles of etheric matter which inhabit the interior
of
the earth, living actually within the solid rock. It is difficult for many
students
to understand how it is possible for any kind of creature thus to
inhabit
the solid substance of the rock or the crust of the earth. Creatures
possessing
bodies of etheric matter find the substance of the rock no impediment
to
their motion or their vision. Indeed, for them physical matter in its solid
state
is their natural element and habitat-- the only one to which they are
accustomed
and in which they feel at home. These vague lower lives in amorphous
etheric
vehicles are not readily comprehensible to us; but somehow they
gradually
evolve to a stage when, though still inhabiting the solid rock, they
live
close to the surface of the earth instead of in its depths, and the more
developed
of them are able occasionally to detach themselves from it for a short
time.
These
creatures have sometimes been seen, and perhaps more frequently heard, in
caves
or mines, and they are often described in mediaeval literature as gnomes.
The
etheric matter of their bodies is not, under ordinary conditions, visible to
physical
eyes, so that when they are seen one of two things must take place;
either
they must materialise themselves by drawing round them a veil of physical
matter,
or else the spectator must experience an increase of sensitiveness which
enables
him to respond to the wave-lengths of the higher aethers, and to see
what
is not normally perceptible to him.
The
slight temporary exaltation of faculty necessary for this is not very
uncommon
nor difficult to achieve, and on the other hand materialisation is easy
for
creatures which are only just beyond the bounds of visibility; so that they
would
be seen far more frequently than they are, but for the rooted objection to
the
proximity of human beings which they share with all but the lowest types of
nature-spirits.
The next stage of their advancement brings them into the
subdivision
commonly called fairies-- the type of nature-spirits which usually
live
upon the surface of the earth as we do, though still using only an etheric
body;
and after that they pass on through the air-spirits into the kingdom of
the
angels in a way which will be explained later.
The
life-wave which is at the mineral level is manifesting itself not only
through
the rocks which form the solid crust of the earth, but also through the
waters
of the ocean; and just as the former may pass through low etheric forms
of
life (at present unknown to man) in the interior of the earth, so the latter
may
pass through corresponding low etheric forms which have their dwelling in
the
depths of the sea. In this case also the next stage or kingdom brings us
into
more definite though still etheric forms inhabiting the middle depths, and
very
rarely showing themselves at the surface. The third stage for them
(corresponding
to that of the fairies for the rock-spirits) is to join the
enormous
host of water-spirits which cover the vast plains of the ocean with
their
joyous life.
Taking
as they do bodies of etheric matter only, it will be seen that the
entities
following these lines of development miss altogether the vegetable and
animal
kingdoms as well the human. There are, however, other types of
nature-spirits
which enter into both these kingdoms before they begin to
diverge.
In the ocean, for example, there is a stream of life which, after
leaving
the mineral level, touches the vegetable kingdom in the form of
seaweeds,
and then passes on, through the corals and the sponges and the huge
cephalopods
of the middle deeps, up into the great family of the fishes, and
only
after that joins the ranks of water-spirits.
It
will be seen that these retain the dense physical body as a vehicle up to a
much
higher level; and in the same way we notice that the fairies of the land
are
recruited not only from the ranks of the gnomes, but also from the less
evolved
strata of the animal kingdom, for we find a line of development which
just
touches the vegetable kingdom in the shape of minute fungoid growths, and
then
passes onward through bacteria and animalculae of various kinds, through
the
insects and reptiles up to the beautiful family of the birds, and only after
many
incarnations among these joins the still more joyous tribe of the fairies.
Yet
another stream diverges into etheric life at an intermediate point, for
while
it comes up through the vegetable kingdom in the shape of grasses and
cereals,
it turns aside thence into the animal kingdom and is conducted through
the
curious communities of the ants and bees, and then through a set of etheric
creatures
closely corresponding to the latter-- those tiny humming-bird-like
nature-spirits
which are so continually seen hovering about flowers and plants,
and
play so large a part in the production of their manifold variations-- their
playfulness
being often utilised in specialisation and in the helping of growth.
It
is necessary, however, to draw a careful distinction here, to avoid
confusion.
The little creatures that look after flowers may be divided into two
great
classes, though of course there are many varieties of each kind. The first
class
may properly be called elementals, for beautiful though they are, they are
in
reality only thought-forms, and therefore they are not really living
creatures
at all. Perhaps I should rather say that they are only temporarily
living
creatures, for though they are very active and busy during their little
lives,
they have no real evolving, reincarnating life in them, and when they
have
done their work, they just go to pieces and dissolve into the surrounding
atmosphere,
precisely as our own thought-forms do. They are the thought-forms of
the
Great Beings or angels who are in charge of the evolution of the vegetable
kingdom.
When
one of these Great Ones has a new idea connected with one of the kinds of
plants
or flowers which are under his charge, he often creates a thought-form
for
the special purpose of carrying out that idea. It usually takes the form
either
of an etheric model of the flower itself or of a little creature which
hangs
round the plant or the flower all through the time that the buds are
forming,
and gradually builds them into the shape and colour of which the angel
has
thought. But as soon as the plant has fully grown, or the flower has opened,
its
work is over and its power is exhausted, and, as I have said, it just simply
dissolves,
because the will to do that piece of work was the only soul that it
had.
But
there is quite another kind of little creature which is very frequently seen
playing
about with flowers, and this time it is a real nature-spirit. There are
many
varieties of these also. One of the commonest forms is, as I have said,
something
very much like a tiny humming-bird, and it may often be seen buzzing
round
the flowers much in the same way as a humming-bird or a bee does. These
beautiful
little creatures will never become human, because they are not in the
same
line of evolution as we are. The life which is now animating them has come
up
through grasses and cereals, such as wheat and oats, when it was in the
vegetable
kingdom, and afterwards through ants and bees when it was in the
animal
kingdom. Now it has reached the level of these tiny nature-spirits, and
its
next stage will be to ensoul some of the beautiful fairies with etheric
bodies
who live upon the surface of the earth. Later on they will become
salamanders
or fire-spirits, and later still they will become sylphs, or
air-spirits,
having only astral bodies instead of etheric. Later still they will
pass
through the different stages of the great kingdom of the angels.
OVERLAPPING
In
all cases of the transference of the life-wave from one kingdom to another
great
latitude is allowed for variation; there is a good deal of overlapping
between
the kingdoms. That is perhaps most clearly to be seen along our own line
of
evolution for we find that the life which has attained to the highest levels
in
the vegetable kingdom never passes into the lower part of the animal kingdom
at
all, but on the contrary joins it at a fairly advanced stage. Let me recall
the
example which I have already given; the life which has ensouled one of our
great
forest trees could never descend to animate a swarm of mosquitoes, nor
even
a family of rats or mice or such small deer; while these latter would be
quite
appropriate forms for that part of the life-wave which had left the
vegetable
kingdom at the level of the daisy or the dandelion.
The
ladder of evolution has to be climbed in all cases, but it seems as though
the
higher part of one kingdom lies to a large extent parallel with the lower
part
of that above it, so that it is possible for a transfer from one to the
other
to take place at different levels in different cases. That stream of life
which
enters the human kingdom avoids altogether the lowest stages of the animal
kingdom;
that is, the life which is presently to rise into humanity never
manifests
itself through the insects or the reptiles; in the past it did
sometimes
enter the animal kingdom at the level of the great antediluvian
reptiles,
but now it passes directly from the highest forms of the vegetable
life
into the mammalia. Similarly, when the most advanced domestic animal
becomes
individualised, he does not need to descend into the form of the
absolutely
primitive savage for his first human incarnation.
The
accompanying diagram shows some of these lines of development in a
convenient
tabular form, but it must not be considered as in any way exhaustive,
as
there are no doubt other lines which have not yet been observed, and there
are
certainly all kinds of variations and possibilities of crossing at different
levels
from one line to another; so that all we can do is to give a broad
outline
of the scheme.
As
will be seen from the diagram, at a later stage all the lines of evolution
converge
once more; at least to our dim sight there seems no distinction of
glory
among those Lofty Ones, though probably if we knew more we could make our
table
more complete. At any rate we know that, much as humanity lies above the
animal
kingdom, so beyond and above humanity in its turn lies the great kingdom
of
the angels, and that to enter among the angels is one of the seven
possibilities
which the Adept finds opening before him. That same kingdom is
also
the next stage for the nature-spirit, but we have here another instance of
the
overlapping previously mentioned, for the Adept joins that kingdom at a high
level,
omitting altogether three of its stages, while the next step of progress
for
the highest type of nature-spirit is to become the lowest class of angel,
thus
beginning at the bottom of that particular ladder instead of stepping on to
it
half-way up.
It
is on joining the angel kingdom that the nature-spirit receives the divine
Spark
of the Third Outpouring, and thus attains individuality, just as the
animal
does when he passes into the human kingdom; and a further point of
similarity
is that just as the animal gains individualisation only through
contact
with humanity, so the nature-spirit gains it through contact with the
angel--
through becoming attached to him and working in order to please him,
until
at last he learns how to do angel' s work himself.
The
more advanced nature-spirit is therefore not exactly an etheric or astral
human
being, for he is not yet an individual; yet he is much more than an
etheric
or astral animal, for his intellectual level is far higher than anything
which
we find in the animal kingdom, and is indeed quite equal along many lines
to
that of average humanity. On the other hand, some of the earlier varieties
possess
but a limited amount of intelligence, and seem to be about on an
equality
with the humming-birds or bees or butterflies which they so closely
resemble.
As we have seen from our diagram, this one name of nature-spirit
covers
a large segment of the arc of evolution, including stages corresponding
to
the whole of the vegetable and animal kingdoms, and to humanity up to almost
the
present level of our own race.
Some
of the lower types are not pleasing to the aesthetic sense; but that is
true
also of the lower kinds of reptiles and insects. There are undeveloped
tribes
whose tastes are coarse, and naturally their appearance corresponds to
the
stage of their evolution. The shapeless masses with huge red gaping mouths,
which
live upon the loathsome etheric emanations of blood and decaying flesh,
are
horrible both to the sight and to the feeling of any pure-minded person; so
also
are the rapacious red-brown crustacean creatures which hover over houses of
ill-fame,
and the savage octopus-like monsters which gloat over the orgies of
the
drunkard and revel in the fumes of alcohol. But even these harpies are not
evil
in themselves, though repulsive to man; and man would never come into
contact
with them unless he degraded himself to their level by becoming the
slave
of his lower passions.
It
is only nature-spirits of these and similar primitive and unpleasant kinds
which
voluntarily approach the average man. Others of the same sort, but a shade
less
material, enjoy the sensation of bathing in any specially coarse astral
radiations,
such as those produced by anger, avarice, cruelty, jealousy and
hatred.
People yielding themselves to such feelings can depend upon being
constantly
surrounded by these carrion crows of the astral world, who quiver in
their
ghastly glee as they jostle one another in eager anticipation of an
outburst
of passion, and in their blind, blundering way do whatever they can to
provoke
or intensify it. It is difficult to believe that such horrors as these
can
belong to the same kingdom as the jocund spirits next to be described.
FAIRIES
The
type best known to man is that of the fairies, the spirits who live normally
upon
the surface of the earth, though, since their bodies are of etheric matter,
they
can pass into the ground at will. Their forms are many and various, but
most
frequently human in shape and somewhat diminutive in size, usually with a
grotesque
exaggeration of some particular feature or limb. Etheric matter being
plastic
and readily moulded by the power of thought, they are able to assume
almost
any appearance at will, but they nevertheless have definite forms of
their
own, which they wear when they have no special object to serve by taking
any
other, and are therefore not exerting their will to produce a change of
shape.
They have also colours of their own, marking the difference between their
tribes
or species, just as the birds have differences of plumage.
There
are an immense number of subdivisions or races among them, and individuals
of
these sub-divisions vary in intelligence and disposition precisely as human
beings
do. Again like human beings, these divers races inhabit different
countries,
or sometimes different districts of the same country, and the members
of
one race have a general tendency to keep together, just as men of one nation
do
among ourselves. They are on the whole distributed much as are the other
kingdoms
of nature; like the birds, from whom some of them have been evolved,
some
varieties are peculiar to one country, others are common in one country and
rare
elsewhere, while others again are to be found almost anywhere. Again like
the
birds, it is broadly true that the most brilliantly coloured orders are to
be
found in tropical countries.
NATIONAL
TYPES
The
predominant types of the different parts of the world are usually clearly
distinguishable
and in a sense characteristic; or is it perhaps that their
influence
in the slow course of ages has moulded the men and animals and plants
who
lived near them, so that it is the nature-spirit who has set the fashion and
the
other kingdoms which have unconsciously followed it? For example, no
contrast
could well be more marked than that between the vivacious, rollicking,
orange-and-purple
or scarlet-and-gold mannikins who dance among the vineyards of
Sicily
and the almost wistful grey-and-green creatures who move so much more
sedately
amidst the oaks and the furze-covered heaths in Brittany, or the
golden-brown
“good people” who haunt the hill-sides of Scotland.
In
England the emerald-green variety is probably the commonest, and I have seen
it
also in the woods of France and Belgium, in far-away Massachusetts and on the
banks
of the Niagara River. The vast plains of the Dakotas are inhabited by a
black-and-white
kind which I have not seen elsewhere, and California rejoices in
a
lovely white-and-gold species which also appears to be unique.
In
Australia the most frequent type is a very distinctive creature of a
wonderful
luminous skyblue colour; but there is a wide diversity between the
etheric
inhabitants of New South Wales or Victoria and those of tropical
Northern
Queensland. These latter approximate closely to those of the Dutch
Indies.
Java seems specially prolific in these graceful creatures, and the kinds
most
common there are two distinct types, both monochromatic-- one indigo blue
with
faint metallic gleamings, and the other a study in all known shades of
yellow--
quaint, but wonderfully effective and attractive.
A
striking local variety is gaudily ringed with alternate bars of green and
yellow,
like a football jersey. This ringed type is possibly a race peculiar to
that
part of the world, for I saw red and yellow similarly arranged in the Malay
Peninsula,
and green and white on the other side of the Straits in Sumatra. That
huge
island also rejoices in the possession of a lovely pale heliotrope tribe
which
I have seen before only in the hills of Ceylon. Down in New Zealand their
specialty
is a deep blue shot with silver, while in the South Sea Islands one
meets
with a silvery-white variety which coruscates with all the colours of the
rainbow,
like a figure of mother-of-pearl.
In
India we find all sorts, from the delicate rose-and-pale-green, or
paleblue-and-primrose
of the hill country to the rich medley of gorgeously
gleaming
colours, almost barbaric in their intensity and profusion, which is
characteristic
of the plains. In some parts of that marvellous country I have
seen
the black-and-gold type which is more usually associated with the African
desert,
and also a species which resembles a statuette made out of a gleaming
crimson
metal, such as was the orichalcum of the Atlanteans.
Somewhat
akin to this last is a curious variety which looks as though cast out
of
bronze and burnished; it appears to make its home in the immediate
neighbourhood
of volcanic disturbances, since the only places in which it has
been
seen so far are the slopes of Vesuvius and Etna, the interior of Java, the
Sandwich
Islands, the Yellowstone Park in North America, and a certain part of
the
North Island of New Zealand. Several indications seem to point to the
conclusion
that this is a survival of a primitive type, and represents a sort of
intermediate
stage between the gnome and the fairy.
In
some cases, districts close together are found to be inhabited by quite
different
classes of nature-spirits; for example, as has already been mentioned,
the
emerald-green elves are common in Belgium, yet a hundred miles away in
Holland
hardly one of them is to be seen, and their place is taken by a
sober-looking
dark-purple species.
ON
A SACRED MOUNTAIN IN IRELAND
A
curious fact is that altitude above the sea-level seems to affect their
distribution,
those who belong to the mountains scarcely ever intermingling with
those
of the plains. I well remember, when climbing Slieve-namon, one of the
traditionally
sacred hills of Ireland, noticing the very definite lines of
demarcation
between the different types. The lower slopes, like the surrounding
plains,
were alive with the intensely active and mischievous little
red-and-black
race which swarms all over the south and west of Ireland, being
especially
attracted to the magnetic centres established nearly two thousand
years
ago by the magic-working priests of the old Milesian race to ensure and
perpetuate
their domination over the people by keeping them under the influence
of
the great illusion. After half-an-hour' s climbing, however, not one of these
red-and-black
gentry was to be seen, but instead the hillside was populous with
the
gentler blue-and-brown type which long ago owed special allegiance to the
Tuatha-de-Danaan.
These
also had their zone and their well-defined limits, and no nature-spirit of
either
type ever ventured to trespass upon the space round the summit, sacred to
the
great green angels who have watched there for more than two thousand years,
guarding
one of the centres of living force that link the past to the future of
that
mystic land of Erin. Taller far than the height of man, these giant forms,
in
colour like the first new leaves of spring, soft, luminous, shimmering,
indescribable,
look forth over the world with wondrous eyes that shine like
stars,
full of the peace of those who live in the eternal, waiting with the calm
certainty
of knowledge until the appointed time shall come. One realises very
fully
the power and importance of the hidden side of things when one beholds
such
a spectacle as that.
But
indeed it is scarcely hidden, for the different influences are so strong and
so
distinct that anyone in the least sensitive cannot but be aware of them, and
there
is good reason for the local tradition that he who spends a night upon the
summit
of the mountain shall awaken in the morning either a poet or a madman. A
poet,
if he has proved capable of response to the exaltation of the whole being
produced
by the tremendous magnetism which has played upon him while he slept; a
madman,
if he was not strong enough to bear the strain.
FAIRY
LIFE AND DEATH
The
life-periods of the different subdivisions of nature-spirits vary greatly,
some
being quite short, others much longer than our human lifetime. The
universal
principle of reincarnation obtains in their existence also, though the
conditions
naturally make its working slightly different. They have no phenomena
corresponding
to what we mean by birth and growth; a fairy appears in his world
full-sized,
as an insect does. He lives his life, short or long, without any
appearance
of fatigue or need of rest, and without any perceptible signs of age
as
the years pass.
But
at last there comes a time when his energy seems to have exhausted itself,
when
he becomes somewhat tired of life; and when that happens his body grows
more
and more diaphanous until he is left as an astral entity, to live for a
time
in that world among the air-spirits who represent the next stage of
development
for him. Through that astral life he fades back into his group-soul,
in
which he may have (if sufficiently advanced) a certain amount of conscious
existence
before the cyclic law acts upon the group-soul once more by arousing
in
it the desire for separation. When this happens, its pressure turns the
stream
of its energy outward once more, and that desire, acting upon the plastic
astral
and etheric matter, materialises a body of similar type, such as is
suitable
to be an expression of the development attained in that last life.
Birth
and death, therefore, are much simpler for the nature-spirit than for us,
and
death is for him quite free from all thought of sorrow. Indeed, his whole
life
seems simpler-- a joyous, irresponsible kind of existence, much such as a
party
of happy children might lead among exceptionally favorable physical
surroundings.
There is no sex among nature-spirits, there is no disease, and
there
is no struggle for existence, so that they are exempt from the most
fertile
causes of human suffering. They have keen affections and are capable of
forming
close and lasting friendships, from which they derive profound and
never-failing
joy. Jealousy and anger are possible to them, but seem quickly to
fade
before the overwhelming delight in all the operations of nature which is
their
most prominent characteristic.
THEIR
PLEASURES
They
glory in the light and glow of the sunshine, but they dance with equal
pleasure
in the moonlight; they share and rejoice in the satisfaction of the
thirsty
earth and the flowers and the trees when they feel the level lances of
the
rain, but they play just as happily with the falling flakes of snow; they
are
content to float idly in the calm of a summer afternoon, yet they revel in
the
rushing of the wind. Not only do they admire, with an intensity that few of
us
can understand, the beauty of a flower or a tree, the delicacy of its colour
or
the grace of its form, but they take ardent interest and deep delight in all
the
processes of nature, in the flowing of sap, in the opening of buds, in the
formation
and falling of leaves. Naturally this characteristic is utilised by
the
Great Ones in charge of evolution, and nature-spirits are employed to assist
in
the blending of colours and the arrangement of variations. They pay much
attention,
too, to bird and insect life, to the hatching of the egg and to the
opening
of the chrysalis, and they watch with jocund eye the play of lambs and
fawns,
of leverets and squirrels.
Another
inestimable advantage that an etheric evolution possesses over one which
touches
the denser physical is that the necessity of eating is avoided. The body
of
the fairy absorbs such nourishment as it needs, without trouble and without
stint,
from the aether which of necessity always surrounds it; or rather, it is
not,
strictly speaking, that nourishment is absorbed, but rather that a change
of
particles is constantly taking place, those which have been drained of their
vitality
being cast out and others which are full of it being drawn in to
replace
them.
Though
they do not eat, nature-spirits obtain from the fragrance of flowers a
pleasure
analogous to that which men derive from the taste of food. The aroma is
more
to them than a mere question of smell or taste, for they bathe themselves
in
it so that it interpenetrates their bodies and reaches every particle
simultaneously.
What
takes for them the place of a nervous system is far more delicate than
ours,
and sensitive to many vibrations which pass all unperceived by our grosser
senses,
and so they find what corresponds to a scent in many plants and minerals
that
have no scent for us.
Their
bodies have no more internal structure than a wreath of mist, so that they
cannot
be torn asunder or injured, and neither heat nor cold has any painful
effect
upon them. Indeed, there is one type whose members seem to enjoy above
all
things to bathe themselves in fire; they rush from all sides to any great
conflagration
and fly upward with the flames again and again in wild delight,
just
as a boy flies again and again down a toboggan-slide. These are the spirits
of
the fire, the salamanders of mediaeval literature. Bodily pain can come to
the
nature-spirit only from an unpleasant or inharmonious emanation or
vibration,
but his power of rapid locomotion enables him easily to avoid these.
So
far as can be observed he is entirely free from the curse of fear, which
plays
so serious a part in the animal life which, along our line of evolution,
corresponds
to the level of the fairies.
THE
ROMANCES OF FAIRYLAND
The
fairy has an enviably fertile imagination, and it is a great part of his
daily
play with his fellows to construct for them by its means all kinds of
impossible
surroundings and romantic situations. He is like a child telling
stories
to his playmates, but with this advantage over the child that, since the
playmates
can see both etheric and lower astral matter, the forms built by his
vivid
thought are plainly visible to them as his tale proceeds.
No
doubt many of his narrations would to us seem childish and oddly limited in
scope,
because such intelligence as the elf possesses works in directions so
different
from our own, but to him they are intensely real and a source of
never-ending
delight. The fairy who develops unusual talent in fiction wins
great
affection and honour from the rest, and gathers round him a permanent
audience
or following. When some human being chances to catch a glimpse of such
a
group, he usually imports into his account of it preconceptions derived from
his
own conditions, and takes the leader for a fairy king or queen, according to
the
form which that leader may for the moment happen to prefer. In reality the
realm
of nature-spirits needs no kind of government except the general
supervision
which is exercised over it, probably unconsciously to all but its
higher
members, by the Devarajas and their subordinates.
THEIR
ATTITUDE TOWARDS MAN
Most
nature-spirits dislike and avoid mankind, and we cannot wonder at it. To
them
man appears a ravaging demon, destroying and spoiling wherever he goes. He
wantonly
kills, often with awful tortures, all the beautiful creatures that they
love
to watch; he cuts down the trees, he tramples the grass, he plucks the
flowers
and casts them carelessly aside to die; he replaces all the lovely wild
life
of nature with his hideous bricks and mortar, and the fragrance of the
flowers
with the mephitic vapours of his chemicals and the all-polluting smoke
of
his factories. Can we think it strange that the fairies should regard us with
horror,
and shrink away from us as we shrink from a poisonous reptile?
Not
only do we thus bring devastation to all that they hold most dear, but most
of
our habits and emanations are distasteful to them; we poison the sweet air
for
them (some of us) with loathsome fumes of alcohol and tobacco; our restless,
ill-regulated
desires and passions set up a constant rush of astral currents
which
disturbs and annoys them, and gives them the same feeling of disgust which
we
should have if a bucket of filthy water were emptied over us. For them to be
near
the average man is to live in a perpetual hurricane-- a hurricane that has
blown
over a cesspool. They are not great angels, with the perfect knowledge
that
brings perfect patience; they are just happy and on the whole well-disposed
children--
hardly even that, many of them, but more like exceptionally
intelligent
kittens; again, I say, can we wonder, when we thus habitually
outrage
their best and highest feelings, that they should dislike us, distrust
us
and avoid us?
There
are instances on record where, by some more than ordinarily unwarranted
intrusion
or annoyance on the part of man, they have been provoked into direct
retaliation
and have shown distinct malice. It speaks well for their kingdom as
a
whole that even under such unendurable provocation such cases are rare, and
their
more usual method of trying to repel an intruder is by playing tricks upon
him,
childish and mischievous often, but not seriously harmful. They take an
impish
delight in misleading or deceiving him, in causing him to lose his way
across
a moor, in keeping him walking round and round in a circle all night when
he
believes he is going straight on, or in making him think that he sees palaces
and
castles where no such structures really exist. Many a story illustrative of
this
curious characteristic of the fairies may be found among the village gossip
of
the peasantry in almost any lonely mountainous district.
GLAMOUR
They
are greatly assisted in their tricks by the wonderful power which they
possess
of casting a glamour over those who yield themselves to their influence,
so
that such victims for the time see and hear only what these fairies impress
upon
them, exactly as the mesmerised subject sees, hears, feels and believes
whatever
the magnetiser wishes. The nature-spirits, however, have not the
mesmerist'
s power of dominating the human will, except in the case of quite
unusually
weak-minded people, or of those who allow themselves to fall into such
a
condition of helpless terror that their will is temporarily in abeyance.
The
fairies cannot go beyond deception of the senses, but of that they are
undoubted
masters, and cases are not wanting in which they cast their glamour
over
a considerable number of people at once. It is by invoking their aid in the
exercise
of this peculiar power that some of the most marvellous feats of the
Indian
jugglers are performed, such as the celebrated basket trick, or that
other
in which a rope is thrown up towards the sky and remains rigid without
support
while the juggler climbs up it and disappears. The entire audience is in
fact
hallucinated, and the people are made to imagine that they see and hear a
whole
series of events which have not really occurred at all.
The
power of glamour is simply that of making a clear, strong mental image, and
then
projecting that into the mind of another. To most men this would seem
wellnigh
impossible, because they have never made any such attempt in their
lives,
and have no notion how to set about it. The mind of the fairy has not the
width
or the range of the man' s, but it is thoroughly well accustomed to this
work
of making images and impressing them on others, since it is one of the
principal
occupations of the creature' s daily life.
It
is not remarkable that with such constant practice he should become expert at
the
business, and it is still further simplified for him when, as in the case of
the
Indian tricks, exactly the same image has to be produced over and over again
hundreds
of times, until every detail shapes itself without effort as the result
of
unconscious habit. In trying to understand exactly how this is done, we must
bear
in mind that a mental image is a very real thing-- a definite construction
in
mental matter, as has been explained in Thought-Forms (p. 37); and we must
also
remember that the line of communication between the mind and the dense
physical
brain passes through the astral and etheric counterparts of that brain,
and
that the line may be tapped and an impression introduced at any of these
points.
Certain
of the nature-spirits not infrequently exercise their talent for mimicry
and
mischief by appearing at spiritualistic séances held for physical phenomena.
Anyone
who has been in the habit of attending on such occasions will recollect
instances
of practical joking and silly though usually good-natured horse-play;
these
almost always indicate the presence of some of these impish creatures,
though
they are sometimes due to the arrival of dead men who were senseless
enough
during earth-life to consider such inanities amusing, and have not learnt
wisdom
since their death.
INSTANCES
OF FRIENDSHIP
On
the other hand there are instances in which some nature-spirits have made
friends
with individual human beings and offered them such assistance as lay in
their
power, as in the well known stories told of Scotch brownies or of the
fire-lighting
fairies of spiritualistic literature; and it is on record that on
rare
occasions certain favoured men have been admitted to witness elfin revels
and
share for a time the elfin life. It is said that wild animals will approach
with
confidence some Indian yogis, recognising them as friends to all living
creatures;
similarly elves will gather round one who has entered upon the Path
of
Holiness, finding his emanations less stormy and more agreeable than those of
the
man whose mind is still fixed upon worldly matters.
Occasionally
fairies have been known to attach themselves to little children,
and
develop a strong attachment for them, especially for such as are dreamy and
imaginative,
since they are able to see and delight in the thought-forms with
which
such a child surrounds himself. There have even been cases in which such
creatures
took a fancy to some unusually attractive baby, and made an attempt to
carry
it away into their own haunts-- their intention being to save it from what
seems
to them the horrible fate of growing up into the average human being!
Vague
traditions of such attempts account for part of the folk-lore stories
about
changelings, though there is also another reason for them to which we
shall
refer later.
There
have been times-- more often in the past than in the present-- when a
certain
class of these entities, roughly corresponding to humanity in size and
appearance,
made it a practice frequently to materialise, to make for themselves
temporary
but definite physical bodies, and by that means to enter into
undesirable
relations with such men and women as chose to put themselves in
their
way. From this fact, perhaps, come some of the stories of fauns and satyrs
in
the classical period; though those sometimes also refer to quite a different
sub-human
evolution.
WATER-SPIRITS
Abundant
as are the fairies of the earth' s surface almost anywhere away from
the
haunts of man, they are far outnumbered by the water-spirits-- the fairies
of
the surface of the sea. There is just as much variety here as on land. The
nature-spirits
of the Pacific differ from those of the Atlantic, and those of
the
Mediterranean are quite distinct from either; the types that revel in the
indescribably
glorious blue of tropical oceans are far apart from those that
dash
through the foam of our cold grey northern seas. Dissimilar again are the
spirits
of the lake, the river and the waterfall, for they have many more points
in
common with the land fairies than have the nereids of the open sea.
These,
like their brothers of the land, are of all shapes, but perhaps most
frequently
imitate the human. Broadly speaking, they tend to take larger forms
than
the elves of the woods and the hills; the majority of the latter are
diminutive,
while the sea-spirit who copies man usually adopts his size as well
as
his shape. In order to avoid misunderstanding it is necessary constantly to
insist
upon the protean character of all these forms; any of these creatures,
whether
of land or sea or air, can make himself temporarily larger or smaller at
will,
or can assume whatever shape he chooses.
There
is theoretically no restriction upon this power, but in practice it has
its
limits, though they are wide. A fairy who is naturally twelve inches in
height
can expand himself to the proportions of a man of six feet, but the
effort
would be a considerable strain, and could not be maintained for more than
a
few minutes. In order to take a form other than his own he must be able to
conceive
it clearly, and he can hold the shape only while his mind is fixed upon
it;
as soon as his thought wanders he will at once begin to resume his natural
appearance.
Though
etheric matter can readily be moulded by the power of thought, it
naturally
does not obey it as instantaneously as does astral matter; we might
say
that mental matter changes actually with the thought, and astral matter so
quickly
after it that the ordinary observer can scarcely note any difference;
but
with etheric matter one' s vision can follow the growth or diminution
without
difficulty. A sylph, whose body is of astral matter, flashes from one
shape
into another; a fairy, who is etheric, swells or decreases quickly but not
instantaneously.
Few
of the land-spirits are gigantic in size, while such stature seems quite
common
out at sea. The creatures of the land frequently weave from their fancies
scraps
of human clothing, and show themselves with quaint caps or baldrics or
jerkins;
but I have never seen any such appearance among the inhabitants of the
sea.
Nearly all these surface water-spirits seem to possess the power of raising
themselves
out of their proper element and floating in or flying through the air
for
a short distance; they delight in playing amidst the dashing foam or riding
in
upon the breakers. They are less pronounced in their avoidance of man than
their
brethren on land-- perhaps because man has so much less opportunity of
interfering
with them. They do not descend to any great depth below the
surface--
never, at any rate, beyond the reach of light; so that there is always
a
considerable space between their realm and the domain of the far less evolved
creatures
of the middle deeps.
FRESH-WATER
FAIRIES
Some
very beautiful species inhabit inland waters where man has not yet rendered
the
conditions impossible for them. Naturally enough, the filth and the
chemicals
with which water is polluted near any large town are disgusting to
them;
but they have apparently no objection to the water-wheel in a quiet
country
nook, for they may sometimes be seen disporting themselves in a
mill-race.
They seem specially to delight in falling water, just as their
brothers
of the sea revel in the breaking of foam; for the pleasure which it
gives
them they will sometimes even dare a nearer approach than usual to the
hated
presence of man. At Niagara, for example, there are almost always some
still
to be seen in the summer, though they generally keep well out towards the
centre
of the Falls and the Rapids. Like birds of passage, in winter they
abandon
those northern waters, which are frozen over for many months, and seek a
temporary
home in more genial climes. A short frost they do not seem to mind;
the
mere cold has apparently little or no effect upon them, but they dislike the
disturbance
of their ordinary conditions. Some of those who commonly inhabit
rivers
transfer themselves to the sea when their streams freeze; to others salt
water
seems distasteful, and they prefer to migrate considerable distances
rather
than take refuge in the ocean.
An
interesting variety of the fairies of the water are the cloud-spirits--
entities
whose life is spent almost entirely among those “waters which be above
the
firmament”. They should perhaps be classified as intermediate between the
spirits
of the water and those of the air; their bodies are of etheric matter,
as
are the former, but they are capable of remaining away from the water for
comparatively
long periods. Their forms are often huge and loosely knit; they
seem
near of kin to some of the fresh-water types, yet they are quite willing to
dip
for a time into the sea when the clouds which are their favourite habitat
disappear.
They dwell in the luminous silence of cloudland, and their favourite
pastime
is to mould their clouds into strange, fantastic shapes or to arrange
them
in the serried ranks which we call a mackerel sky.
SYLPHS
We
come now to the consideration of the highest type in the kingdom of the
nature-spirits--
the stage at which the lines of development both of the land
and
sea creatures converge-- the sylphs, or spirits of the air. These entities
are
definitely raised above all the other varieties of which we have been
speaking
by the fact that they have shaken themselves free from the encumbrance
of
physical matter, the astral body being now their lowest vehicle. Their
intelligence
is much higher than that of the etheric species, and quite equal to
that
of the average man; but they have not yet attained a permanent
reincarnating
individuality. Just because they are so much more evolved, before
breaking
away from the group-soul they can understand much more about life than
an
animal can, and so it often happens that they know that they lack
individuality
and are intensely eager to gain it. That is the truth that lies at
the
back of all the widely-spread traditions of the yearning of the
nature-spirit
to obtain an immortal soul.
The
normal method for them to attain this is by association with and love for
members
of the next stage above them-- the astral angels. A domestic animal,
such
as the dog or the cat, advances through the development of his intelligence
and
his affection which is the result of his close relationship with his master.
Not
only does his love for that master cause him to make determined efforts to
understand
him, but the vibrations of the master' s mind-body, constantly
playing
upon his rudimentary mind, gradually awaken it into greater and greater
activity;
and in the same way his affection for him arouses an ever-deepening
feeling
in return. The man may or may not definitely set himself to teach the
animal
something; in any case, even without any direct effort, the intimate
connection
between them helps the evolvement of the lower. Eventually the
development
of such an animal rises to the level which will allow him to receive
the
Third Outpouring, and thus he becomes an individual, and breaks away from
his
group-soul.
Now
all this is also exactly what happens between the astral angel and the
air-spirit,
except that by them the scheme is usually carried out in a much more
intelligent
and effective manner. Not one man in a thousand thinks or knows
anything
about the real evolution of his dog or cat; still less does the animal
comprehend
the possibility that lies before him. But the angel clearly
understands
the plan of nature, and in many cases the nature-spirit also knows
what
he needs, and works intelligently towards its attainment. So each of these
astral
angels usually has several sylphs attached to him, frequently definitely
learning
from him and being trained by him, but at any rate basking in the play
of
his intellect and returning his affection. Very many of these angels are
employed
as agents by the Devarajas in their duty of the distributing of karma;
and
thus it comes that the air-spirits are often sub-agents in that work, and no
doubt
acquire much valuable knowledge while executing the tasks assigned to
them.
The
Adept knows how to make use of the services of the nature-spirits when he
requires
them, and there are many pieces of business which he is able to entrust
to
them. In the issue of Broad Views for February, 1907, there appeared an
admirable
account of the ingenious manner in which a nature-spirit executed a
commission
given to him in this way.
He
was instructed to amuse an invalid who was suffering from an attack of
influenza,
and for five days he kept up an almost continuous entertainment of
strange
and interesting visions, his efforts being crowned with the most
gratifying
success, for the sufferer wrote that his ministrations “had the happy
effect
of turning what under ordinary circumstances would have been days of
unutterable
weariness and discomfort into a most wonderfully interesting
experience”.
He
showed a bewildering variety of pictures, moving masses of rock, seen not
from
the outside but from the inside, so that faces of creatures of various
sorts
appeared in them. He also exhibited mountains, forests and avenues, and
sometimes
great masses of architecture, portions of Corinthian columns, bits of
statuary,
and great arched roofs, often also the most wonderful flowers and
palms,
waving to and fro as if in a gentle breeze. Sometimes he seems to have
taken
the physical objects in the bedroom and woven them into a kind of magic
transformation
scene. One might indeed surmise, from the curious nature of the
entertainment
offered, the particular type to which belonged the nature-spirit
who
was employed in this charitable work.
The
Oriental magician occasionally endeavours to obtain the assistance of the
higher
nature-spirits in his performances, but the enterprise is not without its
dangers.
He must adopt either invocation or evocation-- that is, he must either
attract
their attention as a suppliant and make some kind of bargain with them,
or
he must try to set in motion influences which will compel their obedience--
an
attempt which, if it fails, will arouse a determined hostility that is
exceedingly
likely to result in his premature extinction, or at the least will
put
him in an extremely ridiculous and unpleasant position.
Of
these air-spirits, as of the lower fairies, there are many varieties,
differing
in power, in intelligence and in habits as well as in appearance. They
are
naturally less restricted to locality than the other kinds which we have
described,
though like the others they seem to recognise the limits of certain
zones
of elevation, some kinds always floating near the surface of the earth,
while
others scarcely ever approach it. As a general rule they share the common
dislike
to the neighbourhood of man and his restless desires, but there are
occasions
when they are willing to endure this for the sake of amusement or
flattery.
THEIR
AMUSEMENT
They
extract immense entertainment sometimes out of the sport of ensouling
thought-forms
of various kinds. An author in writing a novel, for example,
naturally
makes strong thought-forms of all his characters, and moves them about
his
miniature stage like marionettes; but sometimes a party of jocund
nature-spirits
will seize upon his forms, and play out the drama upon a scheme
improvised
on the spur of the moment, so that the dismayed novelist feels that
his
puppets have somehow got out of hand and developed a will of their own.
The
love of mischief which is so marked a characteristic of some of the fairies
persists
to a certain extent among at least the lower types of the air-spirits,
so
that their impersonations are occasionally of a less innocent order. People
whose
evil karma has brought them under the domination of Calvinistic theology,
but
who have not yet the intelligence or the faith to cast aside its blasphemous
doctrines,
sometimes in their fear make awful thought-forms of the imaginary
devil
to which their superstition gives such a prominent role in the universe;
and
I regret to say that certain impish nature-spirits are quite unable to
resist
the temptation of masquerading in these terrible forms, and think it a
great
joke to flourish horns, to lash a forked tail, and to breathe out flames
as
they rush about. To anyone who understands the nature of these pantomime
demons
no harm is done; but now and then nervous children happen to be
impressionable
enough to catch a glimpse of such things, and if they have not
been
wisely taught, great terror is the result.
It
is only fair to the nature-spirit to remember that, as he himself is
incapable
of fear, he does not in the least understand the gravity of this
result,
and probably considers the child' s fright as simulated, and as part of
the
game. We can hardly blame the nature-spirit for the fact that we permit our
children
to be bound by the chains of a grovelling superstition, and neglect to
impress
upon them the grand fundamental fact that God is love and that perfect
love
casteth out all fear. If our air-spirit occasionally thus terrifies the
ill-instructed
living child, it must on the other hand be set to his credit that
he
constantly affords the keenest pleasure to thousands of children who are what
we
call ` dead,' for to play with them and to entertain them in a hundred
different
ways is one of his happiest occupations.
The
air-spirits have discovered the opportunity afforded to them by the
spiritualistic
séance, and some of them become habitual attendants, usually
under
some such name as Daisy or Sunflower. They are quite capable of giving a
very
interesting séance, for they naturally know a good deal about astral life
and
its possibilities. They will readily answer questions, truly enough as far
as
their knowledge goes, and with, at any rate, an appearance of profundity when
the
subject is somewhat beyond them. They can produce raps, tilts and lights
without
difficulty, and are quite prepared to deliver whatever messages they may
see
to be desired-- not in the least meaning in this way harm or deceit, but
naively
rejoicing in their success in playing the part, and in the wealth of
awe-stricken
devotion and affection lavished upon them as “dear spirits” and
“angel
helpers”. They learn to share the delight of the sitters, and feel
themselves
to be doing a good work in thus bringing comfort to the afflicted.
Living
astrally as they do, the fourth dimension is a commonplace fact of their
existence,
and this makes quite simple for them many little tricks which to us
appear
wonderful, such as the removal of articles from a locked box or the
apport
of flowers into a closed room. The desires and emotions of the sitters
lie
open before them, they quickly acquire facility in reading any but abstract
thoughts,
and the management of a materialisation is quite within their power
when
adequate material is provided. It will therefore be seen that without any
exterior
assistance they are competent to provide a varied and satisfactory
evening'
s entertainment, and there is no doubt that they have often done so. I
am
not for a moment suggesting that nature-spirits are the only entities which
operate
at séances; the manifesting ` spirit' is often exactly what he claims to
be,
but it is also true that he is often nothing of the kind, and the average
sitter
has absolutely no means of distinguishing between the genuine article and
the
imitation.
AN
ABNORMAL DEVELOPMENT
As
has already been said, the normal line of advancement for the nature-spirit
is
to attain individuality by association with an angel, but there have been
individuals
who have departed from that rule. The intensity of affection felt by
the
sylph for the angel is the principal factor in the great change, and the
abnormal
cases are those in which that affection has been fixed upon a human
being
instead. This involves so complete a reversal of the common attitude of
these
beings towards humanity that its occurrence is naturally rare; but when it
happens,
and when the love is strong enough to lead to individualisation, it
detaches
the nature-spirit from his own line of evolution and brings him over
into
ours, so that the newly developed ego will incarnate not as an angel but as
a
man.
Some
tradition of this possibility lies at the back of all the stories in which
a
non-human spirit falls in love with a man, and yearns with a great longing to
obtain
an immortal soul in order to be able to spend eternity with him. Upon
attaining
his incarnation such a spirit usually makes a man of very curious
type--
affectionate and emotional but wayward, strangely primitive in certain
ways,
and utterly without any sense of responsibility.
It
has sometimes happened that a sylph who was thus strongly attracted to a man
or
a woman, but just fell short of the intensity of affection necessary to
ensure
individualisation, has made an effort to obtain a forcible entrance into
human
evolution by taking possession of the body of a dying baby just as its
original
owner left it. The child would seem to recover, to be snatched back
from
the very jaws of death, but would be likely to appear much changed in
disposition,
and probably peevish and irritable in consequence of the
unaccustomed
constraint of a dense physical body.
If
the sylph were able to adapt himself to the body, there would be nothing to
prevent
him from retaining it through a life of the ordinary length. If during
that
life he succeeded in developing affection sufficiently ardent to sever his
connection
with his group-soul he would thereafter reincarnate as a human being
in
the usual way; if not, he would fall back at its conclusion into his own line
of
evolution. It will be seen that in these facts we have the truth which
underlies
the widely disseminated tradition of changelings, which is found in
all
the countries of north-western Europe, in China, and also (it is said) among
the
natives of the Pacific slope of North America.
THE
ADVANTAGE OF STUDYING THEM
The
kingdom of the nature-spirits is a most interesting field of study, to which
but
little attention has been paid. Though they are often mentioned in occult
literature,
I am not aware that any attempt has yet been made to classify them
in
scientific fashion. This vast realm of nature still needs its Cuvier or its
Linnaeus;
but perhaps when we have plenty of trained investigators we may hope
that
one of them will take upon himself this role, and furnish us as his life' s
work
with a complete and detailed natural history of these delightful creatures.
It
will be no waste of labour, no unworthy study. It is useful for us to
understand
these beings, not solely nor even chiefly because of the influence
they
exert upon us, but because the comprehension of a line of evolution so
different
from our own broadens our minds and helps us to recognise that the
world
does not exist for us alone, and that our point of view is neither the
only
one nor the most important. Foreign travel has the same effect in a minor
degree,
for it demonstrates to every unprejudiced man that races in every
respect
as good as his own may yet differ widely from it in a hundred ways. In
the
study of the nature-spirits we find the same idea carried much further; here
is
a kingdom radically dissimilar-- without sex, free from fear, ignorant of
what
is meant by the struggle for existence-- yet the eventual result of its
unfoldment
is in every respect equal to that attained by following our own line.
To
learn this may help us to see a little more of the many-sidedness of the
Solar
Deity, and so may teach us modesty and charity as well as liberality of
thought.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER VII
BY
CENTRES OF MAGNETISM
WE
all recognise to some extent that unusual surroundings may produce special
effects;
we speak of certain buildings or landscapes as gloomy and depressing;
we
understand that there is something saddening and repellent about a prison,
something
devotional about a church, and so on. Most people never trouble to
think
why this should be so, or if they do for a moment turn their attention to
the
matter, they dismiss it as an instance of the association of ideas.
Probably
it is that, but it is also much more than that, and if we examine into
its
rationale we shall find that it operates in many cases where we have never
suspected
its influence, and that a knowledge of it may be of practical use in
everyday
life. A study of the finer forces of nature will show us not only that
every
living being is radiating a complex set of definite influences upon those
about
him, but also that this is true to a lesser degree and in a simpler manner
of
inanimate objects.
OUR
GREAT CATHEDRALS
We
know that wood and iron and stone have their own respective characteristic
radiations,
but the point to be emphasised just now is that they are all capable
of
absorbing human influence, and then pouring it out again. What is the origin
of
that feeling of devotion, of reverential awe, which so permeates some of our
great
cathedrals that even the most hardened Cook' s tourist cannot entirely
escape
it? It is due not only to the historical associations, not only to the
remembrance
of the fact that for centuries men have met here for praise and
prayer,
but far more to that fact itself, and to the conditions which it has
produced
in the substance of the fabric.
To
understand this we must first of all remember the circumstances under which
those
buildings were erected. A modern brick church, run up by contract in the
shortest
possible time, has indeed but little sanctity about it; but in
mediaeval
days faith was greater, and the influence of the outer world less
prominent.
In very truth men prayed as they built our great cathedrals, and laid
every
stone as though it had been an offering upon an altar. When this was the
spirit
of the work, every such stone became a veritable talisman charged with
the
reverence and devotion of the builder, and capable of radiating those same
waves
of sensation upon others, so as to stir in them similar feelings. The
crowds
who came afterwards to worship at the shrine not only felt these
radiations,
but themselves strengthened them in turn by the reaction of their
own
feelings.
Still
more is this true of the interior decorations of the church. Every touch
of
the brush in the colouring of a triptych, every stroke of the chisel in the
sculpture
of a statue, was a direct offering to God. Thus the completed work of
art
is surrounded by an atmosphere of reverence and love, and it distinctly
sheds
these qualities upon the worshippers. All of them, rich and poor alike,
feel
something of this effect, even though many of them may be too ignorant to
receive
the added stimulus which its artistic excellence gives to those who are
able
to appreciate it and to perceive all that it means.
The
sunlight streaming through the splendid stained glass of those mediaeval
windows
brings with it a glory that is not all of the physical world, for the
clever
workmen who built up that marvellous mosaic did so for the love of God
and
the glory of His saints, and so each fragment of glass is a talisman also.
Remembering
always how the power conveyed into the statue or picture by the
fervour
of the original artist has been perpetually reinforced through the ages
by
the devotion of successive generations of worshippers, we come to understand
the
inner meaning of the great influence which undoubtedly does radiate from
such
objects as have been regarded as sacred for centuries.
Such
a devotional effect as is described in connection with a picture or a
statue
may be entirely apart from its value as a work of art. The bambino at the
Ara
Coeli at Rome is a supremely inartistic object, yet it has unquestionably
considerable
power in evoking devotional feeling among the masses that crowd to
see
it. If it were really a work of art, that fact would add but little to its
influence
over most of them, though of course it would in that case produce an
additional
and totally different effect upon another class of persons to whom
now
it does not in the least appeal.
From
these considerations it is evident that these various ecclesiastical
properties,
such as statues, pictures and other decorations, have a real value
in
the effect which they produce upon the worshippers, and the fact that they
thus
have a distinct power, which so many people can feel, probably accounts for
the
intense hatred felt for them by the savage fanatics who miscalled themselves
puritans.
They realised that the power which stood behind the Church worked to a
great
extent through these objects as its channels, and though their loathing
for
all higher influences was considerably tempered by fear, they yet felt that
if
they could break up these centres of magnetism, that would to a certain
extent
cut off the connection. And so in their revolt against all that was good
and
beautiful they did all the harm that they could-- almost as much perhaps as
those
earlier so-called Christians who, through sheer ignorance, ground up the
most
lovely Grecian statues to furnish lime to build their wretched hovels.
In
all these splendid mediaeval buildings the sentiment of devotion absolutely
and
literally exudes from the walls, because for centuries devotional
thought-forms
have been created in them by successive generations. In strong
contrast
to this is the atmosphere of criticism and disputation which may be
felt
by any sensitive person in the meeting-houses of some of the sects. In many
a
conventicle in Scotland and in Holland this feeling stands out with startling
prominence,
so as to give the impression that the great majority of the
so-called
worshippers have had no thought of worship or devotion at all, but
only
of the most sanctimonious self-righteousness, and of burning anxiety to
discover
some doctrinal flaw in the wearisome sermon of their unfortunate
minister.
An
absolutely new church does not at first produce any of these effects; for in
these
days workmen build a church with the same lack of enthusiasm as a factory.
As
soon as the bishop consecrates it, a decided influence is set up as the
effect
of that ceremony, but the consideration of that belongs to another
chapter
of our work. A few years of use will charge the walls very effectively,
and
a much shorter period than that will produce the result in a church where
the
sacrament is reserved, or where perpetual adoration is offered. The Roman
Catholic
or Ritualistic church soon becomes thoroughly affected, but the
meeting-houses
of some of the dissenting sects which do not make a special point
of
devotion, often produce for a long time an influence scarcely distinguishable
from
that which is to be felt in an ordinary lecture hall. A fine type of
devotional
influence is often to be found in the chapel of a convent or
monastery,
though again the type differs greatly according to the objects which
the
monks or the nuns set before themselves.
TEMPLES
I
have been taking Christian fanes as an example, because they are those which
are
most familiar to me-- which will also be most familiar to the majority of my
readers;
also perhaps because Christianity is the religion which has made a
special
point of devotion, and has, more than any other, arranged for the
simultaneous
expression of it in special buildings erected for that purpose.
Among
Hindus the Vaishnavite has a devotion quite as profound as that of any
Christian,
though unfortunately it is often tainted by expectation of favours to
be
given in return. But the Hindu has no idea of anything like combined worship.
Though
on great festivals enormous crowds attend the temples, each person makes
his
little prayer or goes through his little ceremony for himself, and so he
misses
the enormous additional effect which is produced by simultaneous action.
Regarded
solely from the point of view of charging the walls of the temple with
devotional
influence, this plan differs from the other in a way that we may
perhaps
understand by taking a physical illustration of a number of sailors
pulling
at a rope. We know that, when that is being done, a sort of chant is
generally
used in order to ensure that the men shall apply their strength at
exactly
the same moment; and in that way a much more effective pull is produced
than
would be achieved if each man put out exactly the same strength, but
applied
it just when he felt that he could, and without any relation to the work
of
the others.
Nevertheless
as the years roll by there comes to be a strong feeling in a
Vaishnavite
temple-- as strong perhaps as that of the Christians, though quite
different
in kind. Different again in quite another way is the impression
produced
in the great temples dedicated to Shiva. In such a shrine as that at
Madura,
for example, an exceedingly powerful influence radiates from the holy of
holies.
It is surrounded by a strong feeling of reverential awe, almost of fear,
and
this so deeply tinges the devotion of the crowds who come to worship that
the
very aura of the place is changed by it.
Completely
different again is the impression which surrounds a Buddhist temple.
Of
fear we have there absolutely no trace whatever. We have perhaps less of
direct
devotion, for to a large extent devotion is replaced by gratitude. The
prominent
radiation is always one of joyfulness and love-- an utter absence of
anything
dark or stern.
Another
complete contrast is represented by the Muhammadan mosque; devotion of a
sort
is present there also, but it is distinctly a militant devotion, and the
particular
impression that it gives one is that of a fiery determination. One
feels
that this population' s comprehension of their creed may be limited, but
there
is no question whatever as to their dogged determination to hold by it.
The
Jewish synagogue again is like none of the others, but has a feeling which
is
quite distinct, and curiously dual-- exceptionally materialistic on one side,
and
on the other full of a strong, pathetic longing for the return of vanished
glories.
SITES
AND RELICS
A
partial recognition of another facet of the facts which we have been
mentioning
accounts for the choice of the site of many religious edifices. A
church
or a temple is frequently erected to commemorate the life and death of
some
saint, and in the first instance such a fane is built upon a spot which has
some
special connection with him. It may be the place where he died, the spot
where
he was born, or where some important event of his life occurred.
The
Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem and that of the Crucifixion at Jerusalem
are
instances of this, as is also the great Stupa at Buddhagaya where the Lord
Gautama
attained His Buddhahood, or the temple of the ` Bishanpad' where it is
supposed
that Vishnu left His foot-mark. All such shrines are erected not so
much
from an historical sense which wishes to indicate for the benefit of
posterity
the exact spot where an important event happened, as with the idea
that
that spot is especially blessed, especially charged with a magnetism which
will
remain through the ages, and will radiate upon and benefit those who bring
themselves
within the radius of its influence. Nor is this universal idea
without
adequate foundation.
The
spot at which the Lord BUDDHA gained the step which gives Him that august
title
is charged with a magnetism which causes it to glow forth like a sun for
anyone
who has clairvoyant vision. It is calculated to produce the strongest
possible
magnetic effect on anyone who is naturally sensitive to such influence,
or
who deliberately makes himself temporarily sensitive to such influence by
putting
himself in an attitude of heartfelt devotion.
In
a recent article on Buddhagaya in The Lotus Journal Alcyone wrote:
When
I sat quietly under the tree for awhile with Mrs. Besant, I was able to see
the
Lord BUDDHA, as He had looked when He sat there. Indeed, the record of His
meditation
is still so strong that it needs only a little clairvoyance to see
Him
even now. I had the advantage of having met Him in that life in 588 B.C.,
and
become one of His followers, so that it was easier for me to see Him again
in
this present life. But I think almost anyone who is a little sensitive would
see
Him at Buddhagaya by staying quite quiet for a little time because the air
is
full of His influence, and even now there are always great Devas bathing in
the
magnetism, and guarding the place.
Other
churches, temples or dagobas are sanctified by the possession of relics of
some
Great One, and here again the connection of ideas is obvious. It is
customary
for those who are ignorant of these matters to ridicule the idea of
paying
reverence to the fragment of bone which once belonged to a saint; but
though
reverence paid to the bone may be out of place, the influence radiating
from
that bone may nevertheless be quite a real thing, and well worthy of
serious
attention. That the trade in relics has led, all the world over, to
fraud
on the one hand and blind credulity on the other, is not a thing to be
disputed;
but that by no means alters the fact that a genuine relic may be a
valuable
thing. Whatever has been part of the physical body of a Great One, or
even
of the garments which have clothed that physical body, is impregnated with
his
personal magnetism. That means that it is charged with the powerful waves of
thought
and feeling which used to issue from him, just as an electrical battery
may
be charged.
Such
force as it possesses is intensified and perpetuated by the thought-waves
poured
upon it as the years roll by, by the faith and devotion of the crowds who
visit
the shrine. This when the relic is genuine; but most relics are not
genuine.
Even then, though they have no initial strength of their own, they
acquire
much influence as time goes on, so that even a false relic is by no
means
without effect. Therefore anyone putting himself into a receptive
attitude,
and coming into the immediate neighbourhood of a relic, will receive
into
himself its strong vibrations, and soon will be more or less attuned to
them.
Since those vibrations are unquestionably better and stronger than any
which
he is likely to generate on his own account, this is a good thing for him.
For
the time being it lifts him on to a higher level, it opens a higher world to
him;
and though the effect is only temporary, this cannot but be good for him--
an
event which will leave him, for the rest of his life, slightly better than if
it
had not occurred.
This
is the rationale of pilgrimages, and they are quite often really effective.
In
addition to whatever may have been the original magnetism contributed by the
holy
man or relic, as soon as the place of pilgrimage is established and numbers
of
people begin to visit it, another factor comes into play, of which we have
already
spoken in the case of churches and temples. The place begins to be
charged
with the devotional feeling of all these hosts of visitors, and what
they
leave behind reacts upon their successors. Thus the influence of one of
these
holy places usually does not decrease as time passes, for if the original
force
tends slightly to diminish, on the other hand it is constantly fed by new
accessions
of devotion. Indeed, the only case in which the power ever fades is
that
of a neglected shrine-- as, for example, when a country is conquered by
people
of another religion, to whom the older shrines are as nothing. Even then
the
influence, if it has been originally sufficiently strong, persists almost
without
diminution for many centuries, and for this reason even ruins have often
a
powerful force connected with them.
The
Egyptian religion, for example, has been practised little since the
Christian
era, yet no sensitive person can stand amidst the ruins of one of its
temples
without being powerfully affected by the stream of its thought. In this
particular
instance another force comes into play; the Egyptian architecture was
of
a definite type, intentionally so erected for the purpose of producing a
definite
impression upon its worshippers, and perhaps no architecture has ever
fulfilled
its purpose more effectively.
The
shattered fragments which remain still produce that effect to no
inconsiderable
degree, even upon members of an alien race altogether out of
touch
with the type of the old Egyptian civilisation. For the student of
comparative
religion who happens to be sensitive, there can be no more
interesting
experience than this-- to bathe in the magnetism of the older
religions
of the world, to feel their influence as their devotees felt it
thousands
of years ago, to compare the sensations of Thebes or Luxor with those
of
the Parthenon or of the beautiful Greek temples of Girgenti, or those of
Stonehenge
with the vast ruins of Yucatan.
RUINS
The
religious life of the old world can best be sensed in this way through the
agency
of its temples; but it is equally possible in the same way to come into
touch
with the daily life of those vanished nations, by standing among the ruins
of
their palaces and their homes. This needs perhaps a keener clairvoyant sense
than
the other. The force which permeates the temple is powerful because it is
to
a considerable extent one-pointed-- because all through the centuries people
have
come to it with one leading idea of prayer or devotion, and so the
impression
made has been comparatively powerful. In their homes, on the other
hand,
they have lived out their lives with all kinds of different ideas and
warring
interests, so that the impressions often cancel one another.
Nevertheless
there emerges, as years roll on, a sort of least common multiple of
all
their feelings, which is characteristic of them as a race, and this can be
sensed
by one who has the art of entirely suppressing those personal feelings of
his
own, which are so far nearer and more vivid to him, and listening earnestly
to
catch the faint echo of the life of those times so long ago. Such study often
enables
one to take a juster view of history; manners and customs which startle
and
horrify us, because they are so remote from our own, can in this way be
contemplated
from the point of view of those to whom they were familiar; and in
seeing
them thus, one often realises for the first time how entirely we have
misconceived
those men of the past.
Some
of us may remember how, in our childhood, ignorant though well-meaning
relations
endeavoured to excite our sympathy by stories of Christian martyrs who
were
thrown to the lions in the Colosseum at Rome, or reprobated with horror the
callous
brutality which could assemble thousands to enjoy the combats between
gladiators.
I am not prepared to defend the tastes and amusements of the ancient
Roman
citizen, yet I think that any sensitive person who will go to the
Colosseum
at Rome and (if he can for the moment escape from the tourist) sit
down
there quietly, and let his consciousness drift backwards in time until he
can
sense the real feeling of those enormous, wildly-excited audiences, will
find
that he has done them a gross injustice.
First,
he will realise that the throwing of Christians to the lions because of
their
religious belief is a pious falsehood of the unprincipled early
Christians.
He will find that the government of Rome was in religious matters
distinctly
more tolerant than most European governments at the present day; that
no
person was ever executed or persecuted on account of any religious opinion
whatever,
and that those so-called Christians who were put to death suffered not
in
the least because of their alleged religion, but because of conspiracy
against
the State, or of crimes which we should all join in reprobating.
He
will find that the government allowed and even encouraged gladiatorial
combats,
but he will also find that only three classes of people took part in
them.
First, condemned criminals-- men whose lives had been forfeited to the law
of
the time-- were utilised to provide a spectacle for the people, a degrading
spectacle
certainly, but not in any way more so than many which receive popular
approval
at the present day. The malefactor was killed in the arena, fighting
either
against another malefactor or a wild beast; but he preferred to die
fighting
rather than at the hands of the law, and there was always just a
possibility
that if he fought well he might thereby contrive to earn the
applause
of the fickle population; and so save his life.
The
second class consisted of such prisoners of war as it was the fashion of the
time
to put to death; but in this case also these were people whose death was
already
decided upon, and this particular form of death utilised them for a
certain
form of popular entertainment, and also gave them a chance of saving
their
lives, at which they eagerly grasped. The third class were the
professional
gladiators, men like the prize-fighters of the present day, men who
took
up this horrible line of life for the sake of the popularity which it
brought--
accepting it with their eyes fully open to its danger.
I
am not for a moment suggesting that the gladiatorial show was a form of
entertainment
which could possibly be tolerated by a really enlightened people;
but
if we are to apply the same standard now, we shall have to admit that no
enlightened
nations have yet come into existence, for it was no worse than the
mediaeval
tournaments, than the cock-fighting and bear-baiting of a century ago,
or
than the bull-fight or prize-fight of the present day. Nor is there anything
to
choose between the brutality of its supporters and that of the people who go
in
vast crowds to see how many rats a dog can kill in a minute, or that of the
noble
sportsmen who (without the excuse of anything in the nature of a fair
fight)
go out to slaughter hundreds of inoffensive partridges.
We
are beginning to set a somewhat higher value on human life than they did in
the
days of ancient Rome; but even so I would point out that that change does
not
mark a difference between the ancient Roman race and its reincarnation in
the
English people, for our own race was equally callous about wholesale
slaughter
up to a century ago. The difference is not between us and the Romans,
but
between us and our very recent ancestors; for the crowds which in the days
of
our fathers went and jested at a public execution can hardly be said to have
advanced
much since the time when they crowded the benches of the Colosseum.
It
is true that the Roman Emperors attended those exhibitions, as the English
Kings
used to encourage the tournament, and as the Kings of Spain even now
patronise
the bull-fight; but in order to understand the varied motives which
led
them to do this we must make a thorough study of the politics of the time--
a
matter which is quite outside the scope of this book. Here it must suffice to
say
that the Roman citizens were a body of men in a very curious political
position,
and that the authorities considered it necessary to provide them with
constant
entertainments in order to keep them in a good humour. Therefore they
hit
upon this method of utilising what they regarded as the necessary and
customary
execution of criminals and rebels, in order to provide for the
proletariat
a kind of entertainment which it enjoyed. A very brutal proletariat,
you
will say. One must certainly admit that they were not highly advanced, but
at
least they were far better than those much later specimens who took active
part
in the unspeakable horrors of the French Revolution, for these last felt an
active
delight in blood and cruelty, which were only unnoticed concomitants of
the
enjoyment in the case of the Roman.
Anyone
who, standing in the Colosseum, as I have said, will really allow himself
to
feel the true spirit of those crowds of long ago, will understand that what
appealed
to them was the excitement of the contest and the skill exhibited in
it.
Their brutality consisted not in the fact that they enjoyed bloodshed and
suffering,
but that in the excitement of watching the struggle they were able to
ignore
it-- which after all is very much what we do when we eagerly follow in
the
columns of our newspapers the news from the seat of war in the present day.
Level
for level, case for case, we of the fifth sub-race have made a slight
advance
from the condition of the fourth sub-race of two thousand years ago; but
that
advance is much slighter than our self-satisfaction has persuaded us.
Every
country has its ruins, and in all alike the study of the older life is an
interesting
study. A good idea of the wonderfully varied activities and
interests
of the mediaeval monastic life in England may be obtained by visiting
that
queen of ruins, Fountains Abbey, just as by visiting the stones of Carnac
(not
in Egypt but in Morbihan) one may watch the midsummer rejoicings round the
tantad
or sacred fire of the ancient Bretons.
There
is perhaps less necessity to study the ruins of India, since daily life
there
has remained so unchanged throughout the ages that no clairvoyant faculty
is
required to picture it as it was thousands of years ago. None of the actual
buildings
of India go back to any period of appreciable difference, and in most
cases
the relics of the golden age of India under the great Atlantean monarchies
are
already deeply buried. If we turn to mediaeval times, the effect of
environment
and religion on practically the same people is curiously illustrated
by
the difference in feeling between any ancient city of the north of India and
the
ruins of Anuradhapura in Ceylon.
MODERN
CITIES
Just
as our ancestors of long ago lived their ordinary lives in what was to them
the
ordinary commonplace way, and never dreamed that in doing so they were
impregnating
the stones of their city walls with influences which would enable a
psychometer
thousands of years afterwards to study the inmost secrets of their
existence,
so we ourselves are impregnating our cities and leaving behind us a
record
which will shock the sensibilities of the more developed men of the
future.
In certain ways which will readily suggest themselves, all great towns
are
much alike; but on the other hand there are differences of local atmosphere,
depending
to some extent upon the average morality of the city, the type of
religious
views most largely held in it, and its principal trades and
manufactures.
For all these reasons each city has a certain amount of
individuality--
and individuality which will attract some people and repel
others,
according to their disposition. Even those who are not specially
sensitive
can hardly fail to note the distinction between the feeling of Paris
and
that of London, between Edinburgh and Glasgow, or between Philadelphia and
Chicago.
There
are some cities whose key-note is not of the present but of the past--
whose
life in earlier days was so much more forcible than it is now, that the
present
is dwarfed by its comparison. The cities on the Zuyder Zee in Holland
are
an instance of this; S. Albans in England is another. But the finest example
which
the world has to offer is the immortal city of Rome. Rome stands alone
among
the cities of the world in having three great and entirely separate
interests
for the psychic investigator. First, and much the strongest, is the
impression
left by the astonishing vitality and vigour of that Rome which was
the
centre of the world, the Rome of the Republic and the Caesars; then comes
another
strong and unique impression-- that of mediaeval Rome, the
ecclesiastical
centre of the world: third and quite different from either, the
modern
Rome of to-day, the political centre of the somewhat loosely integrated
Italian
kingdom, and at the same time still an ecclesiastical centre of
widespread
influence, though shorn of its glory and power.
I
first went to Rome, I confess, with the expectation that the Rome of the
mediaeval
Popes, with the assistance of all the world-thought that must for so
long
have been centred upon it, and with the advantage also of being so much
nearer
to us in time, would have to a considerable extent blotted out the life
of
the Rome of the Caesars. I was startled to find that the actual facts are
almost
exactly the reverse of that. The conditions of Rome in the Middle Ages
were
sufficiently remarkable to have stamped an indelible character upon any
other
town in the world; but so enormously stronger was the amazingly vivid life
of
that earlier civilisation, that it still stands out, in spite of all the
history
that has been made there since, as the one ineffaceable and dominating
characteristic
of Rome.
To
the clairvoyant investigator, Rome is (and ever will be) first of all the
Rome
of the Caesars, and only secondarily the Rome of the Popes. The impression
of
ecclesiastical history is all there, recoverable to the minutest detail; a
bewildering
mass of devotion and intrigue, of insolent tyranny and real
religious
feeling; a history of terrible corruption and of world-wide power, but
rarely
used as well as it might have been. And yet, mighty as it is, it is
dwarfed
into absolute insignificance by the grander power that went before it.
There
was a robustness of faith in himself, a conviction of destiny, a resolute
intention
to live his life to the utmost, and a certainty of being able to do
it,
about the ancient Roman, which few nationalities of to-day can approach.
PUBLIC
BUILDINGS
Not
only has a city as a whole its general characteristics, but such of the
buildings
in it as are devoted to special purposes have always an aura
characteristic
of that purpose. The aura of a hospital, for example, is a
curious
mixture; a preponderance of suffering, weariness and pain, but also a
good
deal of pity for the suffering, and a feeling of gratitude on the part of
the
patients for the kindly care which is taken of them.
The
neighbourhood of a prison is decidedly to be avoided when a man is selecting
a
residence, for from it radiate the most terrible gloom and despair and settled
depression,
mingled with impotent rage, grief and hatred. Few places have on the
whole
a more unpleasant aura around them; and even in the general darkness there
are
often spots blacker than the rest, cells of unusual horror round which an
evil
reputation hangs. For example, there are several cases on record in which
the
successive occupants of a certain cell in a prison have all tried to commit
suicide,
those who were unsuccessful explaining that the idea of suicide
persistently
arose in their minds, and was steadily pressed upon them from
without,
until they were gradually brought into a condition in which there
seemed
to be no alternative. There have been instances in which such a feeling
was
due to the direct persuasion of a dead man; but also and more frequently it
is
simply that the first suicide has charged the cell so thoroughly with
thoughts
and suggestions of this nature that the later occupants, being probably
persons
of no great strength or development of will, have found themselves
practically
unable to resist.
More
terrible still are the thoughts which still hang round some of the dreadful
dungeons
of mediaeval tyrannies, the oubliettes of Venice or the torture-dens of
the
Inquisition. Just in the same way the very walls of a gambling-house radiate
grief,
envy, despair and hatred, and those of the public-house, or house of
ill-fame,
absolutely reek with the coarsest forms of sensual and brutal desire.
CEMETERIES
In
such cases as those mentioned above, it is easy enough for all decent people
to
escape the pernicious influences simply by avoiding the place; but there are
other
instances in which people are placed in undesirable situations through the
indulgence
of natural good feeling. In countries which are not civilised enough
to
burn their dead, survivors constantly haunt the graves in which decaying
physical
bodies are laid; from a feeling of affectionate remembrance they gather
often
to pray and meditate there, and to lay wreaths of flowers upon the tombs.
They
do not understand that the radiations of sorrow, depression and
helplessness
which so frequently permeate the churchyard or cemetery make it an
eminently
undesirable place to visit. I have seen old people walking and sitting
about
in some of our more beautiful cemeteries, and nursemaids wheeling along
young
children in their perambulators to take their daily airing, neither of
them
probably having the least idea that they are subjecting themselves and
their
charges to influences which will most likely neutralise all the good of
the
exercise and the fresh air; and this quite apart from the possibility of
unhealthy
physical exhalations.
UNIVERSITIES
AND SCHOOLS
The
ancient buildings of our great universities are surrounded with magnetism of
a
special type, which does much towards setting upon its graduates that peculiar
seal
which is so readily distinguishable, even though it is not easy to say in
so
many words exactly of what it consists. Men attending the university are of
many
and various types-- reading men, hunting men, pious men, careless men; and
sometimes
one college of a university attracts only one of these classes. In
that
case its walls become permeated with those characteristics, and its
atmosphere
operates to keep up its reputation. But on the whole the university
is
surrounded with a pleasant feeling of work and comradeship, of association
yet
of independence, a feeling of respect for the traditions of the Alma Mater
and
the resolve to uphold them, which soon brings the new undergraduate into
line
with his fellows and imposes upon him the unmistakable university tone.
Not
unlike this is the influence exerted by the buildings of our great public
schools.
The impressionable boy who comes to one of these soon feels about him a
sense
of order and regularity and esprit de corps, which once gained can
scarcely
be forgotten. Something of the same sort, but perhaps even more
pronounced,
exists in the case of a battleship, especially if she is under a
popular
captain and has been some little time in commission. There also the new
recruit
very quickly finds his place, soon acquires the esprit de corps, soon
learns
to feel himself one of a family whose honour he is bound to uphold. Much
of
this is due to the example of his fellows and to the pressure of the
officers;
but the feeling, the atmosphere of the ship herself undoubtedly bears
a
share in it also.
LIBRARIES,
MUSEUMS AND GALLERIES
The
studious associations of a library are readily comprehensible, but those of
museums
and picture-galleries are much more varied, as might be expected. In
both
these latter cases the influence is principally from pictures or the
objects
shown, and consequently our discussion of it is part of a later chapter.
As
far as the influence of the actual buildings is concerned, apart from the
objects
exhibited in them, the result is a little unexpected, for a prominent
feature
is a quite overwhelming sense of fatigue and boredom. It is evident that
the
chief constituent in the minds of the majority of the visitors is the
feeling
that they know that they ought to admire or to be interested in this or
that,
whereas as a matter of fact they are quite unable to achieve the least
real
admiration or interest.
THE
STOCK-YARDS OF CHICAGO
The
awful emanations from the stock-yards in Chicago, and the effect they
produce
on those who are so unfortunate as to live anywhere near them, have
often
been mentioned in Theosophical literature. Mrs. Besant herself has
described
how on her first visit she felt the terrible pall of depression which
they
cause while she was yet in the train many miles from Chicago; and though
other
people, less sensitive than she, might not be able to detect it so
readily,
there can be no doubt that its influence lies heavily upon them
whenever
they draw near to the theatre of that awful iniquity. On that spot
millions
of creatures have been slaughtered and every one of them has added to
its
radiations its own feelings of rage and pain and fear and the sense of
injustice;
and out of it all has been formed one of the blackest clouds of
horror
at present existing in the world.
In
this case the results of the influence are commonly known, and it is
impossible
for anyone to profess incredulity. The low level of morality and the
exceeding
brutality of the slaughterman are matters of notoriety. In many of the
murders
committed in that dreadful neighbourhood the doctors have been able to
recognise
a peculiar twist of the knife which is used only by slaughtermen, and
the
very children in the streets play no games but games of killing. When the
world
becomes really civilised men will look back with incredulous horror upon
such
scenes as these, and will ask how it could have been possible that people
who
in other respects seem to have had some gleams of humanity and common sense,
could
permit so appalling a blot upon their honour as is the very existence of
this
accursed thing in their midst.
SPECIAL
PLACES
Any
spot where some ceremony has been frequently repeated, especially if in
connection
with it a high ideal has been set up, is always charged with a
decided
influence. For example, the hamlet of Oberammergau, where for many years
at
set intervals the Passion Play has been reproduced, is full of thought-forms
of
the previous performances, which react powerfully upon those who are
preparing
themselves to take part in a modern representation. An extraordinary
sense
of reality and of the deepest earnestness is felt by all those who assist,
and
it reacts even upon the comparatively careless tourist, to whom the whole
thing
is simply an exhibition. In the same way the magnificent ideals of Wagner
are
prominent in the atmosphere of Bayreuth, and they make a performance there a
totally
different thing from one by identically the same players anywhere else.
SACRED
MOUNTAINS
There
are instances in which the influence attached to a special place is
non-human.
This is usually the case with the many sacred mountains of the world.
I
have described in a previous chapter the great angels who inhabit the summit
of
the mountain of Slieve-na-Mon in Ireland. It is their presence which makes
the
spot sacred, and they perpetuate the influence of the holier magic of the
leaders
of the Tuatha-de-Danaan, which they ordained to remain until the day of
the
future greatness of Ireland shall come, and its part in the mighty drama of
empire
shall be made clear.
I
have several times visited a sacred mountain of a different type-- Adam' s
Peak
in Ceylon. The remarkable thing about this peak is that it is held as a
sacred
spot by people of all the various religions of the Island. The Buddhists
give
to the temple on its summit the name of the shrine of the Sripada or holy
footprint,
and their story is that when the Lord BUDDHA visited Ceylon in His
astral
body (He was never there in the physical) He paid a visit to the tutelary
genius
of that mountain, who is called by the people Saman Deviyo. Just as He
was
about to depart, Saman Deviyo asked Him as a favour to leave on that spot
some
permanent memory of His visit, and the BUDDHA in response is alleged to
have
pressed His foot upon the solid rock, utilising some force which made upon
it
a definite imprint or indentation.
The
story goes on to say that Saman Deviyo, in order that this holy footprint
should
never be defiled by the touch of man, and that the magnetism radiating
from
it should be preserved, covered it with a huge cone of rock, which makes
the
present summit of the mountain. On the top of this cone a hollow has been
made
which roughly resembles a huge foot, and it seems probable that some of the
more
ignorant worshippers believe that to be the actual mark made by the Lord
BUDDHA;
but all the monks who know emphatically deny that, and point to the fact
that
this is not only enormously too large to be a human footprint, but that it
is
also quite obviously artificial.
They
explain that it is made there simply to indicate the exact spot under which
the
true footprint lies, and they point to the fact that there is unquestionably
a
crack running all round the rock at some distance below the summit. The idea
of
a sacred footprint on that summit seems to be common to the various
religions,
but while the Buddhists hold it to be that of the Lord BUDDHA, the
Tamil
inhabitants of the Island suppose it to be one of the numerous footprints
of
Vishnu, and the Christians and the Muhammadans attribute it to Adam-- whence
the
name Adam' s Peak.
But
it is said that long before any of these religions had penetrated to the
Island,
long before the time of the Lord BUDDHA Himself, this peak was already
sacred
to Saman Deviyo, to whom the deepest reverence is still paid by the
inhabitants--
as indeed it well may be, since He belongs to one of the great
orders
of the angels who rank near to the highest among the Adepts. Although His
work
is of a nature entirely different from ours, He also obeys the Head of the
Great
Occult Hierarchy; He also is one of the Great White Brotherhood which
exists
only for the purpose of forwarding the evolution of the world.
The
presence of so great a being naturally sheds a powerful influence over the
mountain
and its neighbourhood, and most of all over its summit, so that there
is
emphatically a reality behind to account for the joyous enthusiasm so freely
manifested
by the pilgrims. Here also, as at other shrines, we have in addition
to
this the effect of the feeling of devotion with which successive generations
of
pilgrims have impregnated the place, but though that cannot but be powerful,
it
is yet in this case completely overshadowed by the original and ever-present
influence
of the mighty entity who has done His work and kept His guard there
for
so many thousands of years.
SACRED
RIVERS
There
are sacred rivers also-- the Ganges, for example. The idea is that some
great
person of old has magnetised the source of the river with such power that
all
the water that henceforth flows out from that source is in a true sense holy
water,
bearing with it his influence and his blessing. This is not an
impossibility,
though it would require either a great reserve of power in the
beginning
or some arrangement for a frequent repetition. The process is simple
and
comprehensible; the only difficulty is what may be called the size of the
operation.
But what would be beyond the power of the ordinary man might possibly
be
quite easy to some one at a much higher level.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER VIII
BY
CEREMONIES
IN
considering the influence exerted by our cathedrals and churches we have
hitherto
concerned ourselves with that which radiates from their walls. That is,
however,
only one small part of the effect that they are intended to produce
upon
the community-- only incidental to the great plan of the Founder of the
religion;
and even that plan in turn is only part of a still mightier scheme.
Let
me try to explain.
THE
HIERARCHY
Theosophical
students are familiar with the fact that the direction of the
evolution
of the world is vested in the Hierarchy of Adepts, working under one
great
Leader, and that one of the departments of this government is devoted to
the
promotion and management of religion. The official in charge of that
department
is called in the East the Bodhisattva, and is known to us in the West
as
the Christ, though that is really the title of only one of His incarnations.
The
plan of the government is that during each world-period there shall be seven
successive
Christs-- one for each root-race. Each of these in succession holds
this
office of Bodhisattva, and during His term of office He is in charge of all
the
religious thought of the world, not only of that of His own special
root-race;
and He may incarnate many times.
To
illustrate exactly what is meant, let us take the case of the previous holder
of
this office, whom we know as the Lord Gautama. He was technically the
Bodhisattva
of the Atlantean or fourth root-race, and in that He incarnated many
times
under different names through a period spreading over several hundreds of
thousands
of years; but though His special work thus lay with the fourth
root-race,
He was in charge of the religions of the whole world, and
consequently
He did not neglect the fifth root-race. In the earlier part of the
history
of each of its sub-races He appeared and founded a special religion. In
the
first sub-race He was the original Vyasa; the name which He bore in the
second
sub-race has not been preserved in history. In the third sub-race He was
the
original Zoroaster, the first of a long line who bore that name. For the
great
religion of Egypt He was Thoth-- called by the Greeks Hermes Trismegistus,
Hermes
the Thrice-Greatest, and among the early Greeks of the fourth sub-race He
was
Orpheus the Bard, the founder of their mysteries.
In
each of such births He drew round Him a number of earnest disciples,
naturally
in many cases the same egos over again in new bodies, although He was
steadily
adding to their number. The fourth root-race has by no means finished
its
evolution, for the majority of the earth' s inhabitants still belong to it--
the
vast hosts of Chinese, Tartars, Japanese, Malays and all the undeveloped
peoples
of the earth; but it has long passed its prime, the time when it was the
dominant
race of the world, and when all the most advanced egos were incarnated
in
it. When the glory had finally passed from it the Bodhisattva prepared for
the
culminating act of His work, which involves for Him the attainment of that
very
high level of Initiation which we call the Buddha-hood and also the
resigning
of His office into the hands of His successor.
The
preparation required was to bring together into one country, and even to a
great
extent into part of that country, all the egos who had been His special
followers
in the different lives which lay behind Him. Then He Himself
incarnated
among them-- or perhaps more probably one of His highest disciples
incarnated
among them and yielded up his body to the Bodhisattva when the
appointed
time drew near; and as soon as in that body He had taken the great
Initiation
and become the BUDDHA, He went forth to preach His Law. We must not
attach
to that word Law the ordinary English meaning, for it goes very much
further
than a mere set of commands. We must take it rather to signify His
presentation
of the Truth about humanity and its evolution, and His
instructions,
based upon that truth, as to how a man should act so as to
co-operate
in the scheme of that evolution.
Preaching
this Law He drew round Him all the hosts of His old disciples, and by
the
tremendous power and magnetism which belonged to Him as the BUDDHA He
enabled
large numbers of them to take that fourth step on the Path, to which is
given
the name of the Arhat. He spent the rest of His life on earth in preaching
and
consolidating this new faith, and when He passed away from physical life He
definitely
handed over His office of director of religion to His successor, whom
we
call the Lord Maitreya-- the Great One who is honoured all through India
under
the name of Krishna and throughout the Christian world as Jesus the
Christ.
No Theosophical student will be confused by this last expression, for he
knows
that the Christ, who is the new Bodhisattva, took the body of the disciple
Jesus,
and held it for the last three years of its life in order to found the
Christian
religion. After its death He continued for some years to teach His
more
immediate disciples from the astral world, and from that time to this He
has
employed that disciple Jesus (now Himself a Master) to watch over and guide
as
far as may be the destinies of His Church.
Immediately
upon taking over the office, the Lord Maitreya availed Himself of
the
extraordinarily good conditions left behind Him by the BUDDHA to make
several
simultaneous attempts to promote the religious progress of the world. He
not
only descended into an almost immediate incarnation Himself, but He at the
same
time employed a number of those who had attained the Arhat level under the
Lord
BUDDHA, and were now ready to take rebirth at once. From this band of
disciples
came those whom we call Laotse and Confucius, who were sent to
incarnate
in China. From them also came Plato, and from among their followers
Phidias
and many another of the greatest of the Greeks.
Within
the same area of time came the great philosopher Pythagoras, who is now
our
Master K. H. He was not one of the immediate attendants of the Lord BUDDHA,
as
He had already attained the Arhat level and was needed for work elsewhere,
but
He travelled over to India to see Him and to receive His blessing. He also
is
upon the line of the Bodhisattva; and may be regarded as one of His foremost
lieutenants.
Simultaneously
with all these efforts the Lord Maitreya Himself incarnated as
Krishna,
and led in India a very wonderful life, upon which is founded the
devotional
aspect of the religion of that country, which shows us perhaps the
most
fervent examples of utter devotion to be seen anywhere in the world. This
great
incarnation must not be confounded with that of the Krishna described in
the
Mahabharata; the latter was a warrior and a statesman, and lived some two
thousand
five hundred years before the time of which we are speaking.
Along
with this came another great incarnation-- not this time from the
department
of religion, but rather from one the departments of organisation--
the
great Shankaracharya, who travelled over India, founding the four chief
monasteries
and the Sannyasi order. Some confusion has been created by the fact
that
each of the long line of those who have since stood at the head of the
monastic
organisations has also taken the title of Shankaracharya, so that to
speak
of Shankaracharya is like speaking of the Pope without indicating which
particular
holder of the Papal Chair is intended. The great Founder to whom we
have
referred must not be confused with the better known holder of the office
who
some seven hundred years after Christ wrote a voluminous series of
commentaries
on the Bhagavad-Gita and some of the Upanishads.
THE
THREE PATHS
These
three great Teachers, who followed one another so quickly in India,
furnished
between them a fresh impulse along each of the three paths. The BUDDHA
founded
a religion giving minute directions for daily life, such as would be
needed
by those who should follow the path of action, while Shankaracharya
provided
the metaphysical teaching for those to whom the path is wisdom, and the
Lord
Maitreya (manifesting as Krishna) provided a supreme object of devotion for
those
to whom that is the most direct road to the truth. But Christianity must
be
considered as the first effort of the new Bodhisattva to build a religion
which
should go abroad into new countries, for His work as Krishna had been
intended
especially for India. For those who penetrate behind the external
manifestation
to the inner and mystical meaning, it will be significant that the
ray
or type to which belong the Lord BUDDHA, the Bodhisattva and our Master K.
H.
is in a special sense a manifestation of the second aspect of the Solar
Deity--
the second person of the Blessed Trinity.
Religion
has an objective side to it; it acts not only from within by stirring
up
the hearts and minds of its votaries, but also from without by arranging that
uplifting
and refining influences shall play constantly upon their various
vehicles.
The temple or the church is meant to be not merely a place of worship,
but
also a centre of magnetism, through which spiritual forces can be poured out
upon
the district surrounding it. People often forget that even the Great Ones
must
do their work subject to the laws of nature, and that it is for them an
actual
duty to economise their force as much as possible, and therefore to do
whatever
they have to do in the easiest possible manner.
In
this case, for example, if the object be to let spiritual force shine forth
over
a certain district, it would not be economical to pour it down
indiscriminately
everywhere, like rain, since that would require that the
miracle
of its materialisation to a lower level should be performed in millions
of
places simultaneously, once for every drop, as it were, and each representing
a
mighty effort. Far simpler would it be to establish at certain points definite
magnetic
centres, where the machinery of such materialisation should be
permanently
set up, so that by pouring in only a little force from above it
should
instantly be spread abroad over a considerable area.
This
had been achieved in earlier religions by the establishment of strongly
magnetised
centres, such as are offered by the image or by the lingam in a Hindu
temple,
by the altar of the sacred fire among the Parsis, or by the statue of
the
Lord BUDDHA among the Buddhists. As each worshipper comes before one of
these
symbols and pours himself out in devotion or gratitude, he not only draws
down
the answering force upon himself, but also causes a certain radiation upon
those
for some distance round him.
In
founding the religion of Christianity the Bodhisattva tried a new experiment
with
the view of securing at least once daily a much more thorough and effective
distribution
of spiritual force. The fact that new experiments of this sort may
be
tried-- that though the splendid system of the Hierarchy is unalterably
founded
upon the Rock of Ages, it yet permits so much of freedom to its
Officials--
is surely of deepest interest. It shows us that that organisation
which
is in all the world the most utterly conservative is yet at the same time
amazingly
liberal, and that the oldest form of government is also the most
adaptable.
It is only in reference to the august Head of the Hierarchy that we
can
use to the fullest extent those grand old words of a Collect of the Church
of
England: “In His service is perfect freedom.”
Perhaps
the most readily comprehensible way of explaining this new scheme will
be
to describe the way in which I myself was first enabled to see something of
the
details of its working. But first I must say a few words as to the present
condition
of the Christian Church.
As
we see that Church now, it is but a poor representation of what its Founder
meant
it to be. Originally it had its higher mysteries, like all other faiths,
and
its three stages of purification, illumination and perfection, through which
its
children had to pass. With the expulsion as heretics of the great Gnostic
doctors
this aspect of the truth was lost to the Church, and the only idea which
it
now places before its members is the first of the three stages, and even that
not
understandingly. Origen, one of the greatest men that it has ever produced,
described
very clearly the two kinds of Christianity-- the somatic or physical,
and
the spiritual-- saying that the former is meant only to attract the ignorant
masses,
but that the latter is for those who know. In these days the Church has
forgotten
that true spiritual and higher side of her teaching, and has busied
herself
with pitiful attempts to explain that there is somehow or other a
spiritual
side to the lower teaching which is practically all that she has left.
CHRISTIAN
MAGIC
Nevertheless,
and in spite of all this, the old magic which was instituted by
her
Founder is still working and effective; so even in these days of her
decadence
she is still definitely under guidance and control. There is still a
real
and a vital power in the sacraments when truly performed-- the power of the
Solar
Deity Himself-- and it comes through Him whom we call the Master Jesus,
this
being His special department.
It
was not He, but the Christ-- the Lord Maitreya-- who founded the religion,
but
nevertheless the special charge of Christianity has been given into the
hands
of Him who yielded His body for the work of the Founder. Belief in His
personal
interest in the Christian Church has almost died out in many branches
of
it; the members think of him as a Teacher who lived two thousand years ago
rather
than as an active power in the Church to-day. They have forgotten that He
is
still a living force, a real presence-- truly with us always, even to the end
of
the world, as He has said. Not God in the idolatrous sense, yet the channel
through
which the Divine power has reached many millions-- the official in
charge
of the devotional department of the work of the Christ.
The
Church has turned aside widely from the course originally marked out for it.
It
was meant to meet all types; now it meets only one, and that very
imperfectly.
The reconstruction of the links must come, and as intellectual
activity
is the sign of our time and of the latest sub-race, the intellectual
revival
which shows itself in the higher criticism has for its very purpose that
of
enabling religion to meet another type of mind. If only the priests and the
teachers
had the advantage of direct knowledge, they would be able to deal with
and
to help their people in this crisis-- to guide their intellectual activity
by
means of their own knowledge of the truth, and to keep alive in the hearts of
their
flock the spirituality without which the intellectual effort can be but
barren.
Not
only has the Church almost entirely forgotten the original doctrine taught
by
her Founder, but most of her priests have now little conception of the real
meaning
and power of the ceremonies which they have to perform. It is probable
that
the Christ foresaw that this would happen, for He has carefully arranged
that
the ceremonies should work even though neither celebrants nor people have
any
intelligent comprehension of their methods or their results. It would be
difficult
to explain the outline of His plan to the average Christian; to the
Theosophist
it ought to be more readily comprehensible, because he is already
familiar
with some of the general ideas involved in it.
We
who are students have often heard of the great reservoir of force which is
constantly
being filled by the Nirmanakayas in order that its contents may be
utilised
by members of the Adept Hierarchy and Their pupils for the helping of
the
evolution of mankind. The arrangement made by the Christ with regard to His
religion
was that a kind of special compartment of that reservoir should be
reserved
for its use, and that a certain set of officials should be empowered by
the
use of certain special ceremonies, certain words and signs of power, to draw
upon
it for the spiritual benefit of their people.
The
scheme adopted for passing on the power is what is called ordination, and
thus
we see at once the real meaning of the doctrine of the apostolic
succession,
about which there has been so much of argument. I myself held
strongly
to that doctrine while officiating as a priest of the Church; but when
through
the study of Theosophy I came to understand religion better and to take
a
far wider view of life, I began to doubt whether in reality the succession
meant
so much as we of the ritualistic party had supposed. With still further
study
however, I was rejoiced to find that there was a real foundation for the
doctrine,
and that it meant even much more than our highest schools had ever
taught.
THE
MASS
My
attention was first called to this by watching the effect produced by the
celebration
of the Mass in a Roman Catholic Church in a little village in
Sicily.
Those who know that most beautiful of islands will understand that one
does
not meet with the Roman Catholic Church there in its most intellectual
form,
and neither the priest nor the people could be described as especially
highly
developed; yet the quite ordinary celebration of the Mass was a
magnificent
display of the application of occult force.
At
the moment of consecration the Host glowed with the most dazzling brightness;
it
became in fact a veritable sun to the eye of the clairvoyant, and as the
priest
lifted it above the heads of the people I noticed that two distinct
varieties
of spiritual force poured forth from it, which might perhaps be taken
as
roughly corresponding to the light of the sun and the streamers of his
corona.
The first rayed out impartially in all directions upon all the people in
the
church; indeed, it penetrated the walls of the church as though they were
not
there, and influenced a considerable section of the surrounding country.
This
force was of the nature of a strong stimulus and, its action was strongest
of
all in the intuitional world, though it was also exceedingly powerful in the
three
higher subdivisions of the mental world. Its activity was marked in the
first,
second and third subdivisions of the astral also, but this was a
reflection
of the mental, or perhaps an effect produced by sympathetic
vibration.
Its effect upon the people who came within the range of its influence
was
proportionate to their development. In a very few cases (where there was
some
slight intuitional development) it acted as a powerful stimulant, doubling
or
trebling for a time the amount of activity in those intuitional bodies and
the
radiance which they were capable of emitting. But forasmuch as in most
people
the intuitional matter was as yet almost entirely dormant, its chief
effect
was produced upon the causal bodies of the inhabitants.
Most
of them, again, were awake and partially responsive only as far as the
matter
of the third subdivision of the mental world was concerned, and therefore
they
missed much of the advantage that they might have gained if the higher
parts
of their causal bodies had been in full activity. But at any rate every
ego
within reach, without exception, received a distinct impetus and a distinct
benefit
from that act of consecration, little though he knew or recked of what
was
being done.
The
astral vibrations also, though much fainter, produced a far-reaching effect,
for
at least the astral bodies, of the Sicilians are usually thoroughly
well-developed
so that it is not difficult to stir their emotions. Many people
far
away from the church, walking along the village street or pursuing their
various
avocations upon the lonely hill-sides, felt for a moment a thrill of
affection
or devotion, as this great wave of spiritual peace and strength passed
over
the country-side, though assuredly they never dreamt of connecting it with
the
Mass which was being celebrated in their little cathedral.
It
at once becomes evident that we are here in the presence of a grand and
far-reaching
scheme. Clearly one of the great objects, perhaps the principal
object,
of the daily celebration of the Mass is that every one within reach of
it
shall receive at least once each day one of these electric shocks which are
so
well calculated to promote any growth of which he is capable. Such an
outpouring
of force brings to each person whatever he has made himself capable
of
receiving; but even the quite undeveloped and ignorant cannot but be somewhat
the
better for the passing touch of a noble emotion, while for the few more
advanced
it means a spiritual uplifting the value of which it would be difficult
to
exaggerate.
I
said that there was a second effect, which I compared to the streamers of the
sun'
s corona. The light which I have just described poured forth impartially
upon
all, the just and the unjust, the believers and the scoffers. But this
second
force was called into activity only in response to a strong feeling of
devotion
on the part of an individual. At the elevation of the Host all members
of
the congregation duly prostrated themselves-- some apparently as a mere
matter
of habit, but some also with a strong upwelling of deep devotional
feeling.
The
effect as seen by clairvoyant sight was most striking and profoundly
impressive,
for to each of these latter there darted from the uplifted Host a
ray
of fire, which set the higher part of the astral body of the recipient
glowing
with the most intense ecstasy. Through the astral body, by reason of its
close
relation with it, the intuitional vehicle was also strongly affected; and
although
in none of these peasants could it be said to be in any way awakened,
its
growth within its shell was unquestionably distinctly stimulated, and its
capability
of instinctively influencing the astral was enhanced. For while the
awakened
intuition can consciously mould and direct the astral, there is a great
storehouse
of force in even the most undeveloped intuitional vehicle, and this
shines
out upon and through the astral body, even though it be unconsciously and
automatically.
I
was naturally intensely interested in this phenomenon, and I made a point of
attending
various functions at different churches in order to learn whether what
I
had seen on this occasion was invariable, or, if it varied, when and under
what
conditions. I found that at every celebration the same results were
produced,
and the two forces which I have tried to describe were always in
evidence--
the first apparently without any appreciable variation, but the
display
of the second depending upon the number of really devotional people who
formed
part of the congregation.
The
elevation of the Host immediately after its consecration was not the only
occasion
upon which this display of force took place. When the benediction was
given
with the Blessed Sacrament exactly the same thing happened. On several
occasions
I followed the procession of the Host through the streets, and every
time
that a halt was made at some half-ruined church and the benediction was
given
from its steps, precisely the same double phenomenon was produced. I
observed
that the reserved Host upon the altar of the church was all day long
steadily
pouring forth the former of the two influences, though not so strongly
as
at the moment of elevation or benediction. One might say that the light
glowed
upon the altar without ceasing, but shone forth as a sun at those moments
of
special effort. The action of the second forces, the second ray of light,
could
also be evoked from the reserved Sacrament upon the altar, apparently at
any
time, though it seemed to me somewhat less vivid than the outpouring
immediately
after the consecration.
Everything
connected with the Host-- the tabernacle, the monstrance, the altar
itself,
the priest' s vestments, the insulating humeral veil, the chalice and
paten--
all were strongly charged with this tremendous magnetism, and all were
radiating
it forth, each in its degree.
A
third effect is that which is produced upon the communicant. He who receives
into
his body a part of that dazzling centre, from which flow the light and the
fire,
becomes himself for the time a similar centre, and radiates power in his
turn.
The tremendous waves of force which he has thus drawn into the closest
possible
association with himself cannot but seriously influence his higher
bodies.
For the time these waves raise his vibrations into harmony with
themselves,
thus producing a feeling of intense exaltation. This, however, is a
considerable
strain upon his various vehicles, which naturally tend gradually to
fall
back again to their normal rates. For a long time the indescribably vivid
higher
influence struggles against this tendency to slow down, but the dead
weight
of the comparatively enormous mass of the man' s own ordinary undulations
acts
as a drag upon even its tremendous energy, and gradually brings it and
themselves
down to the common level. But undoubtedly every such experience draws
the
man just an infinitesimal fraction higher than he was before. He has been
for
a few moments or even for a few hours in direct contact with the forces of a
world
far higher than any that he himself can otherwise touch.
Naturally,
having watched all this, I then proceeded to make further
investigations
as to how far this outflowing of force was affected by the
character,
the knowledge or the intention of the priest. I may sum up briefly
the
results of the examination of a large number of cases in the form of two or
three
axioms, which will no doubt at first sight seem surprising to many of my
readers.
ORDINATION
First,
only those priests who have been lawfully ordained, and have the
apostolic
succession, can produce this effect at all. Other men, not being part
of
this definite organisation, cannot perform this feat, no matter how devoted
or
good or saintly they may be. Secondly, neither the character of the priest,
nor
his knowledge, nor ignorance as to what he is really doing, affects the
result
in any way whatever.
If
one thinks of it, neither of these statements ought to seem to us in any way
astonishing,
since it is obviously a question of being able to perform a certain
action,
and only those who have passed through a certain ceremony have received
the
gift of the ability to perform it. Just in the same way, in order to be able
to
speak to a certain set of people one must know their language, and a man who
does
not know that language cannot communicate with them, no matter how good and
earnest
and devoted he may be. Also, his ability to communicate with them is not
affected
by his private character, but only by the one fact that he has, or has
not,
the power to speak to them which is conferred by a knowledge of their
language.
I do not for a moment say that these other considerations are without
their
due effect; I shall speak of that later, but what I do say is that no one
can
draw upon this particular reservoir unless he has received the power to do
so
which comes from a due appointment given according to the direction left by
the
Christ.
I
think that we can see a very good reason why precisely this arrangement has
been
made. Some plan was needed which should put a splendid outpouring of force
within
the reach of every one simultaneously in thousands of churches all over
the
world. I do not say that it might not be possible for a man of most
exceptional
power and holiness to call down through the strength of his devotion
an
amount of higher force commensurate with that obtained through the rites
which
I have described. But men of such exceptional power are always excessively
rare,
and it could never at any time of the world' s history have been possible
to
find enough of them simultaneously to fill even one thousandth part of the
places
where they are needed. But here is a plan whose arrangement is to a
certain
extent mechanical; it is ordained that a certain act when duly performed
shall
be the recognised method of bringing down the force; and this can be done
with
comparatively little training by any one upon whom the power is conferred.
A
strong man is needed to pump up water, but any child can turn on a tap. It
needs
a strong man to make a door and to hang it in its place, but when it is
once
on its hinges any child can open it.
Having
myself been a priest of the Church of England, and knowing how keen are
the
disputes as to whether that Church really has the apostolic succession or
not,
I was naturally interested in discovering whether its priests possessed
this
power. I was much pleased to find that they did, and I suppose we may take
that
as definitely settling the much-disputed Parker question, and with it the
whole
controversy as to the authenticity of the Orders of the Church of England.
I
soon found by examination that ministers of what are commonly called
dissenting
sects did not possess this power, no matter how good and earnest they
might
be. Their goodness and earnestness produced plenty of other effects which
I
shall presently describe, but their efforts did not draw upon the particular
reservoir
to which I have referred.
I
was especially interested in the case of one such minister whom I knew
personally
to be a good and devout man, and also a well-read Theosophist. Here
was
a man who knew much more about the real meaning of the act of consecration
than
nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand of the priests who
constantly
perform it; and yet I am bound to admit that his best effort did not
produce
this particular effect, while the others as unquestionably did. (Once
more,
of course he produced other things which they did not-- of which more
anon.)
That at first somewhat surprised me, but I soon saw that it could not
have
been otherwise. Suppose, for example, that a certain sum of money is left
by
a rich Freemason for distribution among his poorer brethren, the law would
never
sanction the division of that money among any others than the Freemasons
for
whom it was intended; and the fact that other poor people outside the
Masonic
body might be more devout or more deserving would not weigh with it in
the
slightest degree.
Another
point which interested me greatly was the endeavour to discover to what
extent,
if at all, the intention of the priest affected the result produced. In
the
Roman Church I found many priests who went through the ceremony somewhat
mechanically,
and as a matter of daily duty, without any decided thought on the
subject;
but whether from ingrained reverence or from long habit, they always
seemed
to recover themselves just before the moment of consecration and to
perform
that act with a definite intention.
THE
ANGLICAN CHURCH
I
turned then to what is called the Low Church division of the Anglican
community
to see what would happen with them, because I knew that many of them
would
reject altogether the name of priest, and though they might follow the
rubric
in performing the act of consecration, their intention in doing it would
be
exactly the same as that of ministers of various denominations outside the
Church.
Yet I found that the Low Churchman could and did produce the effect, and
that
the others outside did not. Hence I infer that the ` intention' which is
always
said to be required must be no more than the intention to do whatever the
Church
means, without reference to the private opinion of the particular priest
as
to what that meaning is. I have no doubt that many people will think that all
this
ought to be quite differently arranged, but I can only report faithfully
what
my investigations have shown me to be the fact.
I
must not for a moment be understood as saying that the devotion and
earnestness,
the knowledge and the good character of the officiant make no
difference.
They make a great difference; but they do not affect the power to
draw
from that particular reservoir. When the priest is earnest and devoted his
whole
feeling radiates out upon his people and calls forth similar feelings in
such
of them as are capable of expressing them. Also his devotion calls down its
inevitable
response, as shown in the illustration in Thought-Forms, and the
down-pouring
of force thus evoked benefits his congregation as well as himself;
so
that a priest who throws his heart and soul into the work which he does may
be
said to bring a double blessing upon his people, though the second class of
influence
can scarcely be considered as being of the same order of magnitude as
the
first. This second outpouring, which is drawn down by devotion itself, is of
course
to be found just as often outside the Church as within it.
Another
factor to be taken into account is the feeling of the congregation. If
their
feeling is devout and reverent it is of immense help to their teacher, and
it
enormously increases the amount of spiritual energy poured down as a response
to
devotion. The average intellectual level of the congregation is also a matter
to
be considered, for a man who is intelligent as well as pious has within him a
devotion
of a higher order than his more ignorant brother, and is therefore able
to
evoke a fuller response. On the other hand in many places of worship where
much
is made of the exercise of the intellectual faculties-- where for example
the
sermon and not the service is thought of as the principal feature-- there is
scarcely
any real devotion, but instead of it a horrible spirit of criticism and
of
spiritual pride which effectually prevents the unfortunate audience from
obtaining
any good results at all from what they regard as their spiritual
exercises.
Devotional
feeling or carelessness, belief or scepticism on the part of the
congregation
make no difference whatever to the downflow from on high when there
is
a priest in charge who has the requisite qualifications to draw from the
appointed
reservoir. But naturally these factors make a difference as to the
number
of rays sent out from the consecrated Host, and so to the general
atmosphere
of the Church.
THE
MUSIC
Another
very important factor in the effect produced is the music which is used
in
the course of the service. Those who have read Thought-Forms will remember
the
striking drawings that are there given of the enormous and splendid mental,
astral
and etheric erections which are built up by the influence of sound. The
general
action of sound is a question which I shall take up in another chapter,
touching
here only upon that side of it which belongs to the services of the
Church.
Here
is another direction, unsuspected by the majority of those who participate
in
them, in which these services are capable of producing a wonderful and
powerful
effect. The devotion of the Church has always centred principally round
the
offering of the Mass as an act of the highest and purest adoration possible,
and
consequently the most exalted efforts of its greatest composers have been in
connection
with this service also. Here we may see one more example of the
wisdom
with which the arrangements were originally made, and of the crass
ineptitude
of those who have so blunderingly endeavoured to improve them.
THE
THOUGHT-FORMS
Each
of the great services of the Church (and more especially the celebration of
the
Eucharist) was originally designed to build up a mighty ordered form,
expressing
and surrounding a central idea-- a form which would facilitate and
direct
the radiation of the influence upon the entire village which was grouped
round
the church. The idea of the service may be said to be a double one: to
receive
and distribute the great outpouring of spiritual force, and to gather up
the
devotion of the people, and offer it before the throne of God.
In
the case of the Mass as celebrated by the Roman or the Greek Church, the
different
parts of the service are grouped round the central act of consecration
distinctly
with a view to the symmetry of the great form produced, as well as to
their
direct effect upon the worshippers. The alterations made in the English
Prayer
Book in 1552 were evidently the work of people who were ignorant of this
side
of the question, for they altogether disturbed that symmetry-- which is one
reason
why it is an eminently desirable thing for the Church of England that it
should
as speedily as possible so arrange its affairs as to obtain permission to
use
as an alternative the Mass of King Edward VI according to the Prayer Book of
1549.
One
of the most important effects of the Church Service, both upon the immediate
congregation
and upon the surrounding district, has always been the creation of
these
beautiful and devotional thought-forms, through which the downpouring of
life
and strength from higher worlds can more readily take effect. These are
better
made and their efficiency enhanced when a considerable portion of those
who
take part in the service do so with intelligent comprehension, yet even when
the
devotion is ignorant the result is still beautiful and uplifting.
Most
of the sects, which unhappily broke away from the Church, entirely lost
sight
of this inner and more important side of public worship. The idea of the
service
offered to God almost disappeared, and its place was largely taken by
the
fanatical preaching of narrow theological dogmas which were always
unimportant
and frequently ridiculous. Readers have sometimes expressed surprise
that
those who write from the occult standpoint should seem so decidedly to
favour
the practices of the Church, rather than those of the various sects whose
thought
is in many ways more liberal. The reason is shown precisely in this
consideration
of the inner side of things on which we are now engaged.
The
occult student recognises most fully the value of the effort which made
liberty
of conscience and of thought possible; yet he cannot but see that those
who
cast aside the splendid old forms and services of the Church lost in that
very
act almost the whole of the occult side of their religion, and made of it
essentially
a selfish and limited thing-- a question chiefly of “personal
salvation”
for the individual, instead of the grateful offering of worship to
God,
which is in itself the never-failing channel through which the Divine Love
is
poured forth upon all.
The
attainment of mental freedom was a necessary step in the process of human
evolution;
the clumsy and brutal manner in which it was obtained, and the
foolishness
of the excesses into which gross ignorance led its champions, are
responsible
for many of the deplorable results which we see at the present day.
The
same savage, senseless lust for wanton destruction that moved Cromwell' s
brutal
soldiers to break priceless statues and irreplaceable stained glass, has
deprived
us also of the valuable effect produced in higher worlds by perpetual
prayers
for the dead, and by the practically universal devotion of the common
people
to the saints and angels. Then the great mass of the people was
religious--
even though ignorantly religious; now it is frankly and even
boastfully
irreligious. Perhaps this transitory stage is a necessary one, but it
can
hardly be considered in itself either beautiful or satisfactory.
THE
EFFECT OF DEVOTION
No
other service has an effect at all comparable to that of the celebration of
the
Mass, but the great musical forms may of course appear at any service where
music
is used. In all the other services (except indeed the Catholic Benediction
of
the Blessed Sacrament) the thought-forms developed and the general good which
is
done depend to a great extent upon the devotion of the people. Now devotion,
whether
individual or collective, varies much in quality. The devotion of the
primitive
savage, for example, is usually greatly mingled with fear, and the
chief
idea in his mind in connection with it is to appease a deity who might
otherwise
prove vindictive. But little better than this is much of the devotion
of
men who consider themselves civilised, for it is a kind of unholy bargain--
the
offering to the Deity of a certain amount of devotion if He on His side will
extend
a certain amount of protection or assistance.
Such
devotion, being entirely selfish and grasping in its nature, produces
results
only in the lower types of astral matter, and exceedingly
unpleasant-looking
results they are in many cases. The thought-forms which they
create
are often shaped like grappling-hooks, and their forces move always in
closed
curves, reacting only upon the man who sends them forth, and bringing
back
to him whatever small result they may be able to achieve. The true, pure,
unselfish
devotion is an outrush of feeling which never returns to the man who
gave
it forth, but constitutes itself in very truth a cosmic force producing
widespread
results in higher worlds.
Though
the force itself never returns, the man who originates it becomes the
centre
of a downpour of divine energy which comes in response, and so in his act
of
devotion he has truly blessed himself, even though at the same time he has
also
blessed many others as well, and in addition to that has had the unequalled
honour
of contributing to the mighty reservoir of the Nirmanakaya. Anyone who
possesses
the book Thought-Forms may see in it an attempt to represent the
splendid
blue spire made by devotion of this type as it rushes upwards, and he
will
readily understand how it opens a way for a definite outpouring of the
divine
force of the Solar Deity.
He
is pouring forth His wonderful vital energy on every level in every world,
and
naturally the outpouring belonging to a higher world is stronger and fuller
and
less restricted than that upon the world below. Normally, each wave of this
great
force acts in its own world alone, and cannot or does not move
transversely
from one world to another; but it is precisely by means of
unselfish
thought and feeling, whether it be of devotion or of affection, that a
temporary
channel is provided through which the force normally belonging to a
higher
world may descend to a lower, and may produce there results which,
without
it, could never have come to pass.
Every
man who is truly unselfish frequently makes himself such a channel, though
of
course on a comparatively small scale; but the mighty act of devotion of a
whole
vast congregation, where it is really united, and utterly without thought
of
self, produces the same result on an enormously greater scale. Sometimes
though
rarely, this occult side of religious services may be seen in full
activity,
and no one who has even once had the privilege of seeing such a
splendid
manifestation as this can for a moment doubt the hidden side of a
Church
service is of an importance infinitely greater than anything purely
physical.
Such
an one would see the dazzling blue spiral or dome of the highest type of
astral
matter rushing upwards into the sky, far above the image of it in stone
which
sometimes crowns the physical edifice in which the worshippers are
gathered;
he would see the blinding glory which pours down through it and
spreads
out like a great flood of living light over all the surrounding region.
Naturally,
the diameter and the height of the spire of devotion determine the
opening
made for the descent of the higher life, while the force which expresses
itself
in the rate at which the devotional energy rushes upwards has its
relation
to the rate at which the corresponding down-pouring can take place. The
sight
is indeed a wonderful one, and he who sees it can never doubt again that
the
unseen influences are more than the seen, nor can he fail to realise that
the
world which goes on its way heedless of the devotional man, or perhaps even
scornful
of him, owes to him all the time far more than it knows.
The
power of the ordained priest is a reality in other ceremonies than the
celebration
of the eucharist. The consecration of the water in the rite of
baptism,
or of the holy water which is to be distributed to the faithful or kept
at
the entrance of the church, pours into it a strong influence, which enables
it
in each case to perform the part assigned to it. The same is true of other
consecrations
and benedictions which come in the course of the regular work of
the
priest, though in many of these it seems that a somewhat larger proportion
of
the effect is produced by the direct magnetism of the priest himself, and the
amount
of that of course depends upon the energy and earnestness with which he
performs
his part of the ceremony.
HOLY
WATER
We
shall find it interesting to study the hidden side of some of these minor
services
of the Church, and the work done by her priests. Into the making of
holy
water, for example, the mesmeric element enters very strongly. The priest
first
takes clean water and clean salt, and then proceeds to demagnetise them,
to
remove from them any casual exterior influences with which they may have been
permeated.
Having done this very thoroughly, he then charges them with spiritual
power,
each separately and with many earnest repetitions, and then finally with
further
fervent adjurations he casts the salt into the water in the form of a
cross,
and the operation is finished.
If
this ceremony be properly and carefully performed the water becomes a highly
effective
talisman for the special purposes for which it is charged-- that it
shall
drive away from the man who uses it all worldly and warring thought, and
shall
turn him in the direction of purity and devotion. The student of occultism
will
readily comprehend how this must be so, and when he sees with astral sight
the
discharge of the higher force which takes place when anyone uses or
sprinkles
this holy water, he will have no difficulty in realising that it must
be
a powerful factor in driving away undesirable thought and feeling, and
quelling
all irregular vibrations of the astral and mental bodies.
In
every case where the priest does his work the spiritual force flows through,
but
he may add greatly to it by the fervour of his own devotion, and the
vividness
with which he realises what he is doing.
BAPTISM
The
sacrament of baptism, as originally administered, had a real and beautiful
hidden
side. In those older days the water was magnetised with a special view to
the
effect of its vibrations upon the higher vehicles, so that all the germs of
good
qualities in the unformed astral and mental bodies of the child might
thereby
receive a strong stimulus, while at the same time the germs of evil
might
be isolated and deadened. The central idea no doubt was to take this early
opportunity
of fostering the growth of the good germs, in order that their
development
might precede that of the evil-- in order that when at a later
period
the latter germs begin to bear their fruit, the good might already be so
far
evolved that the control of the evil would be a comparatively easy matter.
This
is one side of the baptismal ceremony; it has also another aspect, as
typical
of the Initiation towards which it is hoped that the young member of the
Church
will direct his steps as he grows up. It is a consecration and a setting
apart
of the new set of vehicles to the true expression of the soul within, and
to
the service of the Great White Brotherhood; yet is also has its occult side
with
regard to these new vehicles themselves, and when the ceremony is properly
and
intelligently performed there can be no doubt that its effect is a powerful
one.
UNION
IS STRENGTH
The
economy and efficiency of the whole scheme of the Lord Maitreya depend upon
the
fact that much greater powers can easily be arranged for a small body of
men,
who are spiritually prepared to receive them, than could possibly be
universally
distributed without a waste of energy which could not be
contemplated
for a moment. In the Hindu scheme, for example, every man is a
priest
for his own household, and therefore we have to deal with millions of
such
priests of all possible varieties of temperament, and not in any way
specially
prepared. The scheme of the ordination of priests gives a certain
greater
power to a limited number, who have by that very ordination been
specially
set apart for the work.
Carrying
the same principle a little further, a set of still higher powers are
given
to a still smaller number-- the bishops. They are made channels for the
force
which confers ordination, and for the much smaller manifestation of the
same
force which accompanies the rite of confirmation. The hidden side of these
ceremonies
is always one of great interest to the student of the realities of
life.
There are many cases now, unfortunately, where all these things are mere
matters
of form, and though that does not prevent their result, it does minimise
it;
but where the old forms are used as they were meant to be used, the unseen
effect
is out of all proportion to anything that is visible in the physical
world.
CONSECRATION
To
the bishop also is restricted the power of consecrating a church or a
churchyard,
and the occult side of this is a really pretty sight. It is
interesting
to watch the growth of the sort of fortification which the officiant
builds
as he marches round uttering the prescribed prayers and verses; to note
the
expulsion of any ordinary thought-forms which may happen to have been there,
and
the substitution for them of the orderly and devotional forms to which
henceforth
this building is supposed to be dedicated.
THE
BELLS
There
are many minor consecrations which are of great interest-- the blessing of
bells,
for example. The ringing of bells has a distinct part in the scheme of
the
Church,, which in these days seems but little understood. The modern theory
appears
to be that they are meant to call people together at the time when the
service
is about to be performed, and there is no doubt that in the Middle Ages,
when
there were no clocks or watches, they were put to precisely this use. From
this
restricted view of the intention of the bell has grown the idea that
anything
which makes a noise will serve the purpose, and in most towns of
England
Sunday morning is made into a purgatory by the simultaneous but
discordant
clanging of a number of unmusical lumps of metal.
At
intervals we recognise the true use of the bells, as when we employ them on
great
festivals or on occasions of public rejoicing; for a peal of musical
bells,
sounding harmonious notes, is the only thing which was contemplated by
the
original plan, and these were intended to have a double influence. Some
remnant
of this still remains, though but half understood, in the science of
campanology,
and those who know the delights of the proper performance of a
trip-bob-major
or a grandsire-bob-cator will perhaps be prepared to hear how
singularly
perfect and magnificent are the forms which are made by them.
This
then was one of the effects which the ordered ringing of the bells was
intended
to produce. It was to throw out a stream of musical forms repeated over
and
over again, in precisely the same way, and for precisely the same purpose,
as
the Christian monk repeats hundreds of Ave Marias or the northern Buddhist
spends
much of his life in reiterating the mystic syllables Om Mani Padme Hum,
or
many a Hindu makes a background to his life by reciting the name Sita Ram.
A
particular thought-form and its meaning were in this way impressed over and
over
again upon all the astral bodies within hearing. The blessing of the bells
was
intended to add an additional quality to these undulations, of whatever kind
they
may have been. The ringing of the bells in different order would naturally
produce
different forms; but whatever the forms may be, they are produced by the
vibration
of the same bells, and if these bells are, to begin with, strongly
charged
with a certain type of magnetism, every form made by them will bear with
it
something of that influence. It is as though the wind which wafts to us
snatches
of music should at the same time bear with it a subtle perfume. So the
bishop
who blesses the bells charges them with much the same intent as he would
bless
holy water-- with the intention that, wherever this sound shall go, all
evil
thought and feeling shall be banished and harmony and devotion shall
prevail--
a real exercise of magic, and quite effective when the magician does
his
work properly.
The
sacring bell, which is rung inside the church, at the moment of the reciting
of
the Tersanctus or the elevation of the Host, has a different intention. In
the
huge cathedrals which mediaeval piety erected, it was impossible for all the
worshippers
to hear what the priest was saying in the recitation of the Mass,
even
before the present system of what is called “recitation in secret” was
adopted.
And therefore the server, who is close to the altar and follows the
movements
of the priest, has it among his duties to announce in this way to the
congregation
when these critical points of the service are reached.
The
bell which is often rung in Hindu or Buddhist temples has yet another
intention.
The original thought here was a beautiful and altruistic one. When
some
one had just uttered an act of devotion or made an offering, there came
down
in reply to that a certain outpouring of spiritual force. This charged the
bell
among other objects, and the idea of the man who struck it was that by so
doing
he would spread abroad, as far as the sound of the bell could reach, the
vibration
of this higher influence while it was still fresh and strong. Now it
is
to be feared that the true signification has been so far forgotten that there
are
actually some who believe it necessary in order to attract the attention of
their
deity!
INCENSE
The
same idea carried out in a different way shows itself to us in the blessing
of
the incense before it is burned. For the incense has always a dual
significance.
It ascends before God as a symbol of the prayers of the people;
but
also it spreads through the church as a symbol of the sweet savour of the
blessing
of God, and so once more the priest pours into it a holy influence with
the
idea that wherever its scent may penetrate, wherever the smallest particle
of
that which has been blessed may pass, it shall bear with it a feeling of
peace
and of purity, and shall chase away all inharmonious thoughts and
sensations.
Even
apart from the blessing, its influence is good, for it is carefully
compounded
from gums the undulation-rate of which harmonises perfectly with
spiritual
and devotional vibrations, but is distinctly hostile to almost all
others.
The magnetisation may merely intensify its natural characteristics, or
may
add to it other special oscillations, but in any case its use in connection
with
religious ceremonies is always good. The scent of sandalwood has many of
the
same characteristics; and the scent of pure attar of roses, though utterly
different
in character, has also a good effect.
Another
point which is to a large extent new in the scheme prepared by its
Founder
for the Christian Church is the utilisation of the enormous force which
exists
in united synchronous action. In Hindu or Buddhist temples each man comes
when
he chooses, makes his little offering or utters his few words of prayer and
praise,
and then retires. Result follows each such effort in proportion to the
energy
of real feeling put into it, and in this way a fairly constant stream of
tiny
consequences is achieved; but we never get the massive effect produced by
the
simultaneous efforts of a congregation of hundreds or thousands of people,
or
the heart-stirring vibrations which accompany the singing of some well known
processional
hymn.
By
thus working together at a service we obtain four separate objects. (1)
Whatever
is the aim of the invocatory part of the service, a large number of
people
join in asking for it, and so send out a huge thought-form. (2) A
correspondingly
large amount of force flows in and stimulates the spiritual
faculties
of the people. (3) The simultaneous effort synchronises the
undulations
of their bodies, and so makes them more receptive. (4) Their
attention
being directed to the same object, they work together and thus
stimulate
one another.
SERVICES
FOR THE DEAD
What
I have said in the earlier part of this chapter will explain a feature
which
is often misunderstood by those who ridicule the Church-- the offering of
a
Mass with a certain intention, or on behalf of a certain dead person. The idea
is
that that person shall benefit by the downpouring of force which comes on
that
particular occasion, and undoubtedly he does so benefit, for the strong
thought
about him cannot but attract his attention, and when he is in that way
drawn
to the church he takes part in the ceremony and enjoys a large share of
its
result. Even if he is still in a condition of unconsciousness, as sometime
happens
to the newly-dead, the exertion of the priest' s will (or his earnest
prayer,
which is the same thing) directs the stream of force towards the person
for
whom it is intended. Such an effort is a perfectly legitimate act of
invocatory
magic; unfortunately an entirely illegitimate and evil element is
often
imported into the transaction by the exaction of a fee for the exercise of
this
occult power-- a thing which is always inadmissible.
OTHER
RELIGIONS
I
have been trying to expound something of the inner meaning of the ceremonies
of
the Christian Church-- taking that, in the first place because it is with
that
that I am most familiar, and in the second place because it presents some
interesting
features which in their present form may be said to be new ideas
imported
into the scheme of things by our present Bodhisattva. I do not wish it
to
be supposed that I have expounded the Christian ceremonies because I regard
that
religion as in any way the best expression of universal truth; the fact
that
I, who am one of its priests, have publicly proclaimed myself a Buddhist,
shows
clearly that that is not my opinion.
So
far as its teaching goes, Christianity is probably more defective than any
other
of the great religions, with perhaps the doubtful exception of
Muhammadanism;
but that is not because of any neglect on the part of the
original
Founder to make His system a perfectly arranged exposition of the
truth,
but because most unfortunately the ignorant majority of the early
Christians
cast out from among themselves the great Gnostic Doctors, and thereby
left
themselves with a sadly mutilated doctrine. The Founder may perhaps have
foreseen
this failure, for He supplied His Church with a system of magic which
would
continue to work mechanically, even though His people should forget much
of
the early meaning of what He had taught them; and it is precisely the force
which
has lain behind this mechanical working which explains the remarkable hold
so
long maintained by a Church which intellectually has nothing to give to its
followers.
Those
who profess other religions must not then suppose that I mean any
disrespect
to their faiths because I have chosen for exposition that with which
I
am most familiar. The general principles of the action of ceremonial magic
which
I have laid down are equally true for all religions, and each must apply
them
for himself.
THE
ORDERS OF CLERGY
Perhaps
I ought to explain, for the benefit of our Indian readers, that there
are
three orders among the Christian clergy-- bishops, priests and deacons. When
a
man is first ordained he is admitted as a deacon, which means, practically, a
kind
of apprentice or assistant priest. He has not yet the power to consecrate
the
sacrament, to bless the people or to forgive their sins; he can, however,
baptise
children, but even a layman is permitted to do that in case of
emergency.
After a year in the diaconate he is eligible for ordination as a
priest,
and it is this second ordination which confers upon him the power to
draw
forth the force from the reservoir of which I have spoken. To him is then
given
the power to consecrate the Host and also various other objects, to bless
the
people in the name of the Christ, and to pronounce the forgiveness of their
sins.
In addition to all these powers, the bishop has that of ordaining other
priests,
and so carrying on the apostolic succession. He alone has the right to
administer
the rite of confirmation, and to consecrate a church, that is to say,
to
set it apart for the service of God. These three are the only orders which
mean
definite grades, separated from one another by ordinations which confer
different
powers . You may hear many titles applied to the Christian clergy,
such
as those of archbishop, archdeacon, dean or canon, but these are only the
titles
of offices, and involve differences of duty, but not of grade in the
sense
of spiritual power.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER IX
BY
SOUNDS
SOUND,
COLOUR AND FORM
WE
have considered the influences radiating from the walls of our churches, and
the
effect of the ceremonies performed within them; it still remains for us to
mention
the hidden side of the music of their services.
There
are many people who realise that sound always generates colour-- that
every
note which is played or sung has overtones which produce the effect of
light
when seen by an eye even slightly clairvoyant. Not every one, however,
knows
that sounds also build form just as thoughts do. Yet this is nevertheless
the
case. It was long ago shown that sound gives rise to form in the physical
world
by singing a certain note into a tube across the end of which was
stretched
a membrane upon which fine sand or lycopodium powder had been cast.
In
this way it was proved that each sound threw the sand into a certain definite
shape,
and that the same note always produced the same shape. It is not,
however,
with forms caused in this way that we are dealing just now, but with
those
built up in etheric, astral and mental matter, which persist and continue
in
vigorous action long after the sound itself has died away, so far as physical
ears
are concerned.
RELIGIOUS
MUSIC
Let
us take, for example, the hidden side of the performance of a piece of
music--
say the playing of a voluntary upon a church organ. This has its effect
in
the physical world upon those of the worshippers who have an ear for music--
who
have educated themselves to understand and to appreciate it. But many people
who
do not understand it and have no technical knowledge of the subject are yet
conscious
of a very decided effect which it produces upon them.
The
clairvoyant student is in no way surprised at this, for he sees that each
piece
of music as it is performed upon the organ builds up gradually an enormous
edifice
in etheric, astral and mental matter, extending away above the organ and
far
through the roof of the church like a kind of castellated mountain-range,
all
composed of glorious flashing colours coruscating and blazing in a most
marvellous
manner, like the aurora borealis in the arctic regions. The nature of
this
differs very much in the case of different composers. An overture by Wagner
makes
always a magnificent whole with splendid splashes of vivid colour, as
though
he built with mountains of flame for stones; one of Bach' s fugues builds
up
a mighty ordered form, bold yet precise, rugged but symmetrical, with
parallel
rivulets of silver or gold or ruby running through it, marking the
successive
appearances of motif ; one of Mendelssohn' s Lieder ohne Worte makes
a
lovely airy erection-- a sort of castle of filigree work in frosted silver.
In
the book called Thought-Forms will be found three illustrations in colour, in
which
we have endeavoured to depict the forms built by pieces of music by
Mendelssohn,
Gounod and Wagner respectively, and I would refer the reader to
these,
for this is one of the cases in which it is quite impossible to imagine
the
appearance of the form without actually seeing it or some representation of
it.
It may some day be possible to issue a book containing studies of a number
of
such forms, for the purpose of careful examination and comparison. It is
evident
that the study of such sound forms would be a science in itself, and one
of
surpassing interest.
These
forms, created by the performers of the music, must not be confounded with
the
magnificent thought-form which the composer himself made as the expression
of
his own music in the higher worlds. This is a production worthy of the great
mind
from which it emanated, and often persists for many years-- some times even
over
centuries, if the composer is so far understood and appreciated that his
original
conception is strengthened by the thoughts of his admirers. In the same
manner,
though with wide difference of type, magnificent erections are
constructed
in higher worlds by a great poet' s idea of his epic, or a great
writer'
s idea of the subject which he means to put before his readers-- such,
for
example, as Wagner' s immortal trilogy of The Ring, Dante' s grand
representation
of purgatory and paradise, and Ruskin' s conception of what art
ought
to be and of what he desired to make it.
The
forms made by the performance of the music persist for a considerable space
of
time, varying from one hour to three or four, and all the time they are
sending
out radiations which assuredly influence for good every soul within a
radius
of half a mile or more. Not that the soul necessarily knows it, nor that
the
influence is at all equal in all cases. The sensitive person is greatly
uplifted,
while the dull and preoccupied man is but little affected. Still,
however
unconsciously, each person must be a little the better for coming under
such
an influence. Naturally the undulations extend much farther than the
distance
named, but beyond that they grow rapidly weaker, and in a great city
they
are soon drowned in the rush of swirling currents which fill the astral
world
in such places. In the quiet country amidst the fields and the trees the
edifice
lasts proportionately much longer, and its influence has a wider area.
Sometimes
in such a case those who can, may see crowds of beautiful
nature-spirits
admiring the splendid forms built by the music, and bathing with
delight
in the waves of influence which they send forth. It is surely a
beautiful
thought that every organist who does his work well, and throws his
whole
soul into what he plays, is thus doing far more good than he knows, and
helping
many whom perhaps he never saw and never will know in this life.
Another
point which is interesting in this connection is the difference between
the
edifices built by the same music when rendered upon different instruments--
as,
for example, the difference in appearance of the form built by a certain
piece
when played upon a church organ and the same piece executed by an
orchestra
or by a violin quartet, or played on a piano. In these cases the form
is
identical if the music be equally well rendered, but the whole texture is
different;
and naturally, in the case of the violin quartet, the size of the
form
is far less, because the volume of sound is so much less. The form built by
the
piano is often somewhat larger than that of the violins, but is not so
accurate
in detail, and its proportions are less perfect. Again, a decided
difference
in texture is visible between the effect of a violin solo and the
same
solo played upon the flute.
Surrounding
and blending with these forms, although perfectly distinct from
them,
are the forms of thought and feeling produced by human beings under the
influence
of the music. The size and vividness of these depend upon the
appreciativeness
of the audience and the extent to which they are affected.
Sometimes
the form built by the sublime conception of a master of harmony stands
alone
in its beauty, unattended and unnoticed, because such mental faculties as
the
congregation may possess are entirely absorbed in millinery or the
calculations
of the money-market; while on the other hand the chain of simple
forms
built by the force of some well-known hymn may in some cases be almost
hidden
by great blue clouds of devotional feeling evoked from the hearts of the
singers.
Another
factor which determines the appearance of the edifice constructed by a
piece
of music is the quality of the performance. The thought-form left hanging
over
a church after the performance of the Hallelujah Chorus infallibly and
distinctly
shows, for example, if the bass solo has been flat, or if any of the
parts
have been noticeably weaker than the others, as in either case there is an
obvious
failure in the symmetry and clearness of the form. Naturally there are
types
of music whose forms are anything but lovely, though even these have their
interest
as objects of study. The curious broken shapes which surround an
academy
for young ladies at the pupils' practising hour are at least remarkable
and
instructive, if not beautiful; and the chains thrown out in lasso-like loops
and
curves by the child who is industriously playing scales or arpeggios are by
no
means without their charm, when there are no broken or missing links.
SINGING
A
song with a chorus constructs a form in which a number of beads are strung at
equal
distances upon a silver thread of melody, the size of the beads of course
depending
upon the strength of the chorus, just as the luminosity and beauty of
the
connecting thread depend upon the voice and expression of the solo singer,
while
the form into which the thread is plaited depends upon the character of
the
melody. Of great interest also are the variations in metallic texture
produced
by different qualities of voice-- the contrast between the soprano and
the
tenor, the alto and the bass, and again the difference between a boy' s
voice
and a woman' s. Very beautiful also is the intertwining of these four
threads
(quite unlike in colour and in texture) in the singing of a glee or a
part-song,
or their ordered and yet constantly varied march side by side in the
singing
of a hymn.
A
processional hymn builds a series of rectangular forms drawn with mathematical
precision,
following one another in definite order like the links of some mighty
chain--
or still more (unpoetical though it sounds) like the carriages of some
huge
train belonging to the astral world. Very striking also is the difference
in
ecclesiastical music, between the broken though glittering fragments of the
Anglican
chant, and the splendid glowing uniformity of the Gregorian tone. Not
unlike
the latter is the effect produced by the monotonous chanting of Sanskrit
verses
by pandits in India.
It
may be asked here how far the feeling of the musician himself affects the
form
which is built by his efforts. His feelings do not, strictly speaking,
affect
the musical structure at all. If the delicacy and brilliancy of his
execution
remain the same, it makes no difference to that musical form whether
he
himself feels happy or miserable, whether his musings are grave or gay. His
emotions
naturally produce vibrant forms in astral matter, just as do those of
his
audience, but these merely surround the great shape built by the music, and
in
no way interfere with it. His comprehension of the music, and the skill of
his
rendering of it, show themselves in the edifice which he constructs. A poor
and
merely mechanical performance erects a structure which, though it may be
accurate
in form, is deficient in colour and luminosity-- a form which, as
compared
with the work of a real musician, gives a curios impression of being
constructed
of cheap materials. To obtain really grand results the performer
must
forget all about himself, must lose himself utterly in the music as only a
genius
may dare to do.
MILITARY
MUSIC
The
powerful and inspiring effect produced by military music is readily
comprehensible
to the clairvoyant who is able to see the long stream of
rhythmically
vibrating forms which is left behind by the band as it marches
along
at the head of the column. Not only does the regular beat of these
undulations
tend to strengthen those of the astral bodies of the soldiers, thus
training
them to move more strongly and in unison, but the very forms which are
created
themselves radiate strength and courage and material ardour, so that a
body
of men which before seemed to be hopelessly disorganised by fatigue, may in
this
way be pulled together again and endowed with a considerable accession of
strength.
It
is instructive to watch the mechanism of this change. A man who is utterly
exhausted
has to a great extent lost the power of co-ordination; the central
will
can no longer hold together and govern as it should the different parts of
the
body; every physical cell is complaining-- raising its own separate cry of
pain
and remonstrance; and the effect upon all the vehicles-- etheric, astral
and
mental-- is that a vast number of small separate vortices are set up, each
quivering
at its own rate, so that all the bodies are losing their cohesion and
their
power to do their work, to bear their part in the life of the man. Carried
to
its ultimate extreme this would mean death, but short of that it means utter
disorganisation
and the loss of the power to make the muscles obey the will.
When
upon the astral body in this condition there comes the impact of a
succession
of steady and powerful oscillations, that impact supplies for the
time
the place of the will-force which has so sorely slackened. The bodies are
once
more brought into synchronous vibration and are held so by the sweep of the
music,
thus giving the will-power an opportunity to recover itself and take
again
the command which it had so nearly abandoned.
So
marked and powerful are the waves sent forth by good military music that a
sensation
of positive pleasure is produced in those who move in obedience to
them,
just as effective dance-music arouses the desire for synchronous movement
in
all who hear it. The type of the instruments employed in military bands is
also
of a nature which adds greatly to this effect, the strength and sharpness
of
the vibration being obviously of far greater importance for those purposes
than
its delicacy or its power to express the finer emotions.
SOUNDS
IN NATURE
It
is not only the ordered arrangement of sound which we call music which
produces
definite form. Every sound in nature has its effect, and in some cases
these
effects are of the most remarkable character. The majestic roll of a
thunderstorm
creates usually a vast flowing band of colour, while the deafening
crash
often calls into temporary existence an arrangement of irregular
radiations
from a centre suggestive of an exploded bomb; or sometimes a huge
irregular
sphere with great spikes projecting from it in all directions. The
never-ceasing
beating of the sea upon the land fringes all earth' s coasts with
an
eternal canopy of wavy yet parallel lines of lovely changing colour, rising
into
tremendous mountain ranges when the sea is lashed by a storm. The rustling
of
the wind among the leaves of the forest covers it with a beautiful iridescent
network,
ever rising and falling with gentle wave-like movement, like the
passing
of the wind across a field of wheat.
Sometimes
this hovering cloud is pierced by curving lines and loops of light,
representing
the song of the birds, like fragments of a silver chain cast forth
and
ringing melodiously in the air. Of these there is an almost infinite
variety,
from the beautiful golden globes produced by the notes of the
campanero,
to the amorphous and coarsely-coloured mass which is the result of
the
scream of a parrot or of a macaw. The roar of the lion may be seen as well
as
heard by those whose eyes are opened; indeed, it is by no means impossible
that
some of the wild creatures possess this much of clairvoyance, and that the
terrifying
effect which is alleged to be produced by this sound may be largely
owing
to the radiations poured forth from the form to which it gives birth.
IN
DOMESTIC LIFE
In
more domestic life similar effects are observed; the purring cat surrounds
himself
with concentric rosy cloud-films which expand constantly outward until
they
dissipate, shedding an influence of drowsy contentment and well-being which
tends
to reproduce itself in the human beings about him. The barking dog, on the
other
hand, shoots forth well defined sharp-pointed projectiles which strike
with
a severe shock upon the astral bodies of those in his neighbourhood; and
this
is the reason of the extreme nervous irritation which this constantly
repeated
sound often produces in sensitive persons. The sharp, spiteful yap of
the
terrier discharges a series of forms not unlike the modern rifle bullet,
which
pierce the astral body in various directions, and seriously disturb its
economy;
while the deep bay of a bloodhound throws off beads like ostrich-eggs
or
footballs which are slower in motion and far less calculated to injure. Some
of
these canine missiles pierce like sword-thrusts, while some are duller and
heavier,
like the blows of a club, and they vary greatly in strength, but all
alike
are evil in their action upon the mental and astral bodies.
The
colour of these projectiles is usually some shade of red or brown, varying
with
the emotion of the animal and the key in which his voice is pitched. It is
instructive
to contrast with these the blunt-ended, clumsy shapes produced by
the
lowing of a cow-- forms which have often somewhat the appearance of logs of
wood
or fragments of a tree-trunk. A flock of sheep frequently surrounds itself
with
a many-pointed yet amorphous cloud of sound which is by no means unlike the
physical
dust-cloud which it raises as it moves along. The cooing of a pair of
doves
throws off a constant succession of graceful curved forms like the letter
S
reversed.
The
tones of the human voice also produce their results-- results which often
endure
long after the sounds which made them have died away. An angry
ejaculation
throws itself forth like a scarlet spear, and many a woman surrounds
herself
with an intricate network of hard, brown-grey metallic lines by the
stream
of silly meaningless chatter which she ceaselessly babbles forth. Such a
network
permits the passage of vibration only at its own low level; it is an
almost
perfect barrier against the impact of any of the higher and more
beautiful
thoughts and feelings. A glimpse of the astral body of a garrulous
person
is thus a striking object-lesson to the student of occultism, and it
teaches
him the virtue of speaking only when it is necessary, or when he has
something
pleasant and useful to say.
Another
instructive comparison is that between the forms produced by different
kinds
of laughter. The happy laughter of a child bubbles forth in rosy curves,
making
a kind of scalloped balloon shape-- an epicycloid of mirth. The ceaseless
guffaw
of the empty-minded causes an explosive effect in an irregular mass,
usually
brown or dirty green in colour-- according to the pre-dominant tint of
the
aura from which it emanates. The sneering laugh throws out a shapeless
projectile
of a dull red colour, usually flecked with brownish green and
bristling
with thorny-looking points. The constantly repeated cachinnations of
the
self-conscious create a very unpleasant result, surrounding them with what
in
appearance and colour resembles the surface of a pool of boiling mud. The
nervous
giggles of a school-girl often involve her in an unpleasant seaweed-like
tangle
of lines of brown and dull yellow, while the jolly-hearted, kindly laugh
of
genuine amusement usually billows out in rounded forms of gold and green. The
consequences
flowing from the bad habit of whistling are usually decidedly
unpleasant.
If it be soft and really musical it produces an effect not unlike
that
of a small flute, but sharper and more metallic: but the ordinary tuneless
horror
of the London street-boy sends out a series of small and piercing
projectiles
of dirty brown.
NOISES
An
enormous number of artificial noises (most of them transcendently hideous)
are
constantly being produced all about us, for our so-called civilisation is
surely
the noisiest with which earth has ever yet been cursed. These also have
their
unseen side, though it is rarely one which is pleasant to contemplate. The
strident
screech of a railway engine makes a far more penetrating and powerful
projectile
than even the barking of a dog; indeed, it is surpassed in horror
only
by the scream of the steam siren which is sometimes employed to call
together
the hands at a factory, or by the report of heavy artillery at close
quarters.
The railway whistle blows forth a veritable sword, with the added
disintegrating
power of a serious electrical shock, and its effect upon the
astral
body which is unfortunate enough to be within its reach is quite
comparable
to that of a sword-thrust upon the physical body. Fortunately for us,
astral
matter possesses many of the properties of a fluid, so that the wound
heals
after a few minutes have passed; but the effect of the shock upon the
astral
organism disappears by no means so readily.
The
flight through the landscape of a train which is not screaming is not wholly
unbeautiful,
for the heavy parallel lines which are drawn by the sound of its
onward
rush are as it were embroidered by the intermittent spheres or ovals
caused
by the puffing of the engine: so that a train seen in the distance
crossing
the landscape leaves behind it a temporary appearance of a strip of
Brobdingnagian
ribbon with a scalloped edging.
The
discharge of one of the great modern cannons is an explosion of sound just
as
surely as of gun-powder, and the tremendous radiation of impacts which it
throws
out to the radius of a mile or so is calculated to have a very serious
effect
upon astral currents and astral bodies. The rattle of rifle or pistol
fire
throws out a sheaf of small needles, which are also eminently undesirable
in
their effect.
It
is abundantly clear that all loud, sharp or sudden sounds should, as far as
possible,
be avoided by anyone who wishes to keep his astral and mental vehicles
in
good order. This is one among the many reasons which make the life of the
busy
city one to be avoided by the occult student, for its perpetual roar means
the
ceaseless beating of disintegrating vibrations upon each of his vehicles,
and
this is, of course, quite apart from the even more serious play of sordid
passions
and emotions which make dwelling in a main street like living beside an
open
sewer.
No
one who watches the effect of these repeated sound-forms upon the sensitive
astral
body can doubt that there must follow from them a serious permanent
result
which cannot fail to be to some extent communicated to the physical
nerves.
So serious and so certain is this, that I believe that if it were
possible
to obtain accurate statistics on such a point, we should find the
length
of life much shorter and the percentage of nervous breakdown and insanity
appreciably
higher among the inhabitants of a street paved with granite, than
among
those who have advantage of asphalt. The value and even the necessity of
quiet
is by no means sufficiently appreciated in our modern life. Specially do
we
ignore the disastrous effect upon the plastic astral and mental bodies of
children
of all this ceaseless, unnecessary noise; yet that is largely
responsible
for evils of many kinds and for weaknesses which show themselves
with
fatal effect in later life.
There
is a yet higher point of view from which all the sounds of nature blend
themselves
into one mighty tone-- that which the Chinese authors have called the
KUNG;
and this also has its form-- an inexpressible compound or synthesis of all
forms,
vast and changeful as the sea, and yet through it all upholding an
average
level, just as the sea does, all-penetrating yet all embracing, the note
which
represents our earth in the music of the spheres-- the form which is our
petal
when the solar system is regarded from that plane where it is seen all
spread
out like a lotus.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER X
BY
PUBLIC OPINION
RACE
PREJUDICE
WHEN
anything occurs to prevent us from doing or saying exactly what we should
like
to do, we are in the habit of congratulating ourselves that thought at
least
is free. But this is only another of the many popular delusions. For the
average
man thought is by no means free; on the contrary it is conditioned by a
large
number of powerful limitations. It is bound by the prejudices of the
nation,
the religion, the class to which he happens to belong, and it is only by
a
determined and long-continued effort that he can shake himself free from all
these
influences, and really think for himself.
These
restrictions operate on him in two ways; they modify his opinion about
facts
and about actions. Taking the former first, he sees nothing as it really
is,
but only as his fellow-countrymen, his co-religionists, or the members of
his
caste think it to be. When we come to know more of other races we shake off
our
preconceptions concerning them. But we have only to look back a century to
the
time of Napoleon, and we shall at once perceive that no Englishman then
could
possibly have formed an impartial opinion as to the character of that
remarkable
man. Public opinion in England had erected him into a kind of bogey;
nothing
was too terrible or too wicked to be believed of him, and indeed it is
doubtful
whether the common people really considered him as a human being at
all.
The
prepossession against everything French was then so strong that to say that
a
man was a Frenchman was to believe him capable of any villainy; and one cannot
but
admit that those who had fresh in their minds the unspeakable crimes of the
French
Revolution had some justification for such an attitude. They were too
near
to the events to be able to see them in proportion; and because the
offscourings
of the streets of Paris had contrived to seize upon the government
and
to steep themselves in orgies of blood and crime, they thought that these
represented
the people of France. It is easy to see how far from the truth must
have
been the conception of the Frenchman in the mind of the average English
peasant
of that period.
Among
our higher classes the century which has passed since then has produced an
entire
revolution of feeling, and now we cordially admire our neighbours across
the
Channel, because now we know so much more of them. Yet even now it is not
impossible
that there may be remote country places in which something of that
old
and strongly established prejudice still survives. For the leading countries
of
the world are in reality as yet only partially civilised, and while
everywhere
the more cultured classes are prepared to receive foreigners
politely,
the same can hardly be said of the mill-hands or the colliers. And
there
are still parts of Europe where the Jew is hardly regarded as a human
being.
POPULAR
PREJUDICE
It
needs little argument to show that everywhere among the less cultured people
prejudgments
are still strong and utterly unreasonable; but we who think
ourselves
above them-- even we need to be careful, lest unconsciously we allow
them
to influence us. To stand against a strong popular bias is no easy matter,
and
the student of occultism will at once see why this is so. The whole
atmosphere
is full of thought-forms and currents of thought, and these are
ceaselessly
acting and reacting upon every one of us. The tendency of any
thought-form
is to reproduce itself. It is charged with a certain rate of
vibration,
and its nature is to influence every mental and astral body with
which
it comes into contact in the direction of the same vibration.
There
are many matters about which opinion is reasonably equally divided, as
(for
example) the angle at which one should wear one' s hat, or whether one
should
be a Liberal or a Conservative. Consequently the general average of
thought
on these matters is no stronger in one direction than in another; and
about
them and other such matters it may be said that thought is comparatively
free.
But there are other subjects upon which there is an overwhelming consensus
of
public opinion in one direction, and that amounts to so strong a pressure of
a
certain set of undulations connected with that subject upon the mental body,
that
unless a man is unusually strong and determined he will be swept into the
general
current. Even if he is strong enough to resist it, and is upon his guard
against
it, the pressure is still there, and its action is still continued, and
if
at any time he relaxes his vigilance for a moment, he may find himself
unconsciously
warped by it.
I
have explained in the second volume of The Inner Life that a man who allows
himself
to contract a prejudice of this kind on any subject causes a hardening
of
the matter of the mental body in the part of it through which the
oscillations
relating to that subject would naturally pass. This acts upon him
in
two ways; first, he is unable to see that subject as it really is, for the
vibrations
which would otherwise convey an impression of it come against this
callosity
of the mental body, and either they cannot penetrate it at all, or
they
are so distorted in their passage through it that they convey no real
information.
Secondly, the man cannot think truly with regard to that subject,
because
the very part of this mental body which he would use in such an effort
is
already so hardened as to be entirely inefficient, so that the only way to
overcome
the unfairness is to perform a surgical operation upon that wart in the
mental
body, and excise it altogether, and to keep for a long time a close watch
upon
it to see that it is not growing again. If that watch be not kept, the
steady
pressure of the thought-waves of thousands of other people will reproduce
it,
and it will be necessary to perform the operation all over again.
POLITICAL
PREJUDICE
In
many parts of the country there is a vast amount of bitter political bias.
The
majority of the people in a district hold one view or the other (it matters
little
which), and they find it difficult to imagine that the members of the
opposite
party are ordinary human beings at all. They are so sure of their own
point
of view that they appear to think that every one else must really hold it
also,
and that it is only out of malice prepense that their opponents are
pretending
to hold an entirely different view. Yet their own ideas are usually
not
arrived at by any process of thought or of weighing two lines of policy, but
are
hereditary, precisely as are most men' s religious opinions. There is so
much
excitement and unpleasant feeling connected with politics in almost every
country
that the wisest course for the student of occultism is to have as little
as
possible to do with the whole matter. Not that, if he happens to reside in a
country
where he has a vote, he should refuse to use it, as many good people
have
done, because of the mass of corruption which sometimes surrounds political
activity
of the lower kind. If there is much that is evil in connection with
such
affairs, that is all the more reason why every good citizen should use the
power
that the system has vested in him (however foolish in itself that system
may
be) in favour of what seems to him the right and noble course.
GOVERNMENT
The
occult theory of government, of the politics of the State, is preeminently
the
common-sense view. The management of a country is as much a matter of
business
as the management of a factory or a school. The country has many points
of
similarity to a great public school. It exists primarily for the benefit of
its
people, and the people are put there in order to learn. The head of the
country
makes whatever regulations he considers necessary to secure its
efficiency,
and there must be discipline and order and prompt obedience to those
regulations,
or there can be no progress. The king is the headmaster. His work
is
to exercise sleepless vigilance over the welfare of the school, to employ all
methods
in his power to make it the best of schools. Our business is not to
criticise
him, but to obey him, and loyally to give our heartiest co-operation
in
carrying out whatever he thinks best for the good of the country as a whole.
The
business of a government is to govern; the business of its people is to be
good,
loyal, law-abiding citizens so as to make that task of government easy.
A
king who thinks of or works for fancied private interests of his own, instead
of
acting only for his country, is obviously failing to do his work; but
remember
that any subject who in politics thinks of or works for supposed
private
interests of his own, and not for the good of the country as a whole, is
also
equally failing to do his duty as a good citizen. As to the outer form of a
government,
almost any form can be made to work satisfactorily if the people
co-operate
loyally and unselfishly, forgetting themselves as units and regarding
the
country as their unit; but no form of government, however excellent, can be
successful
and satisfactory if its people are selfish and refractory.
RELIGIOUS
PREJUDICE
All
that I have said of race prejudice is also true of religious prejudice,
which
is indeed in many ways even worse than the other. Few men choose their
religion;
most people are born into a religion, exactly as they are born into a
race,
and they have no valid reason for preferring it to any other form of
faith;
but because it happens to be theirs, they arrogantly assume that it must
be
better than any other, and despise other people whose karma has led them into
a
slightly different environment. Precisely because this partiality is thus in
the
air, and because the ordinary man cannot see the pressure of public opinion,
the
unfairness steals in upon him unobserved and seems to him quite natural, and
indistinguishable
from an opinion which he has formed for himself on some
reasonable
grounds.
It
is necessary that we should constantly pull ourselves up, and examine our
reasons
for the opinions we hold. It is so fatally easy to go with the current
and
to accept other men' s ready-made thoughts, instead of thinking for
ourselves.
“Almost every one does this, so why should not I?” That is the
feeling
of the average man, and yet if we would be just to all, as a student of
occultism
must be-- if we seek to know the truth on all subjects, as a student
of
occultism should know it-- then we must at all costs root out these
prejudices,
and keep a lynx-like watch against their return. We shall find
ourselves
in many ways differing from the majority, because the opinions of the
majority
are often unjust, ill-conceived, unreliable; but that after all we must
expect,
for we are setting before us a high ideal, which as yet does not appeal
to
that majority. If we think on all points as it thinks, and act in all ways as
it
acts, in what way have we raised ourselves above it, and how can we be
drawing
nearer to our goal?
CLASS
PREJUDICE
More
insidious still perhaps is the class or caste bias. It is so comforting to
feel
that we are somehow inherently and generically superior to everybody else--
that
no good feeling or good action can be expected from the other man, because
he
is a bloated aristocrat or a member of the proletariat, as the case may be.
Here
again, as with all the other misconceptions, the study of the hidden side
of
the matter shows us that what is needed is more knowledge and more charity.
The
occultist sees a prejudice to be a congestion of thought; what is necessary
therefore
is to stir up the thought, to get to know the people and try to
comprehend
them, and we shall soon find that fundamentally there is little
difference
between us and them.
That
there are classes of egos, that some are older and some are younger, and
that
some are consequently more ignorant than others, it is impossible to deny,
for
that is a fact in nature, as has been shown by our study of the order in
which
different divisions of mankind arrived from the moon-chain upon the
earth-chain.
But there is a common humanity which underlies all the classes, and
to
this we may always appeal with the certainty of obtaining some response.
Those
who feel sure that they belong to the higher class of egos must prove
their
nobility by great tolerance and charity towards the less fortunate younger
members
of the human race; noblesse oblige, and if they are the nobility they
must
act accordingly. A prejudice is usually so transparently foolish that when
a
man has freed himself from it he cannot believe that he ever really felt it,
cannot
understand how any of his fellow-creatures who have any pretence to
reasoning
powers can be subject to it. So there is a certain danger that he
himself
may become intolerant in turn-- intolerant of intolerance. The
occultist,
however, who sees the mighty combined thought-form and understands
the
almost irresistible power, and yet the curious insidiousness of its action,
understands
very well the difficulty of resisting it-- the difficulty even of
escaping
sufficiently from its thraldom to realise that there is anything to
resist.
PUBLIC
STANDARDS
Fortunately
this almost irresistible pressure of public opinion is not always
wrong.
In certain directions it is founded not upon the cumulative ignorance of
the
race but on its cumulative knowledge-- on the experience of generations that
have
gone before us. Public opinion is undoubtedly in the right when it condemns
murder
or robbery; and countries in which public opinion has not yet advanced so
far
as to express itself clearly on these points are universally admitted to be
in
the rearguard of civilisation. There are still in the world communities in
which
law and order are only beginning to exist, and violence is still the
deciding
factor in all disputes; but those countries are universally recognised
as
undesirable places of habitation and as lagging behind the progress of the
world.
There
are other crimes besides robbery and murder which are universally
condemned
in all civilised countries, and in all these directions the pressure
exerted
by public opinion is a pressure in the right direction, tending to
restrain
those erratic spirits who might otherwise think only of their own
desires
and not at all of the welfare of the community.
The
occultist, seeing so much more of what is really happening, establishes for
himself
a far more exacting code of morals than does the ordinary man. Many
things
which the ordinary man would do, and constantly does do, without thinking
twice
about them, the occultist would not permit himself to do under any
consideration,
because he sees their effects in other worlds, which are hidden
from
the less developed man. This is a general rule, though here and there we
meet
with exceptions in which the occultist, who understands the case, will take
steps
which the ordinary man would fear to take. This is because his action is
based
upon knowledge, because he sees what he is doing, while the other man is
acting
only according to custom.
The
great laws of morality are universal, but temporary and local customs are
often
only ridiculous. There are still many people to whom it is a heinous crime
to
go for a walk on a Sunday or to play a game of cards. At such restrictions
the
occultist smiles, though he is careful not to hurt the feelings of those to
whom
such quaint and unnatural regulations seem matters of primary importance.
In
many cases, too, the superior knowledge gained by occult study enables him to
see
the real meaning of regulations which are misunderstood by others.
CASTE
PREJUDICE
A
good example of this is to be seen in regard to the caste regulations of
India.
These were established some ten thousand years ago by the Manu in charge
of
the fifth root-race, when He had moved down the main stock of that race from
Central
Asia to the plains of India. This was after the sub-races had been sent
out
to do their colonising work, and the remnant of the main stock of His race
was
but small as compared to the teeming millions of Hindustan. Wave after wave
of
immigration had swept into the country, and mingled freely with the ruling
race
among its previous inhabitants, and He saw that, unless some definite
command
was given, the Aryan type, which had been established with so much
trouble,
would run great risk of being entirely lost. He therefore issued
instructions
that a certain division of His people should be made, and that the
members
of the three great types which He thus set apart should remain as they
were,
that they should not intermarry with one another or with the subject
races.
This
was the only restriction that was laid upon them. Yet this very simple and
harmless
regulation has been expanded into a system of iron rigidity which at
the
present time interferes at every step and in every direction with the
progress
of India as a nation. The command not to intermarry has been distorted
into
an order to hold no fellowship with the members of another caste, not to
eat
with them, not to accept food from them. Not only that, but the great race
divisions
made by the Manu have been again divided and subdivided until we are
now
in the presence of not three castes but a great multitude of sub-castes, all
looking
down upon one another, all foreign to one another, all restricted from
intermarrying
or from eating together. And all this in spite of the fact,
well-known
to all, that within the written laws of Manu (though they contain
much
which the Manu himself certainly did not say) it is stated quite definitely
that
the man of higher caste may eat with one of the lowest caste whom he knows
to
be living in a rational and cleanly manner, and that in the Mahabharata caste
is
declared to depend not upon birth but upon character. For example,
One'
s own ploughman, an old friend of the family, one' s own cowherd, one' s
own
servant, one' s own barber, and whosoever else may come for refuge and offer
service--
from the hands of all such shudras may food be taken.
(Manusmriti,
iv, 253.)
After
doubt and debate, the Gods decided that the food-gift of the money-lending
shudra
who was generous of heart was equal in quality to the food-gift of the
Shrotriya
brahmana who knew all the Vedas, but was small of heart. But the Lord
of
all creatures came to them and said: Make ye not that equal which is unequal.
The
food-gift of that shudra is purified by the generous heart, while that of
the
Shrotriya brahmana is befoulded wholly by the lack of goodwill.
(Manusmriti,
iv, 224, 225)
Not
birth, nor sacraments, nor study, nor ancestry, can decide whether a person
is
twice-born (and to which of the three types of the twice-born he belongs).
Character
and conduct only can decide.
(Mahabharata,
Vanaparvan, cccxiii, 108).
Yet
obvious as all this is, and well known as are the texts to which I have
referred,
there are yet thousands of otherwise intelligent people to whom the
regulations
made (not by religion but by custom only) are rules as strict as
that
of any savage with his taboo. All readily agree as to the absurdity of the
taboo
imposed in a savage tribe, whose members believe that to touch a certain
body
or to mention a certain name will bring down upon them the wrath of their
deity.
Yet all do not realise that the extraordinary taboo which many otherwise
sensible
Christians erect round one of the days of the week is in every respect
as
utterly irrational. Nor do our Indian friends realise that they have erected
a
taboo, exactly similar and quite as unreasonable, about a whole race of their
fellow
men, whom they actually label as untouchable, and treat as though they
were
scarcely human beings at all. Each race or religion is ready enough to
ridicule
the superstitions of others, and yet fails to comprehend the fact that
it
has equally foolish superstitions itself.
These
very superstitions have done irreparable harm to the cause of religion,
for
naturally enough those who oppose the religious idea fasten upon these weak
points
and emphasise and exaggerate them out of all proportion, averring that
religion
is synonymous with superstition; whereas the truth is that there is a
great
body of truth which is common to all the religions, which is entirely
unmarred
by superstition, and of the greatest value to the world, as is clearly
proved
by Mrs. Besant' s Universal Text Book of Religion and Morals. This body
of
teaching is the important part of every religion, and if the professors of
all
these faiths could be induced to recognise that and,-- we will not say to
abandon
their private superstitions, but at least to recognise them as not
binding
upon any but themselves, there would be no difficulty whatever in
arriving
at a perfect agreement. Each person has an inalienable right to believe
what
he chooses, however foolish it may appear to others; but he can under no
circumstances
have any possible right to endeavour to force his particular
delusion
upon those others, or to persecute them in any way for declining to
accept
it.
THE
DUTY OF FREEDOM
It
therefore becomes the duty of every student of occultism to examine carefully
the
religious belief of his country and his period, in order that he may decide
for
himself what of it is based upon reason and what is merely a superstitious
accretion.
Most men never make any such effort at discrimination, for they
cannot
shake themselves free from the influence of the great crowd of
thought-forms
which constitute public opinion; and because of those they never
really
see the truth at all, nor even know of its existence, being satisfied to
accept
instead of it this gigantic thought-form. For the occultist the first
necessity
is to attain a clear and unprejudiced view of everything-- to see it
as
it is, and not as a number of other people suppose it to be.
In
order to secure this clearness of vision, unceasing vigilance is necessary.
For
the pressure of the great hovering thought-cloud upon us is by no means
relaxed
because we have once detected and defied its influence. Its pressure is
ever
present, and quite unconsciously we shall find ourselves yielding to it in
all
sorts of minor matters, even though we keep ourselves clear from it with
regard
to the greater points. We were born under its pressure, just as we were
born
under the pressure of the atmosphere, and we are just as unconscious of one
as
of the other. As we have never seen anything except through its distorted
medium,
we find a great difficulty in learning to see clearly, and even in
recognising
the truth when we finally come face to face with it; but at least it
will
gradually help us in our search for truth to know of this hidden side of
public
opinion, so that we may be on our guard against its constant and
insidious
pressure.
BUSINESS
METHODS
For
example, this public opinion is at a very low level with regard to what are
called
business methods.
In
these days of keen competition, things are done and methods are adopted in
business
that would have astonished our forefathers. Many of these actions and
methods
are perfectly legitimate, and mean nothing more than the application of
shrewder
thought and greater cleverness to the work which has to be done; but
unquestionably
the boundary of what is legitimate and honourable is not
infrequently
overstepped, and means are employed to which the honest merchant of
an
earlier age would never have descended.
Indeed,
there has come to be a sort of tacit understanding that business has a
morality
of its own, and that ordinary standards of integrity are not to be
applied
to it. A man at the head of a large mercantile house once said to me:
“If
I tried to do business according to the Golden Rule-- ` Do unto others as ye
would
that they should do unto you' -- I should simply starve; I should be
bankrupt
in a month. The form in which it runs in business matters is much
nearer
to that immortalised by David Harum: ` Do unto the other man as he would
like
to do unto you, and do it first. ' ” And many others to whom this remark
was
quoted frankly agreed with him. Men who in all other respects are good and
honest
and honourable feel themselves bound in such matters to do as others do.
“Business
is business,” they say, “and the moralist who objects does not know
its
conditions,” and under this excuse they treat one another in business as
they
would never dream of treating a friend in private life, and make statements
which
they know to be false, even though outside of their trade they may be
truthful
men.
All
our virtues need widening out so that they will cover a greater area. At
first
man is frankly selfish, and takes care only of himself. Then he widens his
circle
of affection, and loves his family in addition to himself. Later on he
extends
a modified form of affection to his neighbours and his tribe, so that he
will
no longer rob them, though he is quite willing to join with them in robbing
some
other tribe or nation. Even thousands of years ago, if a dispute arose
within
a family the head of the family would act as arbitrator and settle it. We
have
now extended this as far as our neighbours or our fellow-citizens in the
same
State. If we have a dispute with any of them, a magistrate acts as an
arbitrator,
in the name of the law of the land. But we have not yet reached a
sufficient
state of civilisation to apply the same idea to national quarrels,
though
we are just beginning to talk about doing so, and one or two of the most
advanced
nations have already settled some difficulties in this way.
In
the same way the brothers of a family stand together; in dealing with one
another
they will not take advantage, or state what is untrue; but we have not
yet
reached the level on which they will be equally honest and open with those
outside
of the family, in what they call business. Perhaps if a man meets
another
in private life or at a friend' s house, and enters into conversation
with
him, he would scorn to tell him a falsehood; yet let the same man enter his
shop
or place of business, and his ideas of what is honourable or lawful for him
at
once undergo a sad deterioration.
Undoubtedly,
people who manage their affairs along the lines of sharp practice
sometimes
acquire large fortunes thereby; and those who regard life
superficially,
envy them for what they consider their success. But those who
have
accustomed themselves to look a little deeper into the underlying
realities,
recognise that it is not success at all-- that in truth there has
been
no profit in such a transaction, but a very serious loss.
If
man is a soul in process of evolution towards perfection, temporarily
stationed
here on earth in order to learn certain lessons and to achieve a
certain
stage of his progress, it is obvious that the only thing that matters is
to
learn those lessons and to make that progress. If man be in truth, as many of
us
know he is, a soul that lives for ever, the true interest of the man is the
interest
of that soul, not of the body, which is nothing but its temporary
vesture;
and anything that hinders the progress of that soul is emphatically a
bad
thing for the man, no matter how advantageous it may appear for his body.
The
soul is acting through and advancing by means of his vehicles, and the
physical
body is only one of these, and that the lowest. Manifestly, therefore,
before
we are able to pronounce whether any course of action is really good or
bad
for us, we must know how it affects all of these vehicles, and not only one
of
them.
Suppose
that one man overreaches another in some transaction, and boasts
blatantly
of his success and the profit which it has brought him. The student of
the
inner side of nature will tell him that there has been in reality no gain,
but
a heavy loss instead. The trickster chinks his money in his hand, and in his
shortsightedness
triumphantly cries: “See, here is the best of proof; here are
the
golden sovereigns that I have won; how can you say that I have not gained?”
The
occultist will reply that the gold may do him a little good or a little
harm,
according to the way in which he uses it; but that a consideration of far
greater
importance is the effect of the transaction upon higher levels. Let us
put
aside altogether, for the moment, the injury done to the victim of the
fraud--
though, since humanity is truly a vast brotherhood, that is a factor by
no
means to be ignored; but let us restrict ourselves now exclusively to the
selfish
aspect of the action, and see what harm the dishonest merchant has done
to
himself.
THE
RESULTS OF DECEIT
Two
facts stand out prominently to clairvoyant sight. First, the deceiver has
had
to think out his scheme of imposture; he has made a mental effort, and the
result
of that effort is a thought-form. Because the thought which gave it birth
was
guileful and ill-intentioned, that thought-form is one which cramps and
sears
the mental body, hindering its growth and intensifying its lower
vibrations--
a disaster in itself far more than counter-balancing anything
whatever
that could possibly happen in the physical world. But that is not all.
Secondly,
this duplicity has set up a habit in the mental body. It is
represented
therein by a certain type of vibration, and since this vibration has
been
set strongly in motion it has created a tendency towards its own
repetition.
Next time the man' s thoughts turn towards any commercial
transaction,
it will be a little easier than before for him to adopt some
knavish
plan, a little more difficult than before for him to be manly, open and
honest.
So that this one act of double-dealing may have produced results in the
mental
body which it will take years of patient striving to eliminate.
Clearly,
therefore, even from the most selfish point of view, the speculation
has
been a bad one; the loss enormously outweighs the gain. This is a
certainty--
a matter not of sentiment or imagination, but of fact; and it is
only
because so many are still blind to the wider life, that all men do not at
once
see this. But even those of us whose sight is not yet open to higher
worlds,
should be capable of bringing logic and common sense to bear upon what
our
seers tell us-- sufficiently at least to comprehend that these things must
be
so, and to take timely warning, to realise that a transaction may appear to
be
profitable in one direction and yet be a ruinous loss in another, and that
all
the factors must be taken into account before the question of profit or loss
is
decided.
It
is clear that a student of the occult who has to engage in business must
needs
watch closely what are called business methods, lest the pressure of
public
opinion on this matter should lead him to perform or to condone actions
not
perfectly straightforward or consistent with true brotherhood.
PREJUDICE
AGAINST PERSONS
This
applies also in the case of public opinion about a particular person. There
is
an old proverb which says: “Give a dog a bad name and you may as well hang
him
at once.” The truth which it expresses in so homely a manner is a real one,
for
if the community has a bad opinion of any given person, however utterly
unfounded
that opinion may be, the thought-form of it exists in the atmosphere
of
the place, and any stranger who comes will be likely to be influenced by it.
The
newcomer, knowing nothing of the victim of evil report, is unlikely to begin
his
acquaintance with him by charging him with specific crimes; but he may find
himself
predisposed to think ill of him, without being able to account for it,
and
may have a tendency to place a sinister interpretation upon the simplest of
his
actions. If we are trying to follow the truth we must be on our guard
against
these influences also; we must learn to judge for ourselves in such
cases
and not to accept a ready-made public judgment, which is just as truly a
superstition
as though it were connected with religious subjects.
THE
INFLUENCE OF FRIENDS
An
influence which often bears a very large part in a man' s life is that of his
friends.
This is recognised in a popular proverb which says that a man may be
known
by his friends. I take that to mean that the man usually chooses his
friends
from men of a certain type or a certain class, and that that in turn
means
that he finds himself in sympathy with the ideas of that type or that
class,
and so is likely to reproduce them himself; but it also means much more
than
this. When a man is with a friend whom he loves, he is in the most
receptive
attitude. He throws himself open to the influence of his friend, and
whatever
characteristics are strongly developed in that friend will tend to
produce
themselves in him also.
Even
in the physical world the belief of a friend commends itself to us merely
because
it is belief. It comes to us with a recommendation which assures for it
our
most favourable consideration. The hidden side of this is in truth merely an
extension
of the idea to a higher level. We open ourselves out towards our
friends,
and in doing so put ourselves in a condition of sympathetic vibration
with
them. We receive and enfold their thought-waves; whatever is definite in
them
cannot but impress itself upon our higher bodies, and these undulations
come
to us enwrapped in those of affection; an appeal is made to our feelings,
and
therefore to a certain extent our judgment is for the time less alert. On
the
one side, this may imply a certain danger that an influence may be accepted
without
sufficient consideration; on the other hand, it has its advantage in
securing
for that opinion a thoroughly sympathetic reception and examination.
The
path of wisdom will be to receive every new opinion as sympathetically as
though
it came from our best friend, and yet to scrutinise it as carefully as
though
it had reached us from a hostile source.
POPULAR
SUPERSTITIONS
It
must be remembered that superstition is by no means confined to religious
matters.
Most travelled Englishmen are aware that in certain parts of the
Continent
there exists a very decided superstition against the admission of
fresh
air into a room or a railway carriage, even though science teaches us that
fresh
air is a necessity of life. We know without a shadow of doubt, from
scientific
teaching, that sunlight destroys many disease germs, and vitalises
the
atmosphere; so it is impossible to question that it ought to be admitted to
our
houses as freely as possible, more especially in those unfortunate countries
where
we see so little of it. Yet instead of accepting this blessing and
exulting
in it, many a housewife makes determined efforts to shut it out when it
appears,
because of a superstition connected with the colours of curtains and
carpets.
It is not to be denied that sunlight causes certain colours to fade,
but
the curious lack of proportion of the ignorant mind is shown in the fact
that
faded colours are regarded as of greater importance than the physical
health
and cleanliness which the admission of the sunlight brings. Civilisation
is
gradually spreading, but there are still many towns and villages in which the
superstitious
following of the customs of our unscientific forefathers prevents
the
adoption of modern methods of sanitation.
Even
among people who think themselves advanced, curious little fragments of
primeval
superstition still survive. There are still many among us who will not
commence
a new undertaking on a Friday, nor form one of a party of thirteen.
There
are many who regard certain days of the week or of the month as fortunate
for
them and others as unfortunate, and allow their lives to be governed
accordingly.
I am not prepared to deny that a larger number of instances than
could
reasonably be accounted for by coincidence can be adduced to show that
certain
numbers are always connected in some way with the destiny of certain
persons
or families. I do not yet fully understand all that is involved in this,
but
it would be silly to deny the fact because we have not immediately at hand
an
adequate explanation of it. Those who are interested in pursuing this
question
further will find some of the instances to which I am referring in the
appendix
to Baring Gould' s Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.
I
do not doubt the existence of what are commonly called planetary influences,
for
I have already explained the hidden side of them; but I say that, while
these
influences may make it easier or more difficult to do a certain thing on a
certain
day, there is nothing whatever in any of them, or all of them combined,
that
can prevent a man of determined will from ordering his life precisely as he
thinks
best. As has been said, the wise man rules his stars, the fool obeys
them.
To let oneself become a slave to such influences is to make a superstition
of
them.
THE
FEAR OF GOSSIP
Perhaps
the greatest and most disastrous of all the taboos that we erect for
ourselves
is the fear of what our neighbours will say. There are many men and
women
who appear to live only in order that they may be talked about; at least
that
is what one must infer from the way in which they bring everything to this
as
to a touchstone. The one and only criterion which they apply with regard to
any
course of action is the impression which it will make upon their neighbours.
They
never ask themselves: “Is it right or wrong for me to do this?” but: “What
will
Mrs. Jones say if I do this?”
This
is perhaps the most terrible form of slavery under which a human being can
suffer,
and yet to obtain freedom from it, it is only necessary to assert it.
What
other people say can make to us only such difference as we ourselves choose
to
allow it to make. We have but to realise within ourselves that it does not in
the
least matter what anybody says, and at once we are perfectly free. This is a
lesson
which the occultist must learn at an early stage of his progress. He
lives
upon a higher level, and he can allow himself to be influenced only by
higher
considerations. He takes into account the hidden side of things of which
most
people know nothing; and, basing his judgment upon that, he decides for
himself
what is right and what is wrong, and (having decided) he troubles
himself
no more as to what other people say of him than we trouble ourselves as
to
the flies that circle round our heads. It never matters in the least to us
what
anyone else says, but it matters much to us what we ourselves say.
A
BETTER ASPECT
Happily
this mighty power of thought can be used for good as well as for evil,
and,
in some ways, the pressure of public opinion is occasionally on the side of
truth
and righteousness. Public opinion, after all, represents the opinion of
the
majority, and therefore the pressure which it exercises is all to the good
when
it is applied to those who are below the level of the majority. It is
indeed
only the existence of this mass of opinion which renders social and
civilised
life possible; otherwise we should be at the mercy of the strongest
and
the most unscrupulous among us. But the student of occultism is trying to
raise
himself to a level much above the majority, and for that purpose it is
necessary
that he should learn to think for himself, and not to accept
ready-made
opinions without examining them. This much at least may be said--
that,
if public opinion does not yet exact a very high level of conduct, at
least
the public ideal is a high one, and it never fails to respond to the noble
and
the heroic when that is put before it. Class feeling and esprit de corps do
harm
when they lead men to despise others; but they do good when they establish
a
standard below which the man feels that he cannot fall.
In
England we have a way of attributing our morals to our religion, whereas the
truth
seems to be that there is little real connection between them. It must be
admitted
that large numbers of the cultured classes in almost any European
country
have no real effective belief in religion at all. Perhaps to a certain
extent
they take a few general dogmas for granted, because they have never
really
thought about them or weighed them in their minds, but it would be an
error
to suppose that religious considerations direct their actions or bear any
large
part in their life.
They
are, however, greatly influenced, and influenced always for good, by
another
body of ideas which is equally intangible-- the sense of honour. The
gentleman
in every race has a code of honour of his own; there are certain
things
which he must not do, which he cannot do because he is a gentleman. To do
any
of those things would lower him in his own estimation, would destroy his
feeling
of self-respect; but in fact he has never even the temptation to do
them,
because he regards them as impossible for him. To tell an untruth, to do a
mean
or dishonourable action, to be disrespectful to a lady; these and such as
these,
he will tell you, are things which are not done in his rank of life. The
pressure
of such class feeling as this is all to the good, and is by all means
to
be encouraged. The same thing is to be found in a minor degree in the
tradition
of our great schools or colleges, and many a boy who has been strongly
tempted
to escape from some difficulty by an act of dishonour has said to
himself:
“I cannot do that, for the sake of the old school; it shall never be
said
that one of its members descended to such an action.” So there is a good
side
as well as a bad one to this matter of public opinion, and our business is
to
use always the great virtue of discrimination, so that we may separate the
desirable
from the undesirable.
Another
point worth remembering is that this great, clumsy, stupid force of
public
opinion can itself be slowly and gradually moulded and influenced. We
ourselves
are members of the public, and under the universal law our views must
to
some extent affect others. The wonderful change, which during the last thirty
years
has come over modern thought in connection with the subjects which we
study,
is largely due to the persistent work of our Society. Through all those
years
we have steadily continued to speak, to write, and above all to think
sanely
and rationally about these questions. In doing so we have been pouring
out
vibrations, and their effect is plainly visible in a great modification of
the
thought of our day. Only those men who are fully ready can be brought as far
as
Theosophy, but thousands more may be brought half-way-- into New Thought,
into
Spiritualism, into liberal Christianity. In this case, as in every other,
to
know the law is to be able to wield its forces.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XI
BY
OCCASIONAL EVENTS
A
FUNERAL
SO
far we have been considering chiefly the influences which, whether emanating
from
nature or from humanity around us, are steadily exercising upon us a fairly
constant
pressure, of which we are usually ignorant precisely because it is
constant.
It will now be well to mention the hidden side of such occurrences as
come
only occasionally into our lives, as, for example, when we attend a
funeral,
when we undergo a surgical operation, when we attend a lecture, a
political
meeting, or a spiritualistic séance, when there is a religious revival
in
our neighbourhood, when a great national festival is celebrated, or when
there
is a war, an earthquake, an eruption or some great calamity in the world.
First,
then, how is a man affected by the hidden side of a funeral? I do not
mean
how is a man affected by his own funeral, though that also is a question of
interest,
for it affects some people to an extraordinary extent. No person of
philosophical
temperament would trouble himself as to what was done with his
body,
which is after all only a wornout garment; but there are many people in
the
world who are not philosophical, and to them it is sometimes a matter of
great
moment.
All
classical history assures us that the ancient Greek, when he died, was
exceedingly
anxious that his body should receive what he considered decent
sepulture--
mainly because he laboured under the illusion that unless this was
done
he would not be free to pursue the even tenor of his way after death. Most
of
the ghost stories of ancient Greece related to people who came back to
arrange
for the due disposal of their bodies.
The
poorer classes among the modern Irish seem to share this extraordinary
anxiety
about the disposal of their bodies, for on several occasions I have come
across
Irish women whose one thought after death was not in the least for the
welfare
or progress of their souls, but that the number of carriages following
their
funeral procession should not fall below a certain number, or that the
coffin
provided for the body should not be in any respect inferior to that which
Mrs.
So-and-So had had a few weeks before.
This,
however, is a mere digression, and what we have to consider is the effect
of
a funeral upon the survivors, and not upon the dead man (who , nevertheless,
is
usually present, and regards the proceedings from various points of view,
according
to his temperament).
A
funeral is distinctly a function to be avoided by the occultist; but sometimes
he
may find himself in circumstances where his refusal to attend might be
misconstrued
by ignorant and uncomprehending relations. In such a case he should
exert
his will, and put himself into a determined and positive attitude, so that
he
may on no account be affected by the influences around him, and at the same
time
be in a position powerfully to affect others.
He
should think first of the dead man (who will most likely be present) with
strong,
friendly interest and affection, and with a determined will for his
peace
and advancement. He should adopt also a positive attitude of mind in his
thought
towards the mourners, endeavouring strongly to impress upon them that
they
must not grieve, because the man whom they mourn as dead is in reality,
still
living, and their grief will hinder him in his new condition. He must try
mentally
to hold them firmly in hand, and to prevent them from relaxing into
hysterics
and helplessness.
The
modern funeral is far from ideal. It seems to be an established convention
that
there must be some kind of ceremony connected with the disposal of the
discarded
clothing of the liberated ego; but surely something better might be
devised
than what is usually done at present. The funeral in the village church
is
not without a certain amount of appropriateness-- even a certain consolation;
the
mourners are in a building which has for them holy and elevating
associations
of all sorts, and the service appointed by the Church of England is
beautiful,
though here and there one would like to infuse into it a note of more
enthusiastic
certainty.
But
for the service performed in a cemetery chapel there is nothing whatever to
be
said. The place is never used for any other purpose than a funeral, and its
whole
atmosphere is pervaded with hopeless grief. Everything is usually as bare
and
as gloomy as possible; the very walls reek of the charnel-house. We must
remember
that, for one person who understands the truth about death and takes an
intelligently
hopeful view of it, there are hundreds who have nothing but the
most
irrational and gruesome ideas. Such a place as that, therefore, is filled
with
the blackest despair and the most poignant mental suffering; and it is
consequently
of all places the most undesirable into which to take those who
have
experienced what seems to them to be a bereavement.
THE
DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD BODY
No
one who has the faintest glimpse of the hidden side of things can approve of
our
present barbarous method of disposing of the bodies of the dead. Even on the
physical
earth there is no single point in its favour, and there are many
weighty
considerations against it. From the sentimental point of view alone, it
is
impossible to understand how any person can reconcile himself to the idea
that
the cast-off garment of one whom he loves should be left to a slow and
loathsome
decay under conditions from which imagination shrinks with horror; and
when
to this we add the dreadful danger of disease to the living from the
unspeakable
pollution of air and of water, we begin to understand that our
funeral
customs are one of the many indications that our boasted civilisation
is,
after all only a veneer.
Still
more decidedly is this impression confirmed when we gain an insight into
that
side of these matters which is as yet unknown to the majority. We become
aware
then what kind of entity it is that is attracted by the process of slow
putrefaction,
and we see that in this way also terrible, unnecessary harm is
being
done to the survivors.
For
the dead man, if he is wise, it matters little what becomes of the worn-out
garment;
but it should be remembered that all dead men are not necessarily wise,
and
that for some of them (who know no better) this abominable custom of ours
makes
possible a serious mistake, which under proper conditions could not be
committed.
The
average man in his ordinary thinking is not in the habit of separating
himself
into body and soul as definitely as does the student of occultism. True,
the
dead man has finally left his physical vehicle, and it is practically
impossible
for him again to take possession of it; but he is intimately
acquainted
with it, and its rates of vibration are familiar and sympathetic to
him.
Under all normal and clean and proper conditions he has done with it
entirely;
but there are those who, having had no ideas, no conceptions of any
sort
beyond the physical during life, become crazy with fear when they find
themselves
altogether cut adrift from it. Such men sometimes make frantic
efforts
to return into some sort of touch with physical life. Most do not
succeed;
but when any of them do succeed to some limited extent, it can be only
by
means of their own physical bodies.
Such
Rapport as they still retain with the decaying vestures sometimes enables
them
to draw from them the basis of an imperfect and unnatural
half-materialisation--
not nearly enough to bring them back into touch with the
physical
world, but yet sufficient to tear them for the time from healthy astral
life.
Such people make for themselves for awhile-- fortunately only for awhile--
a
dim, grey world of horror in which they see physical happenings as in a glass
darkly--
as through a world of mist in which they wander, lost and helpless.
They
cannot get back entirely into the dense bodies; a man who did would become
a
vampire. But they do get hold of the etheric matter of their discarded
vehicles,
and drag it about with them, and this is the cause of all their
suffering;
and until they can get rid of this entanglement, until they can
plunge
through the grayness and get into the light, there can be no rest for
them.
There are unpleasant forms of black magic, too, known in oriental
countries
and to those who have studied the methods of the Voodoo or the Obeah,
which
depend for their success upon the decaying physical body; though this is
happily
not a consideration of practical importance to those who live among
communities
unversed in such evil lore.
But
at least this is clear-- that all possibilities of evil, both for the dead
and
for the living, are avoided by the rational disposal of the discarded
vesture
of flesh. When we return to the custom of cremation, practised by the
Hindus,
the Greeks and the Romans, we reduce the physical vehicle as rapidly as
possible
to its constituent elements in a manner which is at once clean, decent,
and
wholly satisfactory to the aesthetic sentiment as well as to the rational
view
of the man of sense.
Some
people have feared the possibility that, especially in the cases of sudden
death,
the dead man might feel the flame-- might be in some way not yet fully
separated
from his body, and so might suffer when that body was burned. Even if
the
death be sudden, so long as it is death, the astral and etheric matter have
been
completely separated from the denser physical, and it would be quite
impossible
that the dead man could under any circumstances feel what was done to
the
physical body. I mean that he could not really feel it, because the
connection
through which he feels is definitely broken; what is perhaps possible
is
that, seeing the cremation, he might have a certain fear lest he should feel
it--
the idea that he ought to be feeling it, as it were; and so imagination
might
come into play to some extent.
I
have never seen such a case in connection with cremation; but I remember
hearing
on good authority of a young man whose teeth were all drawn after his
death
by a dishonest undertaker, in order that they might be sold as artificial
teeth.
The young man appeared to his father with blood flowing from his mouth,
exclaiming
in great indignation that they had tortured him by drawing his teeth.
The
body was exhumed, and it was found that his story was correct. In this case,
if
the man was really dead, it is quite impossible that he could have felt any
pain;
but he became aware of what was being done, and was very angry about it;
and
no doubt he may have thought of himself as really injured, because during
life
the idea of tooth-drawing had been associated with great pain.
The
difference which the knowledge of the hidden side of things makes in the
consideration
of the whole subject of death is very aptly shown by two of the
figures
reproduced in the book on Thought-Forms -- those which illustrate the
thought-images
created by two men standing side by side at a funeral. There it
is
seen that the man who had lived in the ordinary blank ignorance with regard
to
death, had no thought in connection with it but selfish fear and depression;
whereas
the man who understood the facts was entirely free from any suggestion
of
those feelings, for the only sentiments evoked in him were those of sympathy
and
affection for the mourners, and of devotion and high aspiration.
Indeed,
knowledge of the hidden side of life entirely changes a man' s attitude
towards
death, for it shows him instantly that instead of being the end of all
things,
as is often ignorantly supposed, it is simply the passage from this
stage
of life to another which is freer and pleasanter than the physical, and
that
consequently it is to be desired rather than to be feared. He sees at once
how
utterly a delusion is the theory that those who cast aside their physical
bodies
are lost to us, for he knows that they remain near us just as before, and
that
all that we have lost is the power to see them. To the consciousness of the
man
who possesses even astral sight, the so-called dead are just as definitely
present
as the so-called living, and since he sees how readily they are affected
by
the vibrations which we send out to them, he understands how harmful is the
attitude
of mourning and grief so often unfortunately adopted by the friends who
still
retain their physical bodies.
A
knowledge of the hidden side of life by no means teaches us to forget our
dead,
but it makes us exceedingly careful as to how we think of them; it warns
us
that we must adopt a resolutely unselfish attitude, that we must forget all
about
ourselves, and the pain of the apparent separation, and think of them
neither
with grief nor with longing, but always with strong affectionate wishes
for
their happiness and their progress.
The
clairvoyant sees exactly in what manner such wishes affect them, and at once
perceives
the truth which underlies the teaching of the Catholic Church with
regard
to the advisability of prayers for the dead. By these both the living and
the
dead are helped; for the former, instead of being thrown back upon his grief
with
a hopeless feeling that now he can do nothing, since there is a great gulf
between
himself and his loved one, is encouraged to turn his affectionate
thought
into definite action which promotes the happiness and advancement of him
who
has passed from his sight in the physical world. Of all this and much more I
have
written fully in the book called The Other Side Of Death, so here I will
only
thus far touch upon the subject, and refer to that volume any who wish for
more
detailed information.
A
SURGICAL OPERATION
In
these days of the triumph of surgery it not infrequently happens that a man
has
to submit himself to an operation. There is less of a hidden side to this
than
to many other events, because the use of anaesthetics drives the man away
from
his physical body altogether. But in that very absence much that is of
interest
to him takes place, and it is well to endeavour to note and remember as
far
as may be what occurs. This is a difficult thing to do; more difficult than
the
bringing through of the memory from the astral world, because what is driven
out
by the anaesthetic is the etheric part of the physical man, and as the
etheric
double is only a portion of the physical body, and in no sense a perfect
vehicle
in itself, a man cannot usually bring through a clear memory.
I
remember a case of this nature which I was asked by the victim to attend. He
was
much interested in the occult side of the affair, and anxious to remember
all
that he could. He was placed upon the operating table, and the anaesthetic
was
administered. Almost immediately the man sprang out in his astral body,
recognised
me, and started down the room towards me with an expression of vivid
delight
upon his face, evidently overjoyed at finding himself fully conscious in
the
astral world. But in a moment came pouring forth from the physical body a
great
cloud of etheric matter which was forced out by the anaesthetic. This
cloud
immediately wrapped itself round him, and I could see the intelligence
fade
out of his face until it became a mere mask.
When
I was permitted to see him again two days afterwards, his memory of what
had
happened tallied exactly with that I had seen. He remembered the rush out of
his
body; he recollected clearly seeing me at the other end of the room, and
feeling
greatly delighted that everything seemed so real. Then he started down
the
room towards me, but somehow he never arrived, and knew nothing more until
he
came back into the body an hour later when the whole operation was over. I
felt
on that occasion what an advantage the possession of clairvoyance would
have
been to the two doctors engaged. They gave the patient too much of the
anaesthetic,
and came within an ace of finally driving out the whole of his
etheric
double, instead of only part of it as they intended. As my clairvoyant
companion
forcibly remarked, they left hardly enough of it to cover
half-a-crown,
and the consequence was that the patient came perilously near to
death,
and they had to pump oxygen into his lungs for ten minutes in order to
bring
him back to life at all.
A
few years ago a visit to the dentist frequently meant a minor operation, in
which
the patient passed through a somewhat similar but much shorter experience,
owing
to the administration of nitrous oxide, and many curious phenomena have
shown
themselves in connection with that. An example in point will be found in
my
book on Dreams (page 38). In these days of local anaesthetics the dentist is
usually
able to do his work without the administration of gas, and consequently
the
experiences connected with his operation are of a less occult nature.
A
LECTURE
We
have in a previous chapter considered the consequences which attend upon the
action
of going to church; let us now consider the inner side of attending a
lecture,
a political meeting, a spiritualistic séance, or a religious revival.
Of
these forms of excitement the lecture is usually the mildest, though even
that
to some extent depends upon its subject. There is generally much less
uniformity
about the audience at a lecture than about a congregation in a
church.
There are often many and rather decisive points of likeness between
those
who adopt the same religious belief, whereas the people who are interested
in
a lecture upon some particular subject may come from many different folds,
and
be of all sorts of quite different types. Still, for the time being there is
a
link between them, the link of interest in a particular subject: and
therefore,
however different their minds may be, the same portion of the mind is
for
the moment being brought into activity in all of them, and that creates a
certain
superficial harmony.
Since
the Theosophical student frequently has to deliver lectures as well as to
endure
them, it is perhaps well not entirely to neglect that side of the
subject,
but to note that, if the lecturer wishes to act effectively upon the
mind-bodies
of his audience, he must first of all have a clearly defined idea
expressing
itself through his own mind-body. As he thinks earnestly of the
different
parts of his subject and tries to put them before his people, he is
making
a series of thought-forms-- unusually strong thought-forms because of the
effort.
He
has a fine opportunity, because his audience is necessarily to a great extent
in
a receptive condition. They have taken the trouble to come in order to hear
about
this particular subject, and therefore we must suppose that they are in a
condition
of readiness to hear. If under these favourable conditions he fails to
make
them understand him, it must be because his own thought upon the subject is
not
sufficiently clearcut. A clumsy and indefinite thought-form makes but a
slight
impression, and even that with much difficulty. A clearly-cut one forces
the
mental bodies in the audience to try to reproduce it. Their reflections of
it
will almost invariably be less definite and less satisfactory than it is, but
still,
if its edges are sharp enough, they will convey the idea to some extent;
but
if that from which they have to copy is itself blurred, it is eminently
probable
that the reproductions will prove entirely unrecognisable.
Sometimes
the lecturer receives unexpected assistance. The fact that he is
engaged
in thinking strongly of one particular subject attracts the attention of
disembodied
entities who happen to be interested in that subject, and the
audience
often includes a greater number of people in astral than in physical
bodies.
Many of these come simply to hear, as do their brothers in the physical
world,
but sometimes it happens that one of those who are attracted knows more
about
the subject than the lecturer. In that case he sometimes assists by
suggestions
or illustrations. These may come to the lecturer in various ways. If
he
is clairvoyant he may see his assistant, and the new ideas or illustrations
will
be materialised in subtler matter before him. If he is not clairvoyant, it
will
probably be necessary for the helper to impress the ideas upon his brain,
and
in such a case he may well suppose them to be his own. Sometimes the
assistant
is not disembodied, or rather only temporarily disembodied; for this
is
one of the pieces of work frequently taken in hand by the invisible helpers.
In
some cases the ego of the lecturer manifests himself in some curious exterior
way.
For example, I have heard the greatest orator now living say that, while
she
is speaking one sentence of a lecture, she habitually sees the next sentence
actually
materialise in the air before her, in three different forms, from which
she
consciously selects that one which she thinks the best. This must be the
work
of the ego, though it is a little difficult to see why he takes that method
of
communication, since after all it is he who is delivering the lecture through
the
physical organs. At first blush it seems that it would be as easy for him--
or
perhaps even easier-- to select a form himself, and impress only that one
upon
lower matter; and even then it might as well come directly to the brain as
be
materialised in the air before it.
Returning
from the lecturer to his audience, we may note that it is possible for
his
hearers to give him great assistance in his work. Older members of a branch
have
sometimes been heard to say that they did not feel it necessary to go down
to
the lodge meeting on a certain occasion, as the lecture was about a subject
with
which they were already thoroughly acquainted. Apart from the large
assumption
involved in the statement that one can ever be fully acquainted with
any
Theosophical teaching, it is not accurate to say that a man' s presence is
useless
because he knows the subject. Exactly the opposite remark would have
much
more truth in it; because he knows the subject thoroughly he also can make
strong
and clear thought-forms of the different illustrations required, and in
that
way he can greatly assist the lecturer in impressing on the audience what
he
wishes to convey to them.
The
greater the number of people present at a lecture who thoroughly understand
its
subject, the easier will it be for all those to whom it is new to obtain a
clear
conception of it. The lecturer, therefore, is distinctly helped by the
presence
of those who can fully comprehend him. He also may be much helped or
hindered
by the general attitude of his audience. In the main that is usually
friendly,
since the majority of people who come to a lecture come because they
are
interested in the subject and wish to learn something about it. Sometimes,
however,
one or two appear whose main desire is to criticise, and their presence
is
anything but helpful.
A
POLITICAL MEETING
This
latter effect is much more in evidence at a political meeting, for there it
seems
to be the rule that, while some people go for the purpose of supporting
the
speaker, others go merely for the purpose of challenging and interrupting
him.
Consequently the feelings to be experienced, and the thought-forms to be
seen,
at political meetings are not easy to predict beforehand. But one often
sees
cases in which forms composed entirely or principally of the thoughts of
the
adherents of one party make huge waves of enthusiasm, which rush over the
audience,
surround the speaker and work him up into a corresponding condition of
enthusiasm.
Many
years ago I remember attending a meeting of this description, and being
much
struck by the effect produced by getting all the people to join together in
singing.
Some great gun of the party was to speak, and consequently the huge
hall
was crowded to suffocation a couple of hours before the advertised time;
but
the organisers of the meeting were wise in their generation, and they
employed
that time most efficiently by working up that vast heterogeneous crowd
into
a condition of loyal enthusiasm. All sorts of patriotic songs followed one
another
in quick succession, and though few really knew the tunes, and still
fewer
the words, there was at least no lack of enthusiastic good feeling. The
two
hours of waiting passed like an entertainment, and I think most people were
surprised
to find how quickly time had fled.
The
occult side of the average political meeting, however, is far from
attractive,
for from the astral world it not unfrequently bears a strong general
resemblance
to an exceedingly violent thunderstorm. There is often much warring
feeling,
and even a good deal of personal enmity. On the whole we have usually a
preponderance
of a sort of rough and perhaps rather coarse, good-humoured
jollity,
often pierced, however, by spears of anxious feeling from the
promoters.
Unless duty actually calls one to such gatherings it is generally
better
to avoid them, for on such occasions there is always a clash of astral
currents
that cannot but induce great fatigue in anyone who is in the least
sensitive.
CROWDS
It
is also desirable to avoid as far as possible the mixing of magnetism which
comes
from too close contact with a promiscuous crowd. Not that we must assume
for
a moment that the persons composing the crowd are necessarily lower or worse
than
ourselves. It would be most undesirable that the student should become
self-conscious,
self-conceited or self-righteous. It is probably true that the
aims
and objects of the majority of people in any crowd, taken at random, are of
more
worldly type than those of the Theosophical student; but it would be both
wrong
and foolish to despise the people on that account. The point to bear in
mind
is, not that we are better than they, but that there is a difference in the
rates
of vibration, and that consequently to be in constant contact with others
causes
disturbance in the various vehicles, which it is better to avoid.
Nevertheless,
when duty renders it necessary or desirable that the student
should
enter a crowd, there are at his disposal various means by which he can
protect
himself. The most usual is the making of a shell, either etheric, astral
or
mental; but the best protection of all is a radiant goodwill and purity. I
shall
presently devote a chapter to the consideration of this question of
protection.
A
SÉANCE
Of
all forms of meeting one of the most interesting from the occult point of
view
is the spiritualistic séance, though of this there are so many different
types
that hardly anything can be said which would apply equally to all of
them--
except perhaps that one almost invariable characteristic is an atmosphere
of
joyousness and hopefulness. The circles to which outsiders are often
introduced,
those of which we hear and of which we may occasionally read in the
newspapers--
these are after all the few, and behind them, forming the real
block
of spiritualism, are two other variants of which we hear very little.
There
is the ordinary séance, quite among the poor, with a medium probably of
the
stout washer-woman type, where no sensational phenomena take place, where
the
spirits are frequently ungrammatical. Thousands of such séances are being
held
all over the world, and there is a strong family likeness between them. To
a
visitor their proceedings would appear profoundly uninteresting. Usually the
medium
gives a kind of fourth-rate ethical address-- or perhaps it is really
given
through the medium-- but in any case it usually faithfully reproduces all
her
favourite errors in grammar and in pronounciation. Then as a general rule a
few
words are said specially to each of the persons present, often taking the
form
of a description of their surroundings or of the spirits which are supposed
to
be hovering about them. Such descriptions are usually vague and uncertain to
the
last degree, but now and again striking identifications are made-- far too
many
to be explicable on any theory of mere coincidence. And however dull all
this
may seem to the outsider, it does undoubtedly carry peace and conviction to
the
members of the circle, and gives them a real living knowledge and certainty
with
regard to the continued existence of man after death, which puts to shame
the
faith of the fashionable churches.
The
hidden side of a séance such as this has often something pathetic about it.
Behind
the medium there is usually what is called a spirit-guide-- a dead
person,
sometimes of the medium' s own class in life, sometimes of a decidedly
higher
type-- a dead person who has by much patient effort learned how to
influence
with a reasonable amount of certainty the clumsy organism of the
medium,
which, however unsuitable it may be in most other respects, at least
possesses
the invaluable faculty that it can be influenced and that
communications
can in some way or other be got through. The patience with which
this
entity deals with the poor souls that come to him from both sides of the
veil
is admirable; for he has to try to bring into harmony not only the tearful
inconsequence
of scores of sorrowing relations on this side, but also the
feverish
and clamorous excitement of a crowd who are trying to rush into
manifestation
from the other. With his class and in his way such an entity does
a
great deal of good, and his life of unnoticed toil in some obscure district
adds
more to the sum total of human happiness than many far more showy efforts
which
receive greater credit in the eyes of the public. Even such a séance as
this,
when examined with astral sight, is seen to be a centre of a kind of
vortex.
the departed rushing in from all directions, desiring either themselves
to
manifest or to watch the manifestation.
There
is another variety of séance of which few know anything-- the private
family
circle to which no outsider is ever admitted. This is infinitely the most
satisfactory
side of spiritualism, for through it many thousands of families
communicate
day by day with friends or relations who have passed from the
physical
world, and in this way not only learn a number of interesting facts but
are
kept constantly in touch with spiritual subjects and at a high level of
thought
with regard to them. Most commonly the central figure at these private
séances
is some departed member of the family, and the communications ordinarily
are
affectionate little sermonettes of a devotional character, often somewhat
rhapsodical.
Occasionally,
however, where the departed relation happens to be a man of
original
thought or of a scientific turn of mind, a great volume of definite
information
is gradually gathered together. There are far more of these private
revelations
in existence than is generally suspected, for hardly one in a
hundred
of those who receive them is prepared to face an exposure to public
ridicule
of what to him is above all things a holy thing, in the hope of so
improbable
a result as the conversion of some sceptical stranger.
At
such séances as these, remarkable phenomena are not infrequent, and
materialisations
of the most startling kind are sometimes part of the daily
programme.
Often the so-called dead are just as much part of the daily life of
the
family as the living, as was the case, for example, with the phenomena which
took
place at the house of Mr. Morel Theobald, at Haslemere. The séances
described
by Mr. Robert Dale Owen are largely of this character, and they
represent
the highest possible kind of spiritualism, though in the very nature
of
the case it is hardly ever available to the ordinary enquirer.
The
hidden side of such séances as these is truly magnificent, for they form
points
of habitual contact between the astral and physical worlds-- vortices
again,
but this time only of the higher and nobler varieties of astral life. The
thought-forms
surrounding them are of the religious or the scientific type
according
to the nature of the manifestations, but they are always good
thought-forms,
calculated to raise the mental or spiritual level of the district
in
which they are to be found.
Putting
aside these two large classes, we have next the smaller group of public
séances
which to most outsiders represent the whole of spiritualism. All sorts
of
people are admitted to these, usually, on payment of a small sum of money,
and
the entities who appear on the astral side are just as curious a
conglomerate
as those who attend on the physical. Here also there is almost
always
a spirit-guide in charge. The highest astral types are not to be found
among
the habitués of such séances as these, but there is usually a sprinkling
of
dead people who have devoted themselves to the idea of being useful to those
still
on the physical earth, by the exhibition of phenomena and the giving of
various
small tests.
The
aura of such a séance is usually on the whole somewhat unpleasant, for it
attracts
a great deal of attention in the astral world as well as in the
physical,
and consequently round every one of them is always a clamorous crowd
of
the most undesirable entities, who are restrained only by force from pushing
in
and seizing upon the medium. Among the dangers attending these séances is the
possibility
that one of these desperate creatures may seize upon any sensitive
sitter
and obsess him; worse still, that he may follow him home, and seize upon
his
wife or daughter. There have been many such cases, and usually it is almost
impossible
to get rid of an entity which has thus obsessed the body of a living
human
being.
The
hidden side of such a séance is generally a confused network of
cross-currents,
some good and some bad, but none very good and some very bad.
The
clairvoyant attending such a séance may obtain a certain amount of
instruction
from watching the various methods by which the phenomena are
produced,
which are sometimes exceedingly ingenious. He will be astonished at
the
cleverness of the personations, and at the amazing facility with which those
who
know nothing of this side of life can be deceived.
A
RELIGIOUS REVIVAL
From
the point of view of the student of the inner worlds one of the most
remarkable
phenomena of our day is what is called a religious revival. A
religious
revival, as seen from the physical world, usually means a gathering of
people
of the lower classes whose feelings are inflamed by highly emotional and
often
lurid appeals from some fanatical exponent of the gospel of a particular
sect.
Day after day these meetings take place, and they are often accompanied by
the
most extraordinary phenomena of nervous excitement.
People
work themselves up into some sort of hysterical condition in which they
feel
themselves to be saved, as they call it-- to have escaped forever from the
bondage
of the ordinary life of the world, and to have become members of a
spiritual
community whose aims are of the highest description. Often they are
moved
to confess in public what they consider to have been their misdeeds, and
they
are apt to do this with a wealth of emotion and repentance entirely out of
proportion
to anything that they have to confess. The wave of nervous excitement
spreads
like an infectious disease, and usually it lasts for some weeks, though
often
towards the end of that time symptoms of universal exhaustion appear and
the
whole thing somewhat shamefacedly dies down into commonplace life again.
In
a small percentage of the cases the spiritual elevation appears to be
maintained,
and the victims continue to live a life at a distinctly higher level
than
that which had been theirs previously; but by far the greater number of the
cases
relapse either suddenly and dramatically, or by slow and gradual stages,
into
much the same kind of life as they had led before the excitement came.
Statistics
show that the culmination of this emotional excitement is accompanied
by
great sexual disturbance, and that the number of illegitimate unions of all
sorts
is temporarily greatly increased. There are certain sects which take as
part
of their regular system a much modified form of this excitement, and
consider
it necessary for their junior members to pass through a crisis which is
sometimes
described as “being convinced of sin,” and in other cases simply as
“getting
religion”.
Such
a revival as this is seen in its most extravagant form among the negroes of
America,
among whom it reaches a level of frenzy not commonly attained by the
white
races. The negroes find it necessary to relieve their feelings by dances
and
leaps and contortions of the wildest kind, and these are often carried on
for
hours together, accompanied by yells and groans of a truly alarming
character.
That
this sort of thing should take place in the twentieth century, and among
people
who think themselves civilised is surely a most remarkable phenomenon,
and
one deserving careful consideration from a student of the inner side of
things.
For one who possesses astral vision such an outburst is a wonderful but
unpleasant
sight. The missioner or revivalist preacher who first commences such
a
movement is usually animated by the highest motives. He becomes impressed with
the
overflowing love of God, or with the wickedness of a particular section of
the
community, and he feels that the spirit moves him to proclaim the one and to
rebuke
the other. He works himself up into a condition of tremendous emotional
excitement,
and sets his astral body swinging far beyond the degree of safety.
For
a man may yield himself to emotion up to a certain point, and yet recover
himself,
just as a ship may roll to a certain extent and yet swing back again to
her
normal position; but just as the ship capsizes if she rolls beyond that
point
of safety, so if the man lets his astral body entirely escape from
control,
he dies, or becomes insane or is obsessed. Such an obsession need not
necessarily
be what we should call an evil one, though the truth is that all
obsession
is evil; but I mean that we need not credit the obsessing entity with
anything
but good intentions, though he usually takes advantage of such an
opportunity
more for the sake of the excitement and the feeling which he himself
gets
out of it than from any altruistic motive.
In
many cases, however, the obsessing entity is a departed preacher of the same
religion,
style and type as the man obsessed, and thus we have temporarily two
souls
working through one body. The double force thus gained is poured out
recklessly
upon any audience that can be gathered together. The tremendous
swinging
energy of these hysterical excesses is contagious, and since such
revivals
are usually set on foot among people whose emotions are not under the
control
of a strongly developed intellect, the preacher soon finds others who
can
be reduced by sympathetic vibration to a condition as unbalanced as his own.
Every
one who swings over the safety point adds to the strength of these
exaggerated
vibrations, and soon an astral disturbance is set up of the nature
of
a gigantic whirlpool. Towards this from all sides pour astral entities whose
one
desire is for sensation-- no longer merely or even chiefly human beings, but
all
kinds of nature-spirits who delight in and bathe in the vibrations of wild
excitement
just as children play in the surf. It is they who supply and
constantly
reinforce the energy which is expended with such terrible
recklessness.
It is they who try to keep up the level of the excitement, so long
as
they can find any human beings who can be dragged into the vortex and induced
to
give them the pleasurable sensations which they desire.
The
emotion, remember, is emphatically not of a high type, for it is intensely
personal.
It is always motived by an exalted egoism, the desire to save one' s
own
soul; so that the dominant idea is a selfish one. That defines the kind of
matter
which is set in motion in these tremendous swirlings, and that again
limits
the nature-spirits who enjoy it to such types as find themselves in tune
with
that kind of matter. These are naturally by no means the highest types;
they
are usually creatures without much intelligence or comprehension,
understanding
nothing about their human victims; and quite unable to save them
from
the consequences of their mad excitement, even if they could be supposed to
care
to do so.
This
then is the hidden side of such a movement; this is what the clairvoyant
sees
when he watches one of these most astonishing meetings. He sees a number of
human
beings who are taken out of themselves, whose higher vehicles are for the
time
being no longer their own, but are being used to supply this torrent of
energy.
All these people are pouring out their emotions in order to make a vast
astral
whirlpool into which these great nature-spirits throw themselves with
intense
delight, plunging and flying through it again and again in wild
abandonment
of utter pleasure. For they can abandon themselves to pleasure with
a
thoroughness of which the heavier human being knows nothing. Their whole life
for
the time is one wild paroxysm, and this feeling reacts upon the human beings
who
unconsciously minister to their pleasures, and gives them also a sensation
of
intense exultation.
Here
we see the explanation of the passional side of these extraordinary
displays.
All that the nature-spirits desire is intense emotion of one kind or
other
on the part of their human slaves. It is nothing to them whether that
emotion
be religious or sexual; probably they do not even know the difference.
Certainly
they cannot know whether either is helpful or harmful to the evolution
of
the human beings concerned. The whole thing is a wild, mad orgie of non-human
entities,
precisely the same thing as the mediaeval witches' sabbath, but
provoked
in this case by an emotion which many consider as belonging to the good
side
instead of to the evil side of life. But to these nature-spirits all that
makes
no difference. They know nothing of good or evil; what they enjoy is the
tremendous
excitement which they can gain only by swaying masses of human beings
simultaneously
into a condition imminently dangerous to the sanity of their
victims.
No one man alone could reach so dangerous a level of excitement. There
must
be a great number reacting upon and, as it were, encouraging and
strengthening
one another. Indeed, I should advise the student not to attend
revival
meetings, because, unless he is in good health and well poised, there is
definite
danger that even he may be swept off his feet.
I
wish it to be distinctly understood that in what I have written I am in no way
denying
the great fact that what is called “sudden conversion” does sometimes
take
place, and that the man to whom it happens is ever after the better for it.
The
word ` conversion' is a noble one, if we can only dissociate it from such
undignified
surroundings as those that I have been describing. It means “to turn
along
with,” and its implication is that the man, who has hitherto been working
along
his own selfish road, realises for the first time the mighty truth that
God
has a plan for man, and that it is within his power to adapt himself
intelligently
to this plan and fulfil the part in it which is destined for him.
When
he realises this, he turns round and “goes together with” the divine Will,
instead
of ignorantly working against it; and after he has once done this,
although
he may become what the Christians call a backslider, although his
vehicles
may run away with him, and carry him into all sorts of excesses, he can
never
again sin without feeling remorse-- without knowing that he has fallen,
and
regretting the fall.
This
knowledge of the great facts of life is called in the East “the acquirement
of
discrimination” or sometimes “the opening of the doors of the mind”. Usually
it
is a gradual process, or at least one which comes as the result of continual
thought
or reasoning. Sometimes, however, the final conviction is borne in upon
the
man in an instant, and that is a case of what is called “sudden conversion”.
If
the man to whom that instantaneous flash of conviction comes has previously
reasoned
the thing out with himself (perhaps in other lives) and has almost
persuaded
himself, so that he needs merely a final touch of illumination to make
him
quite certain-- then the effect of such a conversion is permanent. Not that,
even
then, the man may not frequently fall back, but he will always recover from
such
falls, and will on the whole make steady progress.
As
has been described, the emotional effect of a great revival meeting is very
powerful.
Not only will it give the little additional touch which is needed for
the
` conversion' of a man who is nearly ready for that process, but it will
sometimes
seize upon a man who is as yet by no means ready, and it may be
powerful
enough to swing him over the dividing line, and make him profess
himself
for the moment (and quite honestly) as heartily converted as the other.
But
the permanent effect is by no means the same. In this latter case, the man
is
not really ready; there is a vast amount of force still uncontrolled in the
lower
part of his nature, and although that was for the time dominated by the
forces
present at the revival meeting, when that is over it reasserts itself,
and
the man inevitably falls back again into his former courses. We must not
blame
him for that; the strength which is needed for the permanent control of
the
lower nature grows very slowly, and it would be unreasonable to expect that
it
can ever be developed in a moment of enthusiasm. The cases in which it
appears
to be so developed are simply those in which the force has been secretly
gathering
itself for a long time previously.
Therefore
I say again that I do not for a moment deny the occasional reality of
sudden
conversions; I do not deny that a certain amount of good must follow from
all
the devotional enthusiasm which is thrown into a religious revival. But I
also
say that every word that I have written above as to the general effect of
such
gatherings, and the part taken in them by non-human entities, is absolutely
true;
and for that reason I cannot but think that such excitement should be
avoided
by the student of occultism.
In
the rare cases where a vast crowd is moved by a dominant idea which is wholly
unselfish,
quite a different order of entities comes into play-- the astral
angels,
who have an active delight in good. Under such guidance as theirs, the
excessive
temporary vibration is safe and even helpful, for these beings
understand
humanity and know how to bring it back again safely into its ordinary
condition.
Some
years ago I happened to see a remarkable instance of this which I will
presently
describe, but I must first say a few words as to the virtue which
caused
the outburst. For the whole difference is in the motive: in the case
previously
described it was fundamentally selfish, but in this it was unselfish;
in
that it was the hope of personal salvation, in this it was loyalty and
patriotism.
A
WAVE OF PATRIOTISM
Patriotism
is a virtue upon which in these days it is very necessary to insist.
But
we must be sure of what we mean by the term. It is not prejudice, nor is it
ill-mannered
boasting. There are those who can see no good in any country but
their
own, who are constantly vaunting with offensive swagger what they consider
its
superlative excellencies, and disparaging all others. These are not
patriots,
but mere braggarts: they exhibit not the strength of their loyalty,
but
the depth of their ignorance.
True
patriotism is the very antithesis of all this; it recognises that each
country
has its advantages and its disadvantages, that each nation has its
excellencies,
but also always its deficiencies, since no political or social
scheme
is yet perfect, and there is a good deal of human nature everywhere.
Nevertheless
it also sees that just as man owes consideration to the parents who
have
tended him and to the family of which he finds himself a part, so does he
also
owe something to the country into which he is born, for that birth is not a
matter
of chance but of karma. He is put there because these are the
surroundings
that he has deserved, and they are also those best suited to help
onward
his evolution. He is put there not to receive only, but to give; for man
learns
best by service. Thus he should be prepared when called upon to work for
his
country; he should acquiesce cheerfully in such measures as may be necessary
for
the general good, even though they may bring loss to him individually; he
should
forget for his country' s sake his private interests and desires, and
when
the opportunity arises he should give himself unsparingly to her service.
I
am aware that, among students of what is called advanced thought, there are
those
who sneer at patriotism as a virtue which is half a vice-- as an evidence
of
a low stage of development. But that is a mistaken view: as well might one
rail
at family affection for exactly the same reasons. Truly both love for
family
and love for country are more limited than universal love, but they are
nevertheless
stages on the way to it. If primitive man thinks only for himself,
it
is an advance for him to extend his love to that wider self which we call the
family,
and to learn to feel and to think for his nation is but a further step
on
the same road. Later still he will learn to think and to feel for humanity as
a
whole, and then he will come to see that the animal and the plant are our
brothers,
even though they may be younger brothers, and that all life is the
divine
Life, and so the love which was once confined to himself, to his family,
to
his clan, to his nation, has become wide as the shoreless sea of the divine
Love.
But
a very necessary stage on the way to this goal is that patriotism which
leads
a man to forego his own ease and comfort, to put aside his private
opportunities
of gain, nay, to sacrifice his very life, in order to serve his
country.
Naturally also he personifies his country in the person of her ruler,
and
so is developed the other virtue of loyalty, and his character is thereby
greatly
elevated and purified. That individual kings have in the past often been
unworthy
of this high feeling is a sad fact, but it does not interfere with the
other
fact of the benefit which accrues to those in whom such feeling is evoked.
When
it fortunately happens that the sovereign is all that a ruler should be, we
have
a collocation of circumstances in which loyalty can work with its greatest
effect,
and splendid results may be achieved both for the King and his people.
A
remarkable instance of this was seen in the enthusiasm evoked by the
celebration
of the Diamond Jubilee of the late Queen Victoria. For those who
could
see it, the inner side of the proceedings of that day was a spectacle
never
to be forgotten.
It
happened that on that occasion I had, through the kindness of a friend, a
seat
at one of the office-windows in the City on the route of the great
procession.
Even from the physical point of view, the decorations had
transformed
the gloomy London streets. The whole of the fronts of the tall
houses
on both sides of the dingy street were covered with a sort of scaffolding
which
formed temporary balconies to each of the windows, and all these were
closely
packed with men, women and children, so that the grim house-fronts were
like
cliffs lined with faces, rising tier above tier, and the procession wound
its
way at the foot, as along a gorge whose sides were built of human bodies.
Mostly
the people were business men with their wives and families, and country
friends;
and these latter introduced an element of gaiety and curiosity to which
those
stern, dark City streets are unaccustomed, for as a rule the people gave
themselves
up to the enjoyment of the occasion, and to the criticising of their
neighbours'
toilets. The City men themselves were in the majority of cases
unable
to shake off their anxieties, and were to be seen still surrounded by
thought-forms
of prices and percentages. Occasionally a privileged carriage
would
dash by, or a regiment of soldiers on its way to take part in the pageant;
but
those rarely claimed more than a moment' s attention from these business
men,
who collapsed almost immediately into their calculations again. Even when
at
last the great procession itself appeared, their interest in it was but
half-hearted,
and they saw it against a background of stocks and shares and
financial
anxiety.
Now
and again some specially popular visitor received a little ovation, but on
the
whole the astral appearance of that huge crowd differed little at that
period
from that of other similar gatherings. The delight of the children at so
unusual
a holiday showed itself in many a flash and coruscation of colour, while
their
fathers' thoughts frequently offered the unfavourable contrast of dark and
leaden
patches, blots upon the variegated brilliancy of the scene, for they were
but
little affected by the waves of excitement which were beginning to leap
across
from side to side of the street. But the vibration of feeling grew
stronger
and stronger, and when the splendour of that marvellous pageant
culminated
in the approach of the Queen herself, a startling change took place,
for
all the thousands of little local flashes and vortices of colour disappeared
utterly,
overwhelmed in the tremendous cataract of mingled blue and rose and
violet,
which was pouring like a veritable Niagara down both sides of that
living
valley of faces.
Literally
the only comparison possible for it was that smooth, resistless rush
which
is so impressive as one looks up from below at the greatest waterfall of
the
world, but here it was combined with a wealth of indescribably glorious
colour
far beyond any conception on the physical plane. No words can give any
idea
of the effect of that tremendous outburst of simultaneous enthusiasm, that
coruscating
cascade of love and loyalty and veneration, all converging upon the
carriage
in which the Royal Lady sat, unrestrainedly weeping in sympathy with
the
overflowing emotion of her subjects. Yes, and her subjects wept also-- wept
for
pure joy and depth of feeling-- and those hard-headed business men forgot
their
calculations and their anxieties, forgot themselves and their sordid
financial
considerations utterly for the time, and were transported into a
higher
world, lifted clear out of themselves, up to a plane of thought and
feeling
which many of them had not touched since early days of innocent
childhood.
An
unique experience, not easily to be had in prosaic times like these, but a
most
salutary one, which could not but leave a beneficial impression upon
everyone
who passed through it. That strong soul-shaking was transient, no
doubt,
yet every heart had for the moment been stirred to its profoundest depths
by
noble, unselfish emotion, and every heart was the better for it.
A
similar and even more splendid exhibition of unselfish emotion has taken place
recently
at the Coronation of His Majesty King George V. I had not myself the
privilege
of seeing that in the physical body; but an account from those
clairvoyants
who did see it shows that it must have surpassed even that other
demonstration.
WAR
Another
occasional event-- happily very occasional and growing rarer and rarer--
which
profoundly stirs the hearts of the people, is war. Now I suppose that few
at
the present day would venture to deny that war is an absurd and atrocious
anachronism.
If we pause for a moment to think, we all know perfectly well that
the
result of a battle does not in the least decide the original question at
issue.
It may show which army has the cleverest general or the greatest weight
of
artillery; it certainly does not show which side is in the right in the
quarrel,
if there be any right. So far as individuals are concerned, all except
the
very lowest classes have passed beyond the stage of attempting to decide
personal
disputes by ordeal of battle; when our convictions as to a boundary
line
differ pronouncedly from our neighbour' s, we no longer assemble our
servants
and try to argue the matter with rifles or bludgeons, but we refer the
case
instead to a tribunal in whose impartiality we both have reasonable
confidence.
As
nations, however, we are not yet at the level of evolution which we have
reached
as individuals; we are willing (some of us) to submit comparatively
unimportant
matters of dispute to arbitration, but there is as yet no court in
which
the races of the world have sufficient trust to accept its decision in a
question
vital to their existence. So the irrational appeal to brute force still
remains
as a possibility hovering ever in the background of national life like a
menacing
thundercloud.
Poets
have sung of the glories of war, but the legions of the Red Cross, who go
forth
not to hurt but to help, who come upon the battle-field after the rifle
and
the cannon have done their work-- these can tell us something of the true
meaning
of war, and of all the ghastly horrors involved in the gallant defence
or
the successful charge. War may still be sometimes a necessity-- the lesser of
two
evils; but it is so only because our boasted civilisation is still
lamentably
deficient. Yet, horrible and senseless though it be, it is capable in
a
certain way of utilisation; it has its part to play at an early stage of
evolution.
Unquestionably
the egos incarnated in the Zulu hordes, that did not hesitate to
march
to certain death at the command of Chaka or Cetewayo, acquired in that way
qualities
of obedience, self-control and self-sacrifice which will be valuable
to
them in later births amid surroundings where they can be put to more rational
use;
and it is to the Zulu level of development that war properly belongs. The
same
lessons, however, are needed by many who obtain birth in higher races than
the
Zulu; and without abating one jot of our horror of the ghastly cruelty and
senselessness
of war, we may yet admit that such devotion to the abstract idea
of
patriotism as will lead a man to be ready to die for it, means a distinct
advance
upon the normal attitude of the class from which our common soldiers are
chiefly
drawn. Those who are closely acquainted with our agricultural population
cannot
have failed also to observe the difference which military or naval
training
makes in the young man-- how, from being slow of speech and
comprehension,
he becomes alert, dexterous, resourceful and self-respecting.
Unfortunately
he sometimes picks up other and less desirable habits at the same
time,
but at least he is less bovine and more human.
There
is, however, no reason why an excellent system of physical training should
not
be universally adopted even when peace reigns supreme, so that we might gain
all
the benefit which is at present derived by those who are trained in the army
and
navy, without the sinful and ridiculous waste of life and money in actual
warfare.
A step in this direction is already being taken by the admirable
organisation
called the Boy Scouts, and it is fervently to be hoped that this
may
spread over the whole world, so that its benefits may be shared by all.
Terrible
and wicked though it be, war, when it does occur (that is, when it
cannot
longer be prevented), is always utilised and turned to at least some sort
of
compensatory good by the Authorities who stand behind. It is sometimes
employed
also as an alternative to something still worse, or a smaller war is
permitted
in order to avoid a more disastrous one.
I
have been told that if the war which England recently waged in South Africa
had
not taken place, a colossal and terrible European war would have been
inevitable,
which would have involved far more widespread destruction. It is
also
certain that that war was utilised to bind more closely together the
different
parts of the British Empire, so that in standing side by side upon the
battle-field
men might learn to become more brotherly and to understand one
another
better. Indeed, that is an effect which has often followed upon war,
that
the factions within a country have agreed to forget their differences in
the
face of the common enemy. The attack of Italy upon Tripoli may or may not be
in
the abstract justifiable; but no one who has lived in the country can doubt
that
it has had its value in bringing the somewhat heterogeneous population of
Italy
into a closer unity than ever before-- into a realisation of its
solidarity
as a nation.
The
hidden side of the actual fighting is perhaps less remarkable than might be
expected.
The sound-forms produced by the discharge of artillery and by the
ceaseless
rattling of the rifles are naturally of a striking nature, but as far
as
the astral world is concerned, a surging mass of confusion is the principal
characteristic
in the neighbourhood of the battle-field.
There
is inevitably a certain amount of fear coming from those who are new to
the
ghastly work; but there is usually comparatively little of actual hatred.
The
pain and grief of the wounded are terrible enough, yet even then there is in
most
cases little of hatred or personality. There is generally a strong sense of
order,
obedience, determination, coming perhaps principally from the officers
and
the older soldiers. But unless the spectator senses the thought-forms of the
generals,
it is difficult to get any coherent idea of the scene as a whole.
Many
invisible helpers are brought together during a battle, to receive the dead
and
extend to them any assistance of which they may be in need. But, taking it
as
a whole, there is far more feeling excited about war in the minds of
countrymen
and relations than in those of the soldiers themselves who actually
take
part in it.
CATASTROPHES
Sometimes
great catastrophes other than war overtake the world. Two hundred
thousand
people perished suddenly in an earthquake at Messina; what is the
occult
side of such a happening as that? The inner sight helps us to look more
understandingly
on such events as this, and while we pity the sufferers no less,
we
yet avoid the feeling of overwhelming horror and dismay which paralyses many
at
the thought of such an occurrence. Let us think calmly, analytically, what
really
happened in that case. Two hundred thousand people were suddenly released
from
the burden of the flesh. Surely we have no need to pity them. We cannot
speak
of them as sufferers, for they have been lifted suddenly and painlessly
into
a higher and happier life, and in such a catastrophe as this there is
really
less of suffering than in connection with many isolated cases of death.
The
suffering caused by sudden death is never to the dead man, but to the
relations
who, not understanding the facts of death, suppose themselves to have
lost
him. But precisely in a great catastrophe of this nature, few are left to
mourn
for the others, since the families within a certain area are almost all
destroyed.
The direct relations in most cases die together, and those who are
left
to mourn are more distant relations settled in far-away districts.
Some
there were beyond doubt who suffered terribly-- men who were wounded and
left
for days awaiting succour; others who were shut in beneath heaps of ruins
and
suffocated or starved to death. Towards these indeed our keenest sympathy
may
well go forth. Yet remember that they can have been at most but few, a
smaller
number than those who die of starvation every week in our capital city
of
London, for starvation is not merely absolute lack of food for a certain
number
of days. A man who has insufficient food, or bad food containing
insufficient
nourishment, for a period of years, is starving to death quite as
surely
as the man who for a few days has no food at all, and there is far more
prolonged
suffering in the former case than in the latter.
But
again, it may be said, in the earthquake there was a vast amount of
suffering,
because many people were rendered homeless, and because they were
bereft
of their ordinary supplies of food. That again is true, and to those also
our
heartiest sympathy must be extended. Indeed, we know that the whole world
did
so extend it, and from the occult view by far the most important effect of
that
earthquake was the great wave of sympathy and pity which came rolling in
upon
the place from every part of the habitable globe to which the news had been
carried.
It
is not death which we should regard as an evil fate; our Theosophical
knowledge
has at least taught us that. It is never the dead whom we should pity,
but
the living who still suffer under all the cramping restrictions of this
strange
physical plane. For those whose consciousness knows no other world, it
seems
terrible to have to quit this; a man whose sight ranges over the higher
worlds
knows, with a vivid certainty that nothing can shake, that, if one is to
consider
happiness alone, the happiest moment for every man is that in which he
escapes
from this world into the wider and more real life above.
Granted
that our life here is a necessity, that we have development to make
which
can be made only under these hard conditions; it is for that reason that
our
physical life is necessary, and so we come forth into it as a man goes forth
from
his home to some unpleasant task which nevertheless he knows must be done.
Pity
by all means the poor fellow who is exiled from that higher life, but do
not
waste your sorrow upon those who have gone home again to the glory, the
beauty
and the rest.
Seen
from the physical world everything is distorted, because we see only so
tiny
a part of it, and then with strange stupidity insist upon taking that for
the
whole. Occultism teaches us a finer proportion, and brings our life into
perspective
for us, and so, while we lack nothing of sympathy for all who
suffer,
we yet learn that those who most need our sympathy are not those upon
whom
the undiscerning world showers it most freely.
All
worlds alike are part of the great Solar Deity; in Him “we live and move and
have
our being,” and since we cannot fall away from His presence nor escape His
guiding
hand, what matters all the rest?
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XII
BY
UNSEEN BEINGS
SENSITIVE
PEOPLE
THE
occasional events to which we have hitherto referred have been such as might
come
into the life of almost anyone. There is another class of occasional events
which
usually come only to a certain type of people; but upon those people they
exercise
an influence so great that it cannot readily be measured-- great enough
often
to alter the whole current of a life. There are those among us who are
more
sensitive than the majority of men, who dream dreams and see visions; and
to
these people their visions are the most important fact of life. Naturally
also,
such people are attracted to the study of occultism, so that the
proportion
of them among our readers is likely to be far greater than in the
world
which cares for none of these things. To these visions also there is a
hidden
side, one which it is of great importance to study.
Visions
are of many kinds-- some trivial and unimportant, others profoundly
interesting
and productive of far-reaching effects to those who experience them.
In
some cases their genesis is obvious; in others curious and unexpected
associations
play their part, and a number of quite separate causes may combine
to
produce what seems to be a single story.
As
I have written several books upon the conditions of the astral world, it not
unfrequently
happens that persons who have had psychic experiences or visions
which
they have not fully comprehended, send me accounts of them and ask me
whether
my experience along these lines suggests any explanation. Such letters
are
not always easy to answer-- not that there is usually any difficulty in
formulating
a hypothesis which will fit the facts, but because there are too
many
such hypotheses. Almost every experience described might equally easily
have
been produced in any one of half-a-dozen ways, and without undertaking a
special
and detailed investigation it is often impossible to say which of these
methods
was employed in a particular case. Naturally, but few of the hundreds of
cases
submitted are of sufficient general interest to warrant such expenditure
of
time and force; but occasionally one is encountered which is specially
characteristic--
so good an example of its type that an analysis of it might
conceivably
be of use to many others to whom similar experiences have come.
A
REMARKABLE CASE
Such
an one came to me recently from a lady-- an account of a long and
complicated
vision or series of visions, coupled with impressive experiences,
which
had left behind them a permanent result. In order to understand what had
really
happened a certain amount of investigation was necessary, in course of
which
it became evident that several distinct factors had come into play to
produce
the curious effects described. Each of these factors had to be followed
up
separately and traced to its source, and I think that students can hardly
fail
to be interested in an examination of the way in which these independent
and
disconnected causes worked to bring forth a somewhat startling whole.
I
give here an epitome of the story as sent to me, using in many cases the exact
words
of the narrator, but condensing as much as I can without losing the spirit
and
style of the original. It should be premised that the lady had become
dissatisfied
with the religious doctrines of her childhood, and had commenced
the
study of comparative religion, reading several Theosophical books-- among
others
The Secret Doctrine. She was very earnestly desirous to know the truth
and
to make whatever progress might be possible for her. In the course of her
reading
she came across Swami Vivekananda' s book on Raja Yoga, and practised
the
breathing exercises therein recommended. The result was that she rapidly
developed
a certain kind of clairvoyance and began to write automatically. For
some
five days she indulged her astral controls, writing all day long whatever
they
wished.
It
seems that she was strongly opposed to the idea of capital punishment, and
had
felt great sympathy and pity for a murderer who had recently been executed
in
her neighbourhood. Among other entities this dead murderer came and
communicated,
and brought with him other men of the same stamp. She made the
most
earnest efforts to help these people, trying in every way to give them hope
and
comfort and to teach them as much of Theosophy as she knew. She soon found,
however,
that the murderer dominated and obsessed her, and that she was unable
to
eject him. Her case became rapidly worse, and her life and reason hung in the
balance.
For a long time no suggestion, no effort, mitigated her sufferings,
though
she prayed continually with all the power of her soul.
At
last one day she became conscious of the presence of another being who
brought
her relief. He told her that the prayer of her spirit had been
recognised,
that he had been appointed as her ` guide,' and that because of her
spiritual
development and the power which she had shown in prayer, she was
considered
especially hopeful and was about to be the recipient of most unusual
favours.
In fact, he said so much about her remarkable position and the
recognition
which she had gained, that she asked wonderingly:
“Who
then am I?”
“You
are Buddha,” was the startling reply.
“And
who are you? ” she asked.
“I
am the Christ,” he answered, “and I will now take charge of you.”
Our
correspondent here showed her commonsense and her great superiority over the
majority
of those who receive such communications by absolutely refusing to
believe
these astonishing statements, but she nevertheless accepted the guidance
(and
the teaching upon other points) of the entity who made these astounding
claims.
He
then told her that she was to pass through an initiation, and that if she
succeeded
she would be admitted to the “council of heaven,” which had been
called
together to decide whether the world should now be destroyed, or whether
yet
another effort for its salvation should be made. He urged her to hasten to
qualify
herself to attend this meeting while the fate of the world still hung in
the
balance, so that she might give her voice in favour of salvation. Her
attitude
of mind was rather curious; she certainly did not accept these
extravagant
claims, but still she half-believed that there was some great work
to
be done, and she was willing to continue the experiment and submit herself to
the
guidance of the entity who had saved her from obsession.
As
a preliminary to the initiation she was directed to have a bed put into a
room
where she could lock the door, to lie down upon it and make herself
comfortable.
The guide then instructed her to breathe the yoga breath as taught
by
Vivekananda. He told her that her previous efforts had raised the
serpent-fire
to the solar plexus, and that now she must raise it to the brain--
a
process in which he would help and direct her.
She
describes the sensations which followed as exactly resembling the travail of
a
woman in labour, except that the pain was along the spine, and it seemed that
the
birth was to take place in the brain. Many times her sufferings were so
excruciating
that she grew desperate and was about to abandon the struggle, but
the
guide seemed most anxious and always implored her not to yield, but to carry
through
the ordeal to the end. He hovered over her like an attendant physician
or
nurse, encouraging, directing, helping, doing everything that he could to
assist
the birth. At last she prevailed, and she asserts that the birth appeared
to
her just as definite and real a thing as that of one of her own children.
When
it had taken place the guide was greatly relieved, and exclaimed: “Thank
God
it is over.”
This
extraordinary experience was, however, only the prelude to a long series of
marvellous
visions, lasting altogether through twelve days of our physical time.
These
visions were partly of a directly personal character, and partly of the
nature
of general instruction-- often incoherent and indescribable, yet always
interesting
and impressive. The personal part consisted of her relation with the
so-called
“council of heaven” and the result of her dealings with it, and also
included
some curious symbolical visions in which persons well known to her in
physical
life seemed to play the part of the world which she was trying to save
and
of the arch-enemy Satan, a fallen angel who resisted her. She pertinently
remarks
that this was all the more strange since for many years she had quite
outgrown
any belief in a personal devil or in the necessity of what is
ordinarily
called ` salvation' .
The
general instruction was broadly Theosophical in its character, and referred
chiefly
to the stages of creation and the evolution of the various root-races.
She
describes the first stage of this as follows:
“I
then beheld a wonderful vision. At first in the midst of darkness I saw a
vast
Darkness which seemed to brood and brood for ages. Then a slight movement
began,
as if it might be the faintest dream in this great darkness. Little by
little
the movement increased, until at last a definite thought seemed to
evolve.
Little by little constantly changing forms appeared. All was chaos. Even
the
forms were in the midst of chaos, and the travail of the Universe was
terrible.
All was one. It seemed as if the effort to evolve order and to make of
so
many forms a unit, demonstrated beyond doubt that all was made by One Great
Being,
and that the pain and responsibility were felt by Him alone. This
continued
for a long time, with another expression of birth-giving, with
enlarging
results and unchanging solemnity.
“I
do not know when I first began to see souls. It must have been early in the
wonderful
exhibition; for I remember very distinctly how thickly they lay
everywhere
in the midst of chaos, and in the midst of forms. In the continual
vibration
of this marvellous evolution these souls were swallowed up in forms,
which
forms again changed to souls. These souls were egg-shaped and of all
sizes,
from tiny ones to larger ones, but none so large as I saw later in a
wonderful
sequel.
“After
a time the panorama of marvels changed and the world assumed a shape
familiar
to my mode of thought. Symbol upon symbol passed, including all history
and
mythology. Thousands of pictures passed in review, as if revealing the whole
of
Cosmos and of history. I can recall but few now, but one will serve as an
illustration.
“I
saw a cow of immense proportions-- almost as large as one of our mountains. A
ladder
was placed against her, and a man crept slowly and laboriously up the
ladder,
round by round. He represented Humanity. When at last he reached her
back,
he stretched forward and grasped both her horns. Humanity claimed the
products
and bounty of the earth for all, not for a few only. My guide called
the
cow ` The cow of Demeter' . My reading of the classics had taught me that
Demeter
represented the earth.”
It
was apparently at this stage that she was introduced to the “council of
heaven”.
She found it to consist of a small number of colossal figures seated in
a
semicircle. The members seemed impatient with the world and determined that it
should
be destroyed, but she begged most earnestly that another chance should be
given
to humanity, saying that she had lived and died many times for the world,
and
was quite ready to devote herself once more to its service. Her guide told
her
afterwards that she had no idea in the physical world how eloquent she had
been
in her pleadings on that occasion. There seems to have been some difference
of
opinion in the council, but eventually the majority yielded to her prayer,
and
promised to send help to her and to her guide in order that they might work
for
the world. (An examination into the truth lying behind this remarkable
vision
of the “council of heaven” was one of the most interesting features of
the
investigation, of which I shall write later.) After this the
semi-theosophical
visions were resumed. Once more I quote the words of her
letter:
“That
night other visions succeeded, but the story of symbology changed. I saw a
valley
in which lay the human race, and over it hovered a swarm of beings clad
in
white, but the whiteness radiated no light. Humanity was dark and shadowed. I
rushed
to awaken them, but at my approach the white-clad figures rushed into
strong,
determined and powerful groups to prevent my accomplishing my purpose. I
recognised
that they were deceiving spirits, self-appointed teachers and
preachers
of the earth, and that they resolutely beat down and held down the
dazed
and shadowed humanity. But even as I looked I saw here and there an
awakening
soul among the human multitude. As this soul awoke it grew luminous as
with
a light from within, and at the same time it arose from its prone position
and
began to move about over the sleeping world, trying to arouse others. I
seemed
to stand on a distant mountain, but could distinctly see whenever a soul
began
to awaken and to shine, and before the vision passed, many of these
radiant
lights seemed to burst out here and there, and even a golden light of
sun-rays
began to gild the tops of the surrounding mountains, and the whiterobed
figures
fled as this golden radiance increased. They, however, continued to
exercise
themselves in strenuous endeavours to counteract and oppose my efforts
to
help the world or to live my life.
“All
night the visions continued, but those towards morning were vague. My guide
awoke
me and told me to get up and get a cup of coffee and to gather myself
together,
as I was so much in the spirit as to be about to depart from the body
altogether.
When I had obeyed I found myself dazed. All the time in which I was
endeavouring
to make a fire and to prepare the cup of coffee, my guide was
present
and I was conscious of a most wonderful condition. Angels seemed to
surround
me and to sing hymns of thanksgiving. It was Thanksgiving morning, and
the
former inclemency of the weather had given place to balminess. I opened the
door
and turned my face to the south-west. I felt myself surrounded by supernal
Beings,
and sang with them a wonderful hymn of praise and thanksgiving. It
resembled
the Assumption of the Virgin-mother, the immaculate conception, the
birth
and presence of the wonderful Child at once. A peculiarly refreshing but
unfamiliar
odour permeated the atmosphere. My guide said that the angels were
burning
frankincense. Later in the day my guide again told me to go to bed.
“The
vision was most wonderful. Again I beheld Creation, but this time it was
different.
I saw the races in the aggregate. As the races appeared and vanished,
my
guide said solemnly: ` And the evening and the morning were the first day,' `
And
the evening and the morning were the second day,' etc. Somehow, though I
cannot
now explain it, although I felt that I understood it at the time, the
fifth
race was born in the fourth day, and seemed to be of special importance.
To
that birth my special attention was called, as the full-fledged fifth-race
man
lay stretched on the hands of a great Being, and was held out to me to
observe.
In this vision I saw that, up to the fifth race, mankind was all sorts.
Some
were large and some were small. Chaos prevailed, and there was little order
anywhere
in the human universe. But after the birth of the fifth race man I saw
that
all had become equal and all worked in perfect harmony. I saw also, at this
time,
that the race took solid form, like a phalanx-- the form, however, being
circular--
and that a band was slipped around the whole mass, passing from man
to
man, and that no man could get outside of that binding band. The passing of
the
race was marked by the whole human race being suddenly transformed into the
soul
form-- egg-shaped.
“In
the sixth race the development was very marked indeed. The individuals were
equal,
but much larger than in the fifth race. The tendency of the whole race
was
much more upward, and the movement had become greatly accelerated. At some
time
towards the close of the fifth or the beginning of the sixth-- I cannot
accurately
recall just when-- I saw sunlight again gilding the peaks. The race
emerged
from shadow into sunlight, and the onward and upward tendency became
swifter
and swifter. Then, the hour having once more struck, the eggs lay
together
just as do the eggs in a nest, but their number was countless.
“My
guide left me here. He said he could not go on with me, that I must go on
alone
and interpret for myself the meaning of my visions. He warned me to be
careful
not to give up my life; for upon my going through successfully and not
giving
up my life would depend my success and the salvation of the world, for
which
all this that we had seen had been done. In other words, I believed myself
to
be passing through a terrible ordeal for the salvation of the world.
“As
I beheld the development of the seventh race I seemed to go to unimaginable
altitudes
indeed. The band that I first saw binding the fifth race was strongly
encompassing
the sixth and seventh races. It became unbreakable. And as I looked
into
the faces of the men of the seventh race, I saw that gradually they shone
more
and more brightly with an inner light. Their radiance no longer came from
without,
but each was shining, living, dazzling light.
“My
body was now very weary, and when evening came I begged for rest. But this
was
not given. I was put through many trials. Many were terrible, and it
required
the utmost exertion of my powers to enable me to endure. What was the
nature
of this I do not know. I know only that I promised to deliver God' s
message
under any and all conditions, no matter what they might be, if He should
require
it. But the trials were awful. At one time I refused the visions, though
they
were becoming more and more beautiful. They then ceased, and I seemed to
find
myself in the power of Satan. (All these orthodox terms I personally had
long
disclaimed but they became real again in the visions.)
“For
a time I believed that as a punishment for my perverseness, or rather as a
result
of this mistake, I had lost all. The awful crisis had passed. The world
was
lost as a result of my failure; and now it seemed to be not only this world,
but
the Universe. How I prayed and struggled then! Before all could be restored
I
promised not only to give up my life but the lives of my children and even the
very
life of my soul, if need be for the salvation of the world.
“I
cannot linger here. Towards morning a wonderful breath came into my body,
going
up and down the spine as if there were absolutely no physical obstruction
in
my body, and as it breathed or flowed through me, it sang a wonderful, divine
anthem,
and ended in a marvellous union, in which I felt myself fully united
with
God. That was a condition it were folly to attempt to describe.
“During
this time I beheld a new series of visions-- all of glory. There were no
forms
that I can recall, but glory after glory of colour, each brighter and
grander
than the last. At last it was a wonderful violet, and as it shone upon
me
in unspeakable glory, I was told that I might go on and see God if I would. I
asked
if from there I might return, and was told that if I went on I could not
return.
I then said once more, as I had done in a hundred other trials: ` I must
live
to save the world.' And as I said that and refused to go on, the sun rose
in
the world, where I was then conscious, and I looked up at my beautiful
vision,
thinking how dull the sun was, and then gradually the vision faded.
“Just
when, I cannot say, but about this time, I was laid on a cross during the
night,
placed in a sepulchre, and believed my body was dead. My physical heart,
as
I thought, was arrested, and the pain which I endured was excruciating. But
the
bliss of my soul in the higher visions was as great as was the pain in the
body
in the sacrificial trials.
“After
this I must desist from any effort at description. I really cannot tell
the
strange things that befell me, nor are they clear in my memory. One of the
ideas
was that I was put through preparation for the work I was to do; another,
I
seemed to hear, and be a part of, involution as well as evolution. Perhaps it
represented
the experiences of the soul preparing for incarnation.
“When
at last I came out of it all, I found my sorrow-stricken family around my
bed.
They had thought that I was dying. From the beginning of my abnormal
condition
to the final close had been twelve days, and for five days and nights
I
had not slept. On the last day, I had believed myself that after all I was not
to
live longer in this world, and when I awoke to full and normal consciousness,
the
voice that I had heard so mysteriously gradually faded away, as did the
visions,
and neither have appeared to me since.
“But
since then, I have been conscious of a new spiritual life, and in
meditation
I reach a blissful condition, and I feel sure that some wonderful
thing
has happened to me.”
THE
VISION INVESTIGATED
It
must be understood that the extracts given above are only a small part of the
visions
described by our correspondent, but I think that I have given a fair
sample
of them, and have not omitted any point of special interest.
Anyone
who is accustomed to analyse psychic phenomena will at once see that
there
are in the account several features which differentiate it from the
average.
Many visions, even though quite elaborate and detailed, and intensely
realistic
to the seer, prove on examination to be entirely self-created. I mean
that
a man first thinks out a subject himself along certain lines, thereby
creating
a series of thought-forms; and then he proceeds to pass out of his body
in
sleep or trance, sees his own thought-forms without recognising them as his,
and
supposes them to be actualities instead of imperfect reflections. Thus he is
strongly
confirmed in his particular belief or superstition, whatever it happens
to
be, because he himself has seen it in a vision which he is sure to regard as
celestial.
Such a man is of course perfectly honest in his conviction, and even
perfectly
right in saying that he has seen certain things; the weak point is
that
he has not the training which would enable him to distinguish the nature of
what
he has seen. In the case now before us, however, there are various little
touches,
which are extremely unlikely to have been the thoughts of the seer, and
there
is considerable evidence that a mind differing much from hers must have
been
responsible for a great deal of what was seen.
As
our correspondent was anxious to understand the genesis of her visions, and
as
their history gave promise of somewhat unusual features, it seemed worth
while
to make a definite investigation into the matter.
A
rapport was therefore obtained with the lady, and it was further found
necessary
to examine the astral and mental records connected with her, and thus
ascertain
what had really happened to her. It was soon obvious that many
distinct
factors entered into the matter, and it was only by patiently
disentangling
the threads and following each one up to its origin that all the
causes
could be clearly seen. To put the case briefly:
The
lady, as hundreds of other people have done, had got herself into serious
trouble
by an unwise use of breathing exercises. Her desperate efforts to escape
from
the result of these exercises attracted the attention of a dead man who was
strong
enough to be of some use to her. But this man had objects of his own to
gain--
objects not consciously selfish, but belonging to a curious personal
delusion
of his-- and as he helped her he realised that he had here what might
be
a powerful instrument for the furtherance of his plans. He promptly modified
his
scheme, gave her a prominent part in it, and pushed her on into experiences
which
without him she would probably not have had for several incarnations yet.
Much
of what resulted was evidently not at all what he had expected, though he
tried
bravely to turn it all to account. Eventually he dropped her, partly
because
he was alarmed at the turn which matters were taking, and partly because
he
began to see that he could not use her quite as he had hoped. The outcome of
the
whole adventure, so far as our correspondent is concerned, has been good,
but
this is a piece of good fortune for which she cannot be too thankful, since
the
risks were enormous, and by any ordinary calculations there was scarcely the
barest
possibility that she would escape with her life and with reason
unimpaired
from such an experience.
In
order to comprehend all that occurred we must first try to understand what
manner
of man was this ` guide,' and how he came to be what he was. During
physical
life he had been a small farmer, a kindly but ignorant man, fanatically
religious
in a narrow protestant way. His only literature was the Christian
Bible,
over which he pored during the long winter evenings until his whole life
became
saturated with his conception of its teachings. Needless to say, his
conceptions
were usually misconceptions, often so grossly material as to be
ludicrous,
yet the man was so thoroughly in earnest that it was impossible to
laugh
at him.
He
lived in a thinly populated part of the country, and as he found his few
neighbours
out of sympathy with his religious views he became more and more a
recluse
as years rolled by, living frugally on the produce of a small part of
his
farm, and devoting himself with increasing ardour to the study of his one
book.
This constant brooding over one idea brought him eventually into a
condition
of religious monomania, in which he came to believe himself the chosen
saviour
of the world, the Christ who was destined to offer to it once more the
opportunity
of salvation which two thousand years ago it had received only very
partially.
A prominent feature in his scheme was the rescue from its false
belief
of the vast mass of non-Christian humanity, and his idea was that this
should
be done not along ordinary missionary lines but through the influence of
its
own great leaders. It was this part of his programme which induced him to
take
so keen an interest in our correspondent, as we shall see later.
While
still fully possessed by these religious delusions the worthy farmer died.
Naturally
enough, his astral life was simply a continuation of the physical,
raised
as it were to a higher power. He soon found himself amidst the crude
thought-forms
of the golden Jerusalem, a special corner of which he seems to
have
modelled for himself to suit his idiosyncrasies. The result of his efforts
to
visualise the descriptions given in the Apocalypse were sometimes really
ingenious
and original. I noticed specially his image of the four and twenty
elders
bowing perpetually in adoration before the throne, and casting at the
feet
of the deity their golden crowns, which immediately rose from the ground
and
fluttered back automatically on to their heads, only to be cast down again.
His
“sea of glass mingled with fire” was not altogether successful, and looked
rather
like some unusually weird product of a volcanic eruption. His image of
the
All-Father was quite conventional-- a stern-looking old man with a long
white
beard. In the earlier part of his physical life he had evidently had a
thought-image
of the Christ-- the usual impossible combination of a crucifix and
a
lamb bearing a flag; but during the later period, when he was persuaded that
he
himself was the Christ, this figure had not been strengthened, and it was
consequently
inconspicuous and inactive.
It
is among these thought-forms of his that we have to seek for the “council of
heaven”
which plays a part in our correspondent' s vision, and the constitution
of
that council proved to be both interesting and instructive. The idea seems
originally
to have been that the council was a sort of selection of about ten of
the
more important biblical characters (Elijah, Moses, Peter, etc.) represented
by
colossal figures seated in a semicircle on uncomfortable-looking high-backed
golden
chairs, which, though supposed to be celestial thrones, were manifestly
derived
from an imperfect recollection of the sedillia in some Gothic cathedral.
The
deity himself presided over their deliberations.
Originally
the members of this council had obviously been nothing but
thought-forms;
but at the time when cur enquiries brought us into contact with
them,
several of them had been seized and ensouled by living entities, and this
ensoulment
introduced some new and interesting factors. Two of these entities
were
dead men, both of them religious people, each working from his own point of
view.
One of them was a man of German extraction, who during earth-life had been
a
shoe-maker-- a simple and uninstructed man not altogether unlike the former.
He
too had studied the Bible diligently; he too was a dreamer of vague, mystical
dreams;
he too felt that he had a special revelation or interpretation to offer
to
the world-- something far more rational than the farmer' s. He had come to
feel
that the essential truth of Christianity lay in the mystical union of
Christ
and his heavenly bride, the Church. To him the Christ was far less the
historical
personality of the Gospels than the living spirit of the Church, and
the
task of the true Christian was to awaken within himself the Christ-spirit.
The
message which humanity needed, he thought, was that every man could and
should
become a Christ-- a message which seemed to him so clear and simple that
it
needed only to be delivered to command instant attention, and thus to save
the
world from sin and lift it at once into the light of truth. He had begun
preaching
to this effect while still on the physical earth, but had died before
he
had done much towards the conversion of humanity.
Arriving
in the astral world, he was still as eager as ever to spread his views,
and
having met the farmer he struck up a friendship with him. They had much in
common,
and each felt that the other might be helpful to him in the prosecution
of
his scheme. The shoemaker did not recognise the farmer as the sole Christ,
but
he did apply his theory to him, and consider him as a person in whom the
Christ-spirit
was exceptionally developed. The farmer understood only vaguely
the
shoe-maker' s central idea, but he realised that he had found some one who
was
willing to co-operate in saving the world. Each regarded the other as
somewhat
eccentric, but still each with a simple cunning thought that he could
make
use of the other for his own purposes.
Between
them they had conceived this curious idea of a “council of heaven” of
which
they were both members; or possibly they may have found a thought-form of
this
kind made by some one else, and may simply have adopted it and joined
themselves
to it. The thought-forms as viewed by trained vision were clumsy and
imperfect,
though no doubt quite satisfactory to their makers. Moses, for
example,
was seriously incomplete. He sat, stiff and rigid, as though glued to
his
uncomfortable golden throne, but in reality he was only a face and front
projecting
from the chair, and had never been properly finished off behind. In
this
respect be resembled many of the thought-forms found in the Summerland,
where
it is not infrequent to see mothers fondling children which are defective
in
exactly the same way. The creators of such forms are always completely happy
with
them and never perceive their imperfections, for though there is no life in
such
dolls except the thought which is put into them, that thought will always
respond
to its generator and do exactly what it is expected to do. Peter was
another
very inefficient person on this council-- quite insignificant-looking;
but
at least he carried a large bunch of keys, the jingling of which was his
principle
contribution to the deliberations.
While
the majority of this council was of the type just described, the
thought-forms
of the deity, of S. Paul (the image chosen for occupation by the
shoemaker)
and of the prophet Elijah were much more definite and original. The
latter
indeed quite surprised us by his activity, and on examination it was
found
that he, too, was being occupied (for at least used as a kind of
mouthpiece)
by another dead man, a Welshman, who at some early period in his
earth-life
had gone through the experience called ` conversion,' and had later
on
emigrated to America, where he had lived for some years and eventually died.
During
his physical life he had always been seeking religious experiences of the
emotional
type; for instance, he had attended some of the negro revival
meetings,
and had there witnessed and taken part in the celebrated “Jerusalem
jump.”
Intermingled with his religion were curious socialistic proclivities, and
his
dream was of a golden millennium which was half irrational, emotional
Chiristianity
and half materialistic Socialism.
He
had grasped rather more than the others the relation between the physical and
astral
worlds, and the possibilities of the latter, and he understood that
before
he could hope to influence the physical world he must somehow or other
get
into touch with it. He was not thinking of reincarnation, for he had never
heard
of such an idea; but he knew that he had passed from the physical world
into
the astral, and therefore he thought there must be some way of passing back
again.
His attention was much occupied with this problem, and when he became
aware
that the farmer had found a medium through whom he could come to some
extent
into touch with the physical world, he decided to make use of both in any
way
that he could. This seemed a possible first step in the direction of gaining
his
ends, and it occurred to him to enter the thought-form of Elijah in the
“council
of heaven” as a means of presently introducing himself on such a
footing
as would at once ensure respect from the others. I do not think he was
in
any way self-seeking or self-conceited in doing this; it was to him simply a
means
to an end, providentially put in his way.
But
now ensued an unexpected result. Masquerading thus as Elijah, he tried to
bear
himself as he thought the prophet would have done, and to impart an
Old-Testament
flavour to his impersonation. This reacted upon his ordinary
astral
life; he began to live all the while in the character, and by degrees to
wonder
whether he was not really Elijah! He is literally in process of
transforming
himself, and will assuredly soon be a confirmed monomaniac. At the
time
of our investigation he still knew that he was a Welshman who occasionally
impersonated
Elijah; but I feel certain that in the near future he will pass
beyond
that stage, and will be as sure that he is really Elijah as the farmer is
that
he is the Christ.
Meantime
he had not yet introduced himself as the Welshman to the other human
members
of the council, but flattered himself that as Elijah he was inspiring
great
respect and in fact directing their decisions. We have, therefore, the
astonishing
spectacle of a council whose only effective members were three dead
men,
each one of whom thought that he was manipulating the others for the
furtherance
of his own objects; and yet none of those objects was selfish, and
all
the men concerned were religious, well-meaning and honest in intention. Only
in
the astral world would such an extraordinary combination be possible; yet the
most
astounding and the most characteristic fact still remains to be told.
It
has been already mentioned that the All-Father himself was supposed to
preside
over the meetings of the council. He was of course a thought-form like
all
the rest, but he occasionally manifested a spasmodic and inappropriate
activity
which showed the presence of some exterior force, different in quality
from
the others. Careful investigation showed that just as the form of Elijah
was
ensouled by the Welshman, so was this form of the deity ensouled by-- a
frolicsome
nature-spirit!
I
have already described some of the characteristics of this delightful kingdom
of
Nature. It may be remembered what a keen pleasure some of such creatures take
in
theatrical performances among themselves, in any sort of masquerade (most
especially
if thereby they can gain the triumph of deceiving or frightening a
member
of the superior human evolution), and also how they enjoy telling some
enthralling
tale to their fellows. Bearing this in mind, we shall at once see
that,
from the point of view of a tricksy nature-spirit, here was an absolutely
unique
opportunity. He could (and did) play a joke on the most colossal scale
conceivable
upon three human beings, and we may readily imagine what a
soul-satisfying
story he had to tell afterwards to his admiring fellows.
Needless
to say, he had not the faintest idea of irreverence ; he would probably
be
no more capable of such a conception than a fly would; to him the whole thing
was
nothing but an unequalled opportunity for a really gorgeous hoax, and he did
his
very best with it.
Of
course he could neither understand nor join in the deliberations, so for the
most
part he preserved a cryptic silence which was very effective. He had
somehow
acquired a small number of biblical phrases appropriate to his part, and
he
emptied these out upon the council at intervals as a parrot might, apparently
having
no conception of their meaning. “Thus saith the Lord”; “Amen, so be it”;
“I
am the Lord thy God; thou shalt have none other Gods but me”; “I will smite
the
earth with a curse”-- these were some of the gems of his collection, the
specimens
of his unconscious eloquence. Now and again the joke became too much
for
him, or perhaps the restraint was irksome, and he abandoned the thought-form
for
a few moments in order to relieve his overstrained feelings by wild dancing
and
outbursts of laughter, somewhere out of sight of his council. When this
happened
it was most interesting to see how the thought-form collapsed from
alertness
to stolidity, and the unfortunate human members of the council
immediately
supposed that something had occurred to provoke that divine wrath
which
is always so prominent a part of this type of religion.
This,
then, was the reality behind the awe-inspiring “council of heaven” before
which
our correspondent pleaded so earnestly. It will be understood that only
the
dead men could really contribute to whatever discussion may have taken
place;
the other members of the council could not originate anything, though
they
may have had enough vitality to give a formal assent to a proposition.
To
understand the part played in the vision by the Theosophical thought-forms we
must
glance at the history and mental condition of our correspondent. Falling
away
from a rather materialistic form of Christianity, she became practically an
atheist.
Then she lost a beloved child; and in such a nature these various
experiences
naturally produced deep emotions, each of which had its part in the
moulding
of her temperament. At this period she came into contact with
Theosophy,
and commenced its study with no less formidable a book than The
Secret
Doctrine. Undaunted by its difficulties she applied herself to it
diligently
and strove to grasp its teaching, to make mental pictures of what is
described
in the Stanzas of Dzyan. Certain of its ideas had a special attraction
for
her. The thought of initiation with its mysterious and dangerous ordeals was
one
of them; another was the succession of the races, coupled with the great
question
as to who shall and who shall not pass the final test and reach in
safety
the further shore. All this was inevitably to some extent coloured by
earlier
Christian conceptions about “conversion” and ` salvation,' even though
at
the same time the splendid horizons of the great oriental religions opened
before
her.
Thus
it came about that she surrounded herself with a great mass of strong
thought-forms
of a more or less Theosophical character, and by the very fact of
doing
so unconsciously set in motion certain occult laws. In the higher worlds,
like
attracts like, and her thought-forms soon drew to themselves others of
similar
nature. Some hundreds of miles from where she lived there was an earnest
Theosophical
Lodge, which among other activities maintained a Secret Doctrine
class.
A vast mass of thought-forms and speculations had been thrown off by this
class,
and our correspondent was soon in touch with this astral storehouse. How
the
first contact was made I did not observe. Perhaps when travelling in the
astral
body our correspondent may have been attracted by the presentations of
subject
in which she was so deeply interested; or on the other hand some member
of
the class may have astrally noticed her thoughts and tried to add to them; or
it
may have been simply that sympathetic vibrations attracted one another, as
they
invariably do, without human interference. However that may have been, the
fact
remains that she was surrounded by an enormous body of thought-forms of a
particular
type, she herself being at the very same time precisely in the
condition
to be most deeply affected by them.
At
this period she began to practise breathing exercises, and by that means laid
herself
open to astral influences. Her keen sympathy with suffering caused her
to
seek the dead murderer, or perhaps brought him to her, and the automatic
writing
and the obsession followed in the natural course of events. The murderer
put
forth all his power to maintain the advantage which he had gained, and she
struggled
desperately to protect and free herself, making herself for the time
quite
a conspicuous object in the astral world by the vehemence of her efforts
and
the amount of energy which she put forth.
As
the farmer wandered about, the affray attracted his attention, and in his
character
as the Christ he felt it his duty to interfere and expel the murderer.
He
had never before encountered so brilliant an astral body, nor had he seen
such
impressive surrounding as those of the person whom he had rescued-- a mass
of
forms at once so unusual in type (connected as it was with cosmic processes
considered
from the oriental point of view) and at the same time so far larger
in
quantity than any one person normally carries with him. Here were the forms
of
oriental Gods, of the founders of religions, of Masters, Adepts, Angels, and
all
sorts of magnificent but unfamiliar conceptions. If we remember that the
farmer
could not know that these were only thought-forms, but must inevitably
have
taken them as actual living beings, we shall see that it is small wonder
that
with his ignorance on all such matters and his constant expectation of
celestial
assistance in his appointed work, he should feel that he had been
specially
guided by providence to help one who could help him in return-- a
person
of importance in the oriental world commensurate with that which he
arrogated
to himself for the occident. At once he seized his opportunity; he
proclaimed
himself as the appointed guide and proceeded to take charge of the
lady'
s further development.
A
curious fact noticed here was that, though he posed as guide, he was largely
influenced
by the thoughts of our correspondent, and in many cases simply gave
her
back those thoughts in other language. He knew nothing of the serpent fire,
but
he thought of it as some form of divine afflatus; he saw that some process
of
awakening was being performed by its aid: and he did his best to help and
encourage
this. Their joint efforts succeeded in arousing what may be called the
upper
layers of that mysterious force, though fortunately for the lady, from
ignorance
as to what is really needed for full achievement, they were not able
to
stir it to its depths, otherwise her body would surely have been destroyed.
Further,
they evidently did not know through what centres it must be sent in
order
to bring continuous consciousness, and so they missed their aim. But the
description
given of the sufferings endured is accurate as far as it goes, and
some
of the expressions used are strikingly suggestive. How dangerous their
experiments
were may be seen from the lady' s account of these sufferings, and
from
her family' s testimony as to the condition in which she had been. The
whole
story gives a most impressive warning against the risk of attempting
premature
development along such lines.
It
is useless to criticise in detail what may be called the Theosophical part of
the
vision; wonderful, uplifting, awe-inspiring as it no doubt was to the seer,
it
after all represents not the actual occurrences of evolution, but the
combination
and synthesis of a number of thought-images. Parts of the symbology
are
interesting and illuminative, while others obviously require modification.
Certain
features, such as the chanting of the angels, are clearly due to the
influence
of the Christian stream of thought in the mind of the guide. He
watched
the unfolding of the vision along with our correspondent, but being
ignorant
of oriental teaching he understood but little of it. For example, he
seems
to have confused the successive races with the various tribes of Israel,
and
tried to fit in what he saw with the story of the sealing of the 144,000.
It
is in the monomania of the guide that we must seek for the cause of the
weighty
feeling of responsibility which overshadowed the whole vision, the
conviction
that upon our correspondent' s success depended the salvation of the
world.
This sort of naïve self-conceit or megalomania is one of the commonest
characteristics
of communications from the astral plane. It seems to be one of
the
most ordinary illusions of a dead man that, if he can only get some lady to
act
as a medium for him, he can revolutionise the entire thought of the planet
by
a simple statement of a few self-evident facts. But in this case there was
rather
more than the usual excuse for the attitude adopted. The poor farmer was
deeply
impressed with the thought that unless the world accepted him this time
it
would lose its final chance of salvation, and he propounded this theory one
day
to the deity in council at a moment when the nature-spirit happened to be in
charge.
It is little likely that the nature-spirit had any clear conception of
the
purport of the question, but at least he understood that his assent was
being
asked to some proposition or other, so he gave it in his most pompous
manner;
and this naturally enough confirmed the farmer in his delusion, and made
it
the one dominating thought of his life. Apart from his influence no such
impression
would ever have come into the mind of the lady, whose view of her own
position
and powers was much saner and more modest.
The
personification of the world and the devil in human forms is also due to the
thought
of the guide, for the lady herself knew much better than to believe in
the
exploded superstition of a personal Satan. This seems to have come at a
period
of the experience when she was much exhausted, and therefore more fully
under
the domination of the guide' s mind, and less able to exercise her own
natural
power of discrimination. The nervous tension attendant upon the
conditions
through which she passed must have been indescribable; indeed, it
brought
her perilously near to the possibility of physical hallucination. She
writes
of certain acts of reverence made to her on the physical earth by
animals,
but investigation does not confirm this, showing the actions of the
animals
to have been quite normal and dictated by their ordinary instinct,
though
the lady in her overstrained condition gave them a different
interpretation.
The
special interest of the case to those who examined it was the manner in
which
a number of independent and quite ordinary astral factors combined to
produce
a dramatic and imposing whole. The ruling force was the will of the
guide,
and the strength of his extraordinary delusion; yet this would have been
ineffective,
or at least would have worked quite differently, but for the action
of
our correspondent in rashly laying herself open to astral influence. The
Secret
Doctrine class and its thought-forms, the other dead men on the council,
the
sportive nature-spirit-- all these played their part, and if any one of them
had
been absent the picture would have been less complete, or the plot must have
worked
itself out on other lines.
It
seems to me that the story has its value as showing the astonishing fertility
and
abundance of the resources of the astral world, and the imperative necessity
of
that full knowledge which is only to be gained by thorough occult training.
All
through it we see really good and well-intentioned people deceiving
themselves
quite pitiably for want of this knowledge-- putting themselves often
into
such positions that one cannot wonder that they were deluded. One must
presume
that it was needful for them to learn in the hard school of experience,
and
it is also well to remember that no trial of this nature ever comes to any
one
without an adequate opportunity of preparation. No one who had studied the
Bible
as closely as the guide had done could have failed to remark the warnings
therein
contained as to possible deception by false Christs and lying prophets,
and
even in the book of Svami Vivekananda there is to be found an earnest
adjuration
against the premature or promiscuous use of his instructions.
Unfortunately
people never will take these cautions to themselves, but
invariably
apply them to their neighbours or opponents.
Yet
it should be noticed that for our correspondent the outcome was good. The
forms
seen were largely illusory, but the high emotions awakened, the awe and
the
rapture-- all these produced permanent results which cannot but have in them
much
of good. The boundless enthusiasm for spiritual things, the unselfish
desire
to help even at the cost of any sacrifice-- these are in themselves
mighty
forces, and when generated they evoke a response from worlds far higher
than
any which are actually reached by the consciousness in the vision itself.
The
feeling is genuine, however imperfectly conceived may be that which
occasions
it; and so while we congratulate our correspondent on having come
safely
through perils more tremendous than she can readily realise, we may be
permitted
to hope that the peace and uplifting which she gained through them may
prove
a permanent heritage. The deep sense of union with the divine which
brought
with it such bliss was unquestionably a true touch of the lower fringe
of
the intuitional world, and to have attained this is no doubt worth all the
suffering
through which the patient passed. But the student knows that all that
(and
much more) could have been obtained without the pain and without the awful
risk,
by the investment of the same amount of energy in the more ordinary
methods
which have approved themselves to the wisdom of the ages. To force one'
s
way into unknown realms without the guidance of one who really knows, is to
court
disaster; and it is a danger to which none need expose himself, for the
old
paths are always open, and the old saying still remains true: “When the
pupil
is ready the Master appears.”
IN
WRITING A BOOK
Many
of us are constantly being influenced by unseen entities in a great many
ways
of which we have not the slightest idea. We have spoken of pride of race
and
caste. This often exists in an even more intense form as pride of family,
and
in that case not infrequently it is largely due to the influence of our
ancestors.
I have known several cases in which a man contrived to keep himself
for
a long time in the astral world in order that he might hover over his
descendants
and try to induce them to keep up the pride of their race. The late
Queen
Elizabeth, for example, had so intense a love for her country that it is
only
quite recently that she has lapsed into the heaven-world, having spent the
whole
intervening time in endeavouring, and until recently almost entirely
without
success, to impress her successors with her ideas of what ought to be
done
for England. Hers is perhaps an extreme case, but in several other royal
families
the continuity of tradition which has been maintained has been in the
same
way largely due to constant pressure, intentionally exercised, by older
members
of the family, from the astral world.
It
is by no means uncommon for fathers and mothers who have set their hearts
upon
some particular alliance for their sons or daughters to endeavour even
after
death to bring about the fulfilment of their wishes. In rarer cases they
have
been able to show themselves as apparitions in order to emphasise their
commands.
More often they exercise an insidious because unsuspected influence,
by
constantly keeping their thought upon the matter before the mind of the
person
whom they wish to influence-- a steady pressure which the ordinary man is
likely
to take for his own sub-conscious desire.
Cases
in which the dead have constituted themselves guardian angels to the
living
are exceedingly numerous, and in this way mothers often protect their
sons,
and deceased husbands their widows, for many years. Sometimes such
influence
is not of a protective character, but is exercised in order that the
dead
man may find a means of expressing some ideas which he is anxious to put
before
the world. The person upon whom the impression is made is sometimes
conscious
of it, and sometimes entirely unconscious. A certain distinguished
novelist
has told me that the wonderful plots of his stories invariably come to
him
as though by a kind of inspiration, that he writes them without knowing
beforehand
how they will work out-- that in fact, as he puts it, they are
actually
written through him. Far more often than we think, authors and musical
composers
are influenced in this way, so that many books credited to the living
are
really the work of the dead.
In
some cases the dead man desires to announce his authorship, so that books
confessedly
written by the dead are becoming quite a feature of modern
literature;
or perhaps a better way to express it would be that many of us are
gradually
coming to recognise that there is no such thing as death in the old,
bad
sense of the word, and that though a man who has laid aside his physical
body
may find a certain difficulty in writing a book with his own hand, he is
quite
as capable of dictating one as any living author. Sometimes such books are
moral
or metaphysical treatises, but sometimes also they are novels, and in this
latter
shape they undoubtedly do good, for they reach many who are quite
unlikely
to encounter a more serious essay on occult matters, and would be still
less
likely to take the trouble to read it if they did encounter it.
A
good specimen of this class (and it is a class which is becoming more numerous
year
by year) is The Strange Story of Ahrinziman-- a book which was brought to
my
notice some years ago. Let me take it as an example and explain what it is
and
how it came to be written. I know that the first impulse of those who are
dozing
in the comfortable haze which surrounds the average intelligence and
cushions
it against the real facts of life, will naturally, be to proclaim that
the
whole thing must be nonsense, on the crude theory that when a man is dead he
is
dead, and it is therefore quite impossible that he should dictate anything;
and
even those who know better than that may be tempted to suspect that to
assign
the authorship to a man out of the body is nothing but a novel form of
advertisement--
a trick of the trade, as it were. So perhaps I had better begin
by
saying that I have trustworthy assurance that this book is at least a genuine
dictation
from the astral world, though naturally that by no means guarantees
that
it is in all other respects what it claims to be.
People
who are unacquainted with the conditions of life among those whom we are
in
the habit of miscalling “the dead,” seem to find it impossible to realise how
natural
in all respects that life is, or to understand that human nature may and
does
exhibit all its varied aspects just as quaintly on the other side of the
grave
as on this. The dead man has not necessarily been canonised, nor has he
suddenly
become grave and reverend; he is exactly the same man as before, just
as
susceptible to the influence of vanity or jealousy, just as capable of making
mistakes.
An
astral author may employ the same literary machinery as a physical author,
and
may cast his tale into any form that pleases him. When we find Mr. Rider
Haggard
writing in the first person under the name of Allan Quartermain of
Ludwig
Horace Holly, we do not necessarily assume that he is relating personal
experiences
of his own, nor even that Quartermain or Holly had a historical
existence.
In exactly the same way we must realise that when a dead man dictates
in
the first person The Story of Ahrinziman, he may be trying to give us a more
or
less modified autobiography, or he may simply be casting an allegory or a
problem-novel
into an attractive and striking form; and this suggestion must no
more
be considered a reflection upon the bona fides of the dead author than was
the
previous sentence a reflection upon that of Mr. Haggard.
Be
this as it may, Ahrinziman tells us a good story-- a story which is
thoroughly
oriental in its setting. He describes himself as the illegitimate son
of
a Persian king. His mother, a Greek vestal virgin captured in some Persian
foray,
is murdered by the rightful queen in a fit of jealousy, and to avoid
further
unpleasant expression of this same consuming jealousy, the child is
brought
up by a peasant among the mountains in a distant corner of the empire.
The
boy is by nature clairvoyant to a certain extent, able to see the
nature-spirits
which surround him, and also his dead mother. Presently he comes
into
contact with some priests, learns much from them, and is eventually taken
into
the temple and becomes a medium for them. Discontent seizes him, and he
absconds
and joins a band of robbers in the mountains, but after a few years
abandons
them in turn. He then meets with a practitioner of the darker magic,
and
attaches himself to him as a pupil; but the master dies in the performance
of
one of his enchantments, and the student is saved from sharing his fate only
by
the interference of his dead mother.
During
further wanderings he meets the prince, who is in reality his
step-brother
(the son of the queen who murdered his mother), and is enabled by
his
clairvoyant power to cure him of an obsession. This prince in due course
comes
to the throne and raises our hero to a position of honour, knowing
nothing,
however, of the real relationship between them. By this time Ahrinziman
is
married, unfortunately to an entirely unworthy woman who never really
appreciates
him, and is false to him without hesitation when she finds that she
has
attracted the favourable regards of the king. Through his partial
clairvoyance
Ahrinziman becomes aware of this, and in his jealous rage causes
the
death of the king by astral means. He himself succeeds to the throne (having
declared
his parentage), but after a short reign is slain by another claimant.
The
rest of the book is devoted to a description of his experiences in the
astral
world. He is represented as, at first, filled with jealousy and hatred,
and
consequently mating with all sorts of horrible entities in order through
them
to achieve revenge; but gradually the good within him asserts itself, and
he
begins to try to aid instead of to injure, and so through a long and toilsome
upward
progress he at last attains to perfect bliss.
How
far is it possible that all this can be true? May we take it wholly or
partly
as the autobiography which it professes to be, or must we regard it as a
romance?
Certainly of much of it we may say: “Se non è vero, è ben trovato.” As
to
the physical part of the story, we have but meagre records of what took place
in
Persia in the fifth century before the Christian era, but as far as it goes,
our
fragmentary history of that period seems to fit in fairly accurately with
what
Ahrinziman writes. The interest of the student of the hidden side of nature
will
naturally be centred chiefly on the astral experiences, for the sake of
which
mainly the book is put forth, and he will desire to know how far these can
be
confirmed from the point of view of such occult knowledge as has reached our
western
world.
Those
who have studied most deeply will be the first to admit that in this
splendid
science of the soul we are as yet but picking up pebbles on the shore
of
the great ocean of knowledge, that our fullest information is as yet far from
exhaustive,
and that the marvellous variety and adaptability of astral
conditions
are so great that it would be rash to say that anything is
impossible.
Still, certain broad rules are well established, and some of these
seem
to be violated by Ahrinziman' s story, if we are to take it literally,
though
all falls readily into place if we allow for certain limitations upon his
part.
If the whole thing is simply a parable, well and good; but it is
interesting
to see how Ahrinziman may be perfectly honest in his narration, even
though
some points in it are contrary to accepted facts.
The
first great question is whether a stay of anything like such a period as two
thousand
three hundred years in the astral world is at all possible, since we
know
that twenty or thirty years is a fair average for ordinary persons. It is
true
that a man of unusual will-power may greatly prolong his astral life by
intensifying
his passions and desires, and throwing all his strength into the
lower
rather than the higher side of himself; and this is exactly what
Ahrinziman
represents himself to have done. I have read of a case in Germany
where
an erring priest was earth-bound for four hundred years, and I have myself
known
one where ambition and a determined will detained a person in astral life
for
three hundred; but such instances are infrequent, and none of them even
approach
the vista of centuries claimed by Ahrinziman. It is clear, too, that he
does
not consider himself by any means as a special case, for he speaks of many
friends
and contemporaries as still with him, some in advance of him in
progress,
and some behind him. If, therefore, we are to accept his story as
genuine,
it becomes more probable if we regard it rather as an attempt to
describe
conditions through which he passed during the first century after his
death
than as indicating anything at present existing.
Though
eager for occult knowledge, he did not show much attraction towards
spirituality,
except in childhood; his actions were chiefly the result of
ambition,
passion and revenge, and he died by violence in the prime of life.
Considering
all these factors we should expect a protracted and stormy astral
existence,
the earlier part of which would probably be extremely unpleasant; we
should
expect also that gradually the passions would wear themselves out, that
the
better side of his nature would assert itself, and that opportunities would
be
offered for progress.
All
this is what Ahrinziman describes, but he surrounds it with a wealth of
allegory
that may easily be misunderstood, and he spreads over two thousand
three
hundred years what may well have occupied forty or fifty. We must not
forget
that in the astral world none of our ordinary methods of time-measurement
are
available, and that if, even in physical life, a few hours of suffering or
anxiety
seem to us almost interminable, this characteristic is exaggerated a
hundredfold
in an existence of which feelings and passions are the very essence.
While
it is scarcely conceivable that Ahrinziman can really have spent two
thousand
years in the astral world, it is easy to believe that his sojourn there
seemed
to him an eternity.
Still
the fact remains that, if he is to be credited as to the physical part of
his
life, about that length of time has passed since his assassination; what
then
has he been doing during all these years? I have no personal acquaintance
with
him, and no right to make impertinent enquiries, but a case somewhat
parallel
to his which I recently investigated may suggest to us a possible
explanation.
I
was consulted by a lady who stated that her “spirit guide” was a priest of
ancient
Egypt; and as the advice which he gave was good, and his teaching
accurate,
it seemed worth while to inquire into his reasons for making so
extraordinary
a claim, as it appeared scarcely likely that so dignified and
upright
a man would stoop to the common and petty device of impersonation. On
meeting
him I saw at once that he had unquestionably been initiated up to a
certain
level into the Mysteries according to the Egyptian Rite, and naturally I
wondered
how it could be that he was still active in the astral world. Upon
examination
I found that since his life as an Egyptian priest he had had another
incarnation,
which he had spent wearily and unsatisfactorily within the walls of
a
monastery, devoting it apparently to the working out of some accumulations of
karma;
but after his death certain circumstances (it seemed a mere accident)
brought
him into touch with the thought-current of his old Egyptian
surroundings.
Instantly
the memory of that previous life flashed into his consciousness (I
think
it had always been hovering upon the threshold, and he had always been
hungering,
though he did not know for what), and it was so much more vivid and
real
than the dull monastic round, that the latter became to him a mere evil
dream.
He soon forgot it altogether, or regarded it as nothing more than a
wearisome
part of his astral punishment, and so he was really quite honest in
his
statement that he was that Egyptian priest-- the powerful personality with
which
he had identified himself up to the close of his last life in the
heaven-world,
just before his descent into the comparatively recent incarnation
in
which he became a monk. I do not assert that Ahrinziman' s case is similar,
but
it is at least possible that it may be.
Naturally
Ahrinziman writes as a man of his day, and uses the terminology to
which
he is accustomed, much of which sounds odd in our ears to-day, especially
as
he constantly confounds his symbols with material facts. Of course it is not
actually
true, as he supposes, that men are divided into three great groups,
having
at their heads angels bearing respectively white, red, and golden stars,
any
more than it is actually true that Phoebus drives his chariot daily across
the
sky from east to west, or that the Sun God is newly born at Christmas when
the
days begin to grow longer. But it is true that some ancient religions
adopted
a system of symbology closely allied to that which this book puts forth,
and
that a man passing into astral life with his mind filled with such
preconceived
ideas might go on for a long time interpreting everything in
accordance
with them, and ignoring facts which they did not cover.
It
is true also that mighty spirits exist whose method of evolution is so
entirely
different from our own, that for us it would be evil; but with them we
do
not normally come into contact, nor is it of them that Ahrinziman speaks, for
he
himself admits that his angels of light and darkness are after all human
beings
who have lived their life on earth. He describes vividly the stupendous
thought-edifices
reared by man' s passions, though he often fails to distinguish
the
temporary thought-images from the more permanent realities of the world. He
gives
us a horrible description of a kind of astral battle in which the plain is
strewn
with the disjecta membra of the combatants-- a gruesome detail which
could
not really occur, as will at once be manifest to anyone who comprehends
the
fluidic nature of the astral body.
Indeed,
if his remarks are really to be taken as representing the ancient
Persian
knowledge with regard to things astral, we are compelled to recognise
that
that presentation was less definitely scientific, as well as less
comprehensive,
than that which is put before students of the occult at the
present
day. For example, Ahrinziman does not seem to have any clear grasp of
the
great central fact of reincarnation, or perhaps regards it as an occasional
possibility,
instead of recognising it as the appointed means of evolution for
humanity.
His
use of terms is somewhat perplexing until one becomes accustomed to it, for
it
is fairly evident that he gives the name of “spiritual body” to what we now
call
the astral vehicle, and that his “astral body” is nothing more than the
etheric
double-- as may be seen when he describes the latter as slightly larger
than
the physical, and as capable of being influenced by powerful acids; remarks
which
are true of the etheric double, but would be inaccurate if they referred
to
what is now termed the astral body. He has also a confusing habit of speaking
of
unpleasant astral conditions as below the earth-plane, and pleasant ones as
above
it, though he describes them both as less material than our earth. He has
probably
been misled by the fact that the denser astral matter does
interpenetrate
our physical globe, and that those who are confined to the least
desirable
subdivision may often find themselves actually within the crust of the
earth.
In addition to this there is, no doubt, a world lower than the physical--
one
with which normal humanity has happily no connection; but it is more, and
not
less, material than the world which we think we know.
Quite
frequently he describes something in language which at once convinces the
student
that he has unquestionably seen that of which he writes; and then he
proceeds
to disappoint us by accounting for it in an involved and unscientific
manner,
or by treating poetic symbols as though they were material facts. Once
or
twice he shows his conceptions to be tainted by the twin-soul theory-- a line
of
thought to be sedulously avoided by all who wish to make any real advance in
occult
study.
He
is in error when he speaks of mediumship as a necessity for spiritual
evolution--
though perhaps this is once more merely a question of terminology,
as
he may be using the word in the sense of psychic sensitiveness. He is,
however,
clearly wrong when he says that it is impossible for a man, still
possessing
a physical body fully to comprehend or to control astral forces and
beings,
or to have perfect spiritual sight. What he no doubt means, or at least
ought
to mean, is that a man who is still confined to his physical body cannot
possess
these higher powers, for he has not realised that a man may learn during
life
how to leave his physical body as completely as at death, and may yet
return
to it when he wishes. Also he shows ignorance of the Oriental teaching
when
he stigmatises it as selfish, and opines that by it “the eager hunger of
the
starving many for light is left unsatisfied”. On the whole, however, his
teaching
is commendably free from sectarianism.
Though
the student of occultism thus finds himself compelled to differ from
Ahrinziman
on certain points, I hasten to add that there are many upon which we
must
all most thoroughly agree with him. To take at random a few of the many
gems
which may be found, his criticisms on war and conquest, and on the history
of
religions, are admirable. We are all with him when he writes:
I
hold that truth and error, good and evil, are to be found everywhere and in
all
religions and amongst all peoples; and no matter how pure the original
doctrines
of any form of faith may be, it is impossible to prevent the ambitions
and
the lusts, the greed and the cruelty of the undeveloped human soul from
perverting
the purity of the teachings and turning them to the basest purposes
and
overlaying them with the grossest errors . . . The absurd ordinances, the
horrible
sacrifices, the revolting practices, the grotesque beliefs, the
fantastic
theories, that had crept into the teaching of this religion, were all
excrescences
fastened one by one upon the simple purity of the teaching of its
founder.
His
terminology is perhaps not the best possible, yet there is much truth in his
thought
that all evil is a perversion of some good quality, into which it will
one
day be transmuted. Many of his ideas as to spiritual development are also
greatly
to be commended. The dangers of mediumship and hypnotism could hardly be
better
expressed than in this solemn warning:
Let
no one ever resign the sovereignty of himself, his mind or body, into the
hands
of another, be he priest or layman. For a man' s freedom is his divine
prerogative,
and he who yields it to another is more abject than the lowest
slave.
Again
it is explained in one of the notes:
A
perfect trance should be the conscious flight of the soul into a superior
condition,
from which it ought to return strengthened and refreshed and capable
of
wider thoughts and nobler and freer actions, and a stronger and more perfect
possession
of its own individuality. To apply the word ` trance' to those
exhibitions
of semi-conscious mental aberration of persons whose sensitiveness
lays
them open to the mesmeric control of either incarnate or excarnate minds,
is
to propagate an error which ought long ago to have been exploded. With the
spread
of mediumistic development, all and every variety and degree of
sub-conscious
conditions have come to be classed as ` trances,' yet they bear no
more
resemblance to the true trance of the developed mystic of the older occult
faiths
than does the sleep which is produced by the use of powerful narcotic
drugs
resemble that of healthy, tired nature. The hypnotically-induced trance is
as
pernicious to the soul as would be the habitual use of narcotics to the body.
Whether
the magnetiser be in the flesh or out of it, the results are the same;
an
habitual use of magnetism to induce sleep or ` trance' is an evil.
He
describes accurately how the lower dead crowd to séances, and how the
so-called
guides are by no means always strong enough to keep off evil
influences.
Clearly also does he warn us how readily the ideas of the earthly
enquirers
mingle with the revelations of the magnetised medium, so that by such
a
method of investigation a man usually receives such information or counsel as
he
desires or expects. He understands that asceticism as such is useless and
often
harmful, and that the physical body must be in perfect health and power if
visions
are to be reliable. He realises, too, something of the difficulties of
the
way:
Few,
very few, who possess the needful clearness of sight ever learn how to use
it
successfully; still fewer have the indomitable will and the unquenchable
thirst
for knowledge which will carry them through all the dangers and trials
and
disappointments, and the infinite toil and labour involved in these studies.
He
has all history on his side when he tells us that those who develop the
highest
degrees of power will do well entirely to withdraw themselves from
active
life in the physical world, and his strange congeries of characters is
gradually
brought to understand that only through unselfishness is real progress
possible.
Again
and again little touches of knowledge leap to the eyes of the student,
showing
that things have been rightly seen, even though the expression may be
confused
for want of more definite classification of the facts. Ahrinziman
understands
the making of talismans and potions; he sees how a single action or
thought
of revenge opens the door to evil influences which may cling to its
author
for years to come; he describes how the presence of the dead causes the
living
to think of them, even though not sufficiently developed to perceive
them.
In
writing of astral life, he gives us a fine description of the wicked queen
surrounded
after death by evil thoughts and memories, which to her were as
actual
events; and a grimly realistic touch is the account of the slave who
spends
his time in crawling ever backwards and forwards through the secret
passage
in the making of which he was murdered. He tells us of the dead who have
a
confused impression that they are still in their earthly bodies, and of those
others
who, having realised their separation, try to use the earthly bodies of
living
men as mediums for the gratification of their passion. He comprehends,
too,
how men who stand side by side, as far as space is concerned, may yet be
absolutely
unconscious of one another; he knows the glorious truth that no evil
can
be eternal, that however far from the Path the erring soul may wander, at
long,
long last it also will find its homeward way.
He
ends with a hope which we all may echo-- that, as the barriers of ignorance
which
so long have divided nation from nation are gradually wearing thinner
before
the radiating force of knowledge, and the light of brotherhood is
beginning
faintly to shine through, so the same wider knowledge and clearer
insight
may, by degrees, set at naught the imaginary barrier which we have
misnamed
death, showing us that there is in truth no separation after all, since
whether
at the moment we happen to have physical bodies, or not, we are all
members
of the same great fraternity, all moving towards the same goal, all
enveloped
in the sunlight of the same Eternal Love.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XIII
OUR
ATTITUDE TOWARDS THESE
INFLUENCES
PROTECTIVE
SHELLS
WE
have considered specimens of the various kinds of influences which are coming
in
upon us from all sides, and we find that among such influences are many which
are
disturbing and undesirable; so a question naturally arises as to how we can
best
avoid or neutralise these. It is an easy matter to form round oneself when
necessary
a sort of temporary suit of armour of higher matter-- what is commonly
called
by students a protective shell. But is this the best way to meet the
difficulty?
An authority on the subject once remarked that, as far as
self-protection
is concerned, the best thing to do with a shell is not to form
it
in the first place, and if one has formed it, to break it up as speedily as
possible!
There is certainly a good deal of truth in these words, for in the
majority
of cases (at least among all but the most elementary students) all that
can
be achieved by the formation of a shell round oneself can also be done more
effectively
and with less danger in other ways, as we shall see later. Exact
knowledge
as to the formation of shells of various kinds is sometimes useful;
but,
like most other knowledge, it may be abused, so before directing one' s
energies
along these lines it is desirable to know exactly what one wishes to do
and
how it is to be achieved.
The
first great principle to bear in mind is that a shell should be used far
more
frequently for the protection of others than for oneself. The Invisible
Helpers,
for example, frequently find it desirable to make such a defence for
some
of those whom they are trying to save from evil influences of various
sorts.
But the average enquirer has more often in mind the idea of protecting
himself
against various outer influences, and he usually asks how he may form a
shell
for that purpose. There are occasions in which such action is allowable,
and
we may perhaps group these under three heads corresponding to the etheric,
the
astral and the mental vehicles.
In
all cases alike these shells are constructed by the power of the will, but
before
exercising that power it is well to know of what kind of matter the shell
is
to be built and what it is desired to keep out. The directions usually given
are
that the student should think of his aura as surrounding him in ovoid form,
should
concentrate strongly upon the outer surface of that aura, and should then
exert
his will to harden it so that it may become impervious to any influences
from
without. These directions are good, and a fairly strong shell can be made
in
that way; but the effort will be at the same time much less laborious and
much
more effective if the man understands exactly what he is doing and why, and
so
can send forth the energy of his will in the right direction only, instead of
flooding
the whole neighbourhood with a stream of ill-directed force. Let us
then
consider the three varieties somewhat in detail, and see for what purpose
each
is appropriate.
THE
ETHERIC SHELL
We
will take first that which is intended to protect the physical body
(including
the etheric double) from various dangers to which it may be liable.
The
more common uses of such a shell are three-- to protect a sensitive man when
in
a crowd; to shield the physical body at night when the man leaves it in
sleep;
and to prevent the danger of physical infection on some occasion when the
student
has in the course of his duty to subject himself to it. In all these
cases
it is obvious that the shell must be of etheric matter and of etheric
matter
only, if it is to be effective for its purpose, although it may sometimes
be
desirable to create other shells in other worlds simultaneously to afford
protection
from other classes of dangers.
The
object of a shell in a crowd is usually twofold. In a mixed multitude of
ordinary
people there will almost certainly be a great deal of physical
magnetism
of a kind distasteful to the student and even prejudicial to him, and
part
of his object in shelling himself is to defend himself against that. It is
also
probable that in any large crowd there may be a certain number of those
unfortunate
persons who, being themselves in some way physically weak, are
constantly
drawing large amounts of vitality from others. Such absorption often
takes
place entirely without the knowledge of the person temporarily benefited
by
it, so that he may be regarded as a kind of unconscious etheric kleptomaniac.
One
who has thus the misfortune to be an unconscious vampire may be compared to
a
gigantic sponge, always ready to absorb any amount of specialised vitality
which
it can obtain. If he confines himself to seizing upon the bluish-white
radiations,
which every normal person throws out, he will do no harm, for the
matter
of which these are composed has already been received and dealt with by
the
person from whose aura it is taken. But usually this is not all that he
takes,
for on the approach of the vampire this outpouring is greatly stimulated
by
his drawing force, so that not only the already-utilised bluish-white fluid
is
lost, but by intense suction the whole circulation of the vitality through
the
body of the victim is so hastened that the rose-coloured matter is drawn out
with
the refuse through all the pores of the body, and the unfortunate original
owner
has not time to assimilate it; so that a capable vampire can drain a
person
of the whole of his strength in a visit of a few minutes.
Such
an unconscious vampire is assuredly always an object of pity; yet it would
be
a great mistake if, because of that pity, any victim voluntarily allowed
himself
to be depleted, with the idea that he was thereby serving and helping
one
in sore need. The vampire invariably wastes the substance which he thus
nefariously
acquires. It rushes through him and is dissipated again without
proper
assimilation, so that his ever-present thirst is never satiated, and to
endeavour
by abundant self-sacrifice to fill him up is exactly, to use an
expressive
Indian proverb, like pouring water into a bag with a hole in it.
The
only thing that can really be done to help a confirmed unconscious vampire
is
to supply the vitality for which he craves in strictly limited quantities,
while
endeavouring, by mesmeric action, to restore the elasticity of the etheric
double,
so that the perpetual suction and corresponding leakage shall no longer
take
place. Such a leakage invariably flows through every pore of the body on
account
of this lack of etheric elasticity-- not through a sort of tear or wound
in
the etheric body, as some students have supposed; indeed, the idea of
anything
in the nature of a permanent tear or wound is incompatible with the
conditions
of etheric matter and the constitution of the etheric double.
A
strong shell is one way of guarding oneself against such vampirism, and there
are
many people for whom at present it may be the only way open.
In
the case of normal and healthy people there is usually no trouble with the
physical
body which is left behind when the man himself moves away in sleep or
in
trance, for in the improbable event of any sort of attack being made upon it
the
body would instantly recall the wandering soul, so that the whole man would
be
at hand to defend himself if necessary. The physical body has a consciousness
of
its own, quite apart from that of the man who inhabits it-- a vague
consciousness
truly, but still capable of knowing when its vehicle is in danger,
and
of instinctively taking whatever steps are in its power to protect it. I
have
myself seen that consciousness manifest itself when the owner of the body
had
been driven out of it by a dentist' s administration of laughing gas--
manifest
itself in a vague outcry and an inefficient attempt at protesting
action
when the tooth was extracted, though the man himself afterwards reported
that
he had been absolutely unconscious of the operation.
As
the physical body always remains intimately attached by sympathetic vibration
to
the astral, even when the latter is far away from it, any disturbance which
threatens
the physical is almost sure to be communicated instantly to the ego,
who
promptly returns to investigate.
There
are, however, abnormal and unfortunate people who are subject to the
attacks
of certain entities who desire to seize upon and obsess their bodies,
and
such people sometimes find it necessary to take strong measures to retain
possession
of their personal property. Or again, perhaps circumstances may
compel
the student to sleep in exceedingly undesirable surroundings-- as, for
example,
in a railway carriage in close physical contact with people of the
vampirising
type or of coarse and forbidding emanations. In either of these
cases
a strong etheric shell might be the best way of meeting the difficulty,
though
the student has the alternative of making a strong thought-form animated
with
the purpose of guarding the body. Such a thought-form may be made even more
effective
and vivid if a nature-spirit of appropriate type can be induced to
enter
into it and take a delight in carrying out its object.
The
idea of protection from infection is sufficiently obvious to need no special
comment.
Such infection can enter only by means of physical germs of some sort,
and
against these a dense wall of etheric matter is a sure protection. It must
never
be forgotten, however, that a shell which keeps out matter of a certain
type
must also keep it in ; so that in guarding ourselves against germs which
may
bring contagion we are also keeping in close contact with the physical body
a
great mass of its own emanations, many of which are distinctly poisonous in
character.
In
the cases above mentioned the shell to be made is of etheric matter only, and
the
man who wishes to make it must recollect that his etheric body is by no
means
coterminous with the astral or mental. Both of the latter adopt the shape
and
size of that ovoid section of the causal body, which alone of its
characteristics
can manifest in the lower worlds. The etheric body, however, is
of
the shape of the physical, and projects slightly from its surface in all
directions--
perhaps a quarter of an inch or so. If, therefore, the plan of
densifying
the periphery of the aura is to be adopted, the man, who tries the
experiment
must recollect where that periphery lies, and direct his will-power
accordingly.
He
has, however, the alternative of making an ovoid shell of etheric matter
drawn
from the surrounding atmosphere. That course is in many ways preferable,
but
demands a far greater exertion of the will and a much more definite
knowledge
of the way in which physical matter is moulded by it. Such a shell as
has
been described, though invisible to ordinary sight, is purely in the
physical
world, and therefore guards its creator only against definitely
physical
emanations. It does not in the least affect the entrance of wandering
thoughts
or of astral vibrations tending to produce passions and emotions of
various
kinds.
Some
sensitive people find it impossible to come near those suffering from any
weakness
or disease without immediately reproducing in their own physical bodies
the
symptoms of the sufferers. In such cases an etheric shell may be useful, as
without
it the sensitive man is largely precluded by this abnormal keenness of
sympathy
from assisting such people.
Again,
for those whose business makes it necessary for them to live and move in
the
midst of the horrible din of our modern civilisation such a shell may
sometimes
prove useful, as giving the tired and harassed nerves at least
something
of an opportunity for recovery, by protecting them for a while from
the
otherwise incessant hammering of all the multiplex vibrations which
constitute
modern life.
SHIELDS
In
some cases what is called for is not a shell surrounding the whole body, but
simply
a small local shield to guard oneself against some special temporary
contact.
All sensitive people are aware that the western custom of shaking hands
often
brings with it positive torment, lasting not infrequently for some hours
after
the moment of contact. Often to go out of one' s way to avoid shaking
hands
may cause offence, or may give an impression of pride or of an assumption
of
superiority. The difficulty may usually be obviated by making an effort of
the
will which covers the right hand with a strong temporary shield of etheric
matter,
so that the sensitive may endure the unpleasant contact without allowing
a
single particle charged with undesirable magnetism to enter his body.
Of
the same nature as this, though requiring for their successful manipulation a
far
greater knowledge of practical magic, are the shells which are sometimes
used
as a protection against fire. I have myself had such a shell of etheric
matter
made over the palm of my hand at a spiritualistic séance-- made so
effectively
that, although it was too thin to be observable by the senses, it
yet
enabled me to hold in my hand for several minutes a glowing coal, from
which,
while I held it, I was able to light a piece of paper. A still more
extended
application of the same idea is the much larger shield spread over the
glowing
ashes, or over the feet of the participants, in the fire-walking
experiment
which has been so often described.
A
WARNING
Students
wishing for some reason to guard their physical bodies during sleep may
be
warned not to repeat the mistake made some time ago by a worthy friend who
took
a great deal of trouble to surround himself with a specially impenetrable
shell
on a certain occasion, but made it of astral instead of etheric matter,
and
consequently took it away with him when he left his physical body! Naturally
the
result was that his physical body was left entirely unprotected, while he
himself
floated about all night enclosed in triple armour, absolutely incapable
of
sending out a single vibration to help anybody, or of being helped or
beneficially
influenced by any loving thoughts which may have been directed
towards
him by teachers or friends.
THE
ASTRAL SHELL
The
objects aimed at in making an astral shell are naturally of an entirely
different
type, since they must be connected only with passions and emotions.
Most
of them also fall under three heads. A shell may be formed round the astral
body,
first, to keep out emotional vibrations intentionally directed by others
at
the student, such as those of anger, envy or hatred; secondly, to keep out
casual
vibrations of low type (such as those evoking sensuality) which are not
intentionally
directed at the student, but are to be found floating in the
surrounding
atmosphere, and impinge upon him as it were by accident in the
course
of ordinary life; thirdly, a student may find it useful to surround his
astral
body with a special shell during the time which he devotes to meditation,
if
he has been troubled with the intrusion of thoughts of a low type, which
bring
with them astral matter and are calculated to provoke undesirable emotion.
In
any or all of these cases the effort of the will should be directed to the
surface
of the astral body-- not to that counterpart of denser astral matter
which
is exactly the shape and size of the physical vehicle, but the egg of
surrounding
aura, as depicted in the illustrations in Man Visible and Invisible.
In
this, and in all other cases of forming shell, a clear mental picture must be
made,
and the whole of the person' s will-power must be concentrated for at
least
some minutes upon the definite effort to create the necessary shape. It
must
also be remembered that such densifications are to a certain extent
unnatural;
that is to say, they are an arrangement of matter which is not that,
normally
contemplated in the scheme of things, and consequently there is a
constant
tendency in the vehicle concerned to resume its normal condition,
which,
of course, means a constant tendency to disintegration in the shell. The
effort
of will, therefore, must make a definite impression, sufficient to resist
for
at least some hours this gentle but persistent effort at disintegration,
otherwise
the shell will gradually become pervious and ragged, and so fail to
fulfil
its object. A shell which is required for any length of time should be
frequently
renewed, as without that process it will soon collapse.
In
connection with the astral body we must bear in mind the same consideration
to
which I referred in the case of the etheric body-- that if a shell will keep
out
vibrations it will also keep them in. The student who makes an astral shell
round
himself should therefore be careful to build it only of the material of
the
lower sub-divisions of the astral, as it is exclusively this matter which
responds
to the low and undesirable vibrations connected with sensuality,
malice,
hatred, envy and all other such ignoble passions. The finer emotions, on
the
contrary, always express themselves through the matter of the higher
subdivision.
It is unnecessary that any matter of this kind should be used in a
shell.
Indeed, the effects if such matter were used would be eminently
unsatisfactory,
as, first, a man would keep away from himself any currents of
friendly
feeling which might be sent to him, and secondly, he would render
himself
for the time incapable of sending out similar currents of affectionate
feeling
to others.
It
may be asked how it is possible for the ordinary man or even for the younger
student
to know what kind of astral matter he is employing in the making of his
shell.
The answer is that that is after all no more difficult than the
conception
of making a shell at all. If he is to make the shell of astral matter
he
must first think of the limits of his aura, and then proceed to densify the
matter
at all those points. The process may therefore be described as an
intelligent
use of the imagination; and this imagination may just as well be
directed
with a little more trouble to the conception that the astral body
consists
of seven degrees of matter, differing in density. The will should be
directed
to sorting out these, selecting only the material of (let us say) the
three
lower sub-planes, and forming the shell exclusively of that; and though
the
student may be unable to see clairvoyantly the result of his effort, he need
not
doubt that it will produce its effect, and that no types of matter but those
of
which he thinks will be directly influenced by the currents which he is
enabled
to send forth.
THE
MENTAL SHELL
The
shell made round the mental body differs from that in the astral world in
that
the object is no longer to prevent undesirable emotion, but undesirable
thought.
Once more, there are three principal occasions on which such a shell
may
be useful: first, in meditation; secondly, when sleep is approaching;
thirdly,
under special conditions where without its help lower thoughts would be
likely
to obtrude themselves.
The
office of the mental shell in meditation is to exclude the mass of lower
thought
which is perpetually playing about in the atmosphere. No shell can
prevent
wandering thoughts from arising within the man' s own mind; but most of
our
thought-wandering is caused by the impact from without of casual floating
thoughts
which have been left about by other people, and the intrusion of these
at
least can be prevented by a shell. But here again it is advisable that only
the
lower mental matter should be employed in the making of such a shell, as
otherwise
helpful thought might be kept out, or the man' s own thought might be
hampered
as he poured it forth towards the Master.
Many
people find themselves troubled with streams of wandering thought when they
are
trying to fall asleep; a mental shell will deliver them from such of these
thoughts
as come from without. Such a shell need only be temporary, since all
that
is required is peace for an interval sufficient to allow the man to fall
asleep.
The man will carry away with him this shell of mental matter when he
leaves
his physical body, but its work will then be accomplished, since the
whole
object of making it is to permit him to leave that body. The stream of
idle
thoughts or mental worry will probably reassert itself when the shell
breaks
up, but as the man will then be away from his physical brain this will
not
interfere with the repose of the body. So long as he is in his physical body
the
mental action will affect the particles of the brain and produce there such
activity
as may easily make it impossible for the man to quit the physical
vehicle;
but when once he is away from the latter, the same worry or wandering
thought
will not bring him back to it.
The
third case to which reference has been made is less simple. It occurs not
infrequently
that certain groups of thought, some wholly desirable, and some
equally
undesirable, are closely linked together. To take the first example
which
comes: it is well known that deep devotion and a certain form of
sensuality
are frequently almost inextricably mingled. A man who finds himself
troubled
by this unpleasant conjunction may reap the benefit of the devotion
without
suffering from the ill effects of the sensuality, by surrounding his
mental
body with a rigid shell so far as its lower subdivisions are concerned,
for
in this way he will effectually shut out the lower influences while still
allowing
the higher to play upon him unhindered. This is but one example of a
phenomenon
of which there are many varieties in the mental world.
THE
BEST USE OF A SHELL
When
a shell has to be made, the method which I have indicated above is probably
the
easiest by which to make it, but there still remains a further
consideration--
the question as to whether on the whole the shell is an
undesirable
thing. It has its uses-- indeed it is eminently necessary as applied
to
other people. The Invisible Helper frequently finds it invaluable when he is
trying
to relieve some poor harassed soul who has not as yet the strength to
protect
himself, either against definite and intentional attacks from without,
or
against the ever-present swirl of the wearisome wandering thought. But to
think
of using a shell for oneself is to a certain extent a confession of
weakness
or of defect, for there seems little doubt that, if we were all that we
ought
to be, we should need no protection of this nature.
A
BEAUTIFUL STORY
A
beautiful little story from the traditions of the Christian Church illustrates
this
very happily. It is recorded that somewhere in the desert at the back of
Alexandria
there was once a monastery whose abbot possessed the power of
clairvoyance.
Among his monks there were two young men who had an especial
reputation
for purity and holiness-- qualities which ought to be common to all
monks,
but sometimes are not. One day when they were singing in the choir it
occurred
to the abbot to turn his clairvoyant faculty upon these two young men,
in
the endeavour to discover how they contrived to preserve this especial purity
amidst
the temptations of daily life. So he looked at the first young man and
saw
that he had surrounded himself with a shell as of glittering crystal, and
that
when the tempting demons (impure thought-forms we should call them) came
rushing
at him, they struck against this shell, and fell back without injuring
him,
so that he remained inside his shell, calm and cold and pure. Then the
abbot
looked at the second young monk, and he saw that he had built no shell
round
himself, but that his heart was so full of the love of God that it was
perpetually
radiating from him in all directions in the shape of torrents of
love
for his fellow men, so that when the tempting demons sprang at him with
fell
intent they were all washed away in that mighty outpouring stream, and so
he
also remained pure and undefiled. And it is recorded that the abbot said that
the
second monk was nearer to the kingdom of heaven than the first.
THE
BETTER WAY
It
may be that many of us have not yet reached the level of this second young
monk;
but at least the story sets before us a higher ideal than that of mere
self-protection,
and we may learn something of a lesson from him. We must,
however,
carefully guard ourselves against the feeling of superiority or
separateness.
We must avoid the danger of thinking too much about the self. We
must
keep ourselves constantly in a condition of outpouring; we must be active,
not
passive. When we meet a person our attitude surely should be not: “How can I
guard
myself against you?” but rather: “What can I do for you?” It is this
latter
attitude which calls into play the higher forces, because it reflects the
attitude
of the Solar Deity. It is when we give that we become fit to receive,
that
we are channels of the mighty force of the Deity Himself.
We
need not even think too much about personal progress. It is possible to be so
exclusively
occupied with the idea: “How can I get on?” as to forget the even
more
important question: “What can I do to help?” And there are some good
brothers,
even among the best that we have, who are so perpetually examining
themselves
as to their progress as to remind one forcibly of those children who,
when
special plots of garden-ground are given to them, are constantly pulling up
their
plants to see how the roots are growing. This over-anxiety is a real
danger;
I know many who, while doing the most beautiful altruistic actions, can
yet
never feel quite sure that their intentions are truly unselfish, since they
always
doubt whether it is not perhaps a selfish desire to avoid the discomfort
caused
by seeing pain in others which moves them to action!
Such
brothers should remember that self-examination may degenerate into morbid
introspection,
and that the main object is that they should point themselves in
the
right direction and then simply go ahead and do the best they can-- that, to
quote
our Christian story, they should first fill their hearts with the love of
God
and then (without spending all their time in weighing that love, to see
whether
it is increasing or diminishing) should turn their whole attention to
the
practical expression of it in love of their fellow men. Not only is such
outpouring
of love a better defence than any number of shells, but it is also an
investment
producing stupendous results. For the man who thinks nothing of
result
is precisely he who is producing the greatest of all results.
We
have read of the splendid self-sacrifice of the Nirmanakayas, who, having won
the
right to untold ages of rest in bliss unspeakable, yet have chosen to remain
within
touch of earth, in order that they may spend their time in the generation
of
incalculable streams of spiritual force, which are poured into a mighty
reservoir,
to be spent in helping on the evolution of their less developed
fellows.
The great Hierarchy of Adepts is entrusted with the dispensing of this
force
for the good of the “great orphan” humanity, and it is upon this that They
(and
even Their pupils, under Their direction) draw when necessity arises.
Needless
to say, nothing that we can do can come within measurable distance of
the
marvellous achievement of the Nirmanakaya; yet it is in the power of every
one
of us to add some tiny drops at least to the contents of that mighty
reservoir,
for whenever we pour out from ourselves love or devotion which is
utterly
without thought of self, we produce results which lie far beyond our
ken.
All
affection or devotion, however noble, which has in it the least thought of
self
(as in the case of one who desires the return of his affection, or a reward
of
protection or salvation for his devotion-- one who thinks not: “How much I
love
so-and-so!” but: “I wonder how much so-and-so loves me ”)-- all such
affection
or devotion sends its force in closed curves which return upon those
who
generated it, and the karma which such force makes binds a man and brings
him
back to birth, that he may receive the result of it, just as surely as if
the
karma were evil.
But
when self has been absolutely forgotten, when such thought has neither part
nor
lot in the stream which is outpoured, when the curve is no longer closed but
open,
then the karma does not bind the man nor bring him back to earth. Yet the
effect
is produced-- an effect far transcending any imagination of ours, for
that
open curve reaches up to the Solar Deity Himself, and it is from Him that
the
response comes; and though that response inevitably brings as its result
something
of advancement to the man whose love and devotion have called it into
existence,
yet it also at the same time pours spiritual force into the great
reservoir
of the Adepts. So it comes to pass that every thought, which has no
slightest
taint of self in it, is a thought which directly helps the world, and
thus
the outpouring of love is a better defence than the strongest of shells,
and
the man who is filled with the powers of that Divine Love needs no
protection,
because he lives within the heart of God Himself.
THIRD
SECTION
HOW
WE INFLUENCE OURSELVES
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XIV
BY
OUR HABITS
FOOD
A
SAYING is attributed to the Christ to the effect that not what is put into the
mouth
but what comes out of the mouth really defiles a man. Whether He ever made
that
remark or not, there can be no possible question that a man may be most
decidedly
defiled by what he puts into his mouth.
The
food which we eat is taken into the body and we actually make it part of
ourselves,
so it is clearly evident that the magnetism with which it is charged
is
a matter of great moment to us. Both its physical and its magnetic purity are
important,
yet some people neglect one and some the other. In India, for
example,
great weight is attached to magnetic purity, and a man will not eat
food
which has been subjected to the magnetism of some one of lower caste. On
the
other hand he is much less careful than we are in the West as to the
physical
cleanliness of the preparations, forgetting that nothing which is
physically
dirty can ever be magnetically pure. We are usually particular as to
the
physical cleanliness, but we never think of the question of magnetic purity.
The
fact which most seriously affects the magnetism of food is that it is
touched
so much by the hands of the cook in the course of its preparation. Now
the
special magnetism of a person flows out most strongly through the hands, and
consequently
food which is touched by the hands cannot but be highly charged
with
that magnetism. This is specially true in the case of pastry and bread,
which
are kneaded by hand in countries which are too backward to have learnt the
use
of machinery for these purposes. All food made in that way would be
absolutely
unfit to be eaten at all, were it not for the fact that fortunately
the
action of fire in the baking or the cooking removes the traces of most kinds
of
physical magnetism. Still it is eminently desirable that the cook should
touch
the food as little as possible, and so ladles and spoons, which can
readily
be demagnetised, should always be used in cooking and serving
everything;
and they should be kept rigorously clean.
In
order to prevent any avoidable mixture of magnetism many an occult student
insists
upon always using his own private cup and spoon. Madame Blavatsky
strongly
advised this, and said that when it could not be done the cup and the
spoon
that were used should be demagnetised before each meal. The ordinary man
pays
no attention whatever to matters such as these, but the student of
occultism
who is trying to enter upon the Path must be more careful. It is
possible
to demagnetise food by a firm effort of the will, and with a little
practice
a mere wave of the hand coupled with a strong thought will do the thing
almost
instantaneously. But it must be remembered that demagnetisation removes
neither
physical dirt nor its astral counterpart, though it may take away other
astral
influence; and therefore every precaution must be taken to see that
cleanliness
is perfect in all culinary arrangements.
Food
also absorbs the magnetism of those who are in close proximity to us when
we
are eating. It is for that reason that in India a man prefers to eat alone,
and
must not be seen eating by one of lower caste. The mixture which arises from
eating
in public amidst a crowd of strangers, as in a restaurant, is always
undesirable,
and should be avoided as much as possible. The magnetism of one' s
own
family is usually more sympathetic, and at any rate one is accustomed to it,
so
that it is much less likely to be harmful than the sudden introduction of a
combination
of entirely strange vibrations, many of which are most likely quite
out
of harmony with our own.
There
are, however, always two kinds of magnetism in every article of food-- the
internal
and the external-- the former belonging to its own character, the
latter
impressed upon it from without. The magnetism of the merchant who sells
it
and of the cook are both of the latter kind, and can therefore be removed by
the
action of the fire; but the magnetism which is inherent in it is not at all
affected
by that action. No amount of cooking of dead flesh, for example, can
take
away from it its inherently objectionable character, nor all the feelings
of
pain and horror and hatred with which it is saturated. No person who can see
that
magnetism and the vibrations which it sets up can possibly eat meat.
INTOXICATING
LIQUORS
Indeed,
many of the pernicious habits of life of the ignorant would become
instantly
impossible for them if they could see the hidden side of their selfish
indulgences.
Even the undeveloped specimens of humanity who cluster round the
bar
of a public-house would surely shrink back with terror, if they could see
the
class of entities by which they are surrounded-- the lowest and most brutal
types
of a rudimentary evolution, a bloated, livid fungus growth of
indescribable
horror; and far worse even than they, because they are degraded
from
something that should be so much better, are the ghastly crowds of dead
drunkards--
drink-sodden dregs of humanity, who have drowned the divine image in
depths
of direful debauchery and now cluster round their successors, urging them
on
to wilder carousals with hideous leers and mocking laughter, yet with a
loathly
lust awful to behold.
All
this is entirely apart from the unquestionable deterioration which is
brought
about in both astral and mental bodies by the indulgence in intoxicating
liquors.
The man who is eagerly seeking for excuses for the gratification of
ignoble
cravings frequently asserts that food and drink, belonging as they do
purely
to the physical world, can have but little effect upon a man' s inner
development.
This statement is obviously not in accordance with common sense,
for
the physical matter in man is in exceedingly close touch with the astral and
mental--
so much so, that each is to a great extent a counterpart of the other,
and
coarseness and grossness in the physical body imply a similar condition in
the
higher vehicles.
There
are many types and degrees of density of astral matter, so that it is
possible
for one man to have an astral body built of exceedingly coarse and
gross
particles, while another may have one which is much more delicate and
refined.
As the astral body is the vehicle of the emotions and passions, it
follows
that a man whose astral body is of the ruder type will be chiefly
amenable
to the lower and rougher varieties of passion and emotion; whereas a
man
who has a finer astral body will find that its particles most readily
vibrate
in response to higher and more refined emotions and aspirations. Thus a
man
who is building for himself a gross and impure physical body is building for
himself
at the same time coarse and unclean astral and mental bodies as well.
This
effect is visible at once to the eye of the trained clairvoyant, and he
will
readily distinguish between a man who feeds his physical vehicle with pure
food
and another who contaminates it by intoxicating drink or decaying flesh.
There
can be no question that it is the duty of every man to develop all his
vehicles
as far as possible in order to make them perfect instruments for the
use
of the soul, which in itself is being trained to be a fit instrument in the
hands
of the Solar Deity, and a perfect channel for the divine love. The first
step
towards this is that the man himself should learn thoroughly to control the
lower
bodies, so that there shall be in them no thought or feeling except those
he
approves.
All
these vehicles, therefore, must be in the highest possible condition of
efficiency;
they must be pure and clean and free from taint; and it is obvious
that
this can never be, so long as the man puts into the physical body
undesirable
constituents. Even the physical vehicle and its sense perceptions
can
never be at their best unless the food is pure, and the same thing is true
to
a much greater extent with regard to the higher bodies. Their senses also
cannot
be clear if impure or coarse matter is drawn into them; anything of this
nature
clogs and dulls them, so that it becomes far more difficult for the soul
to
use them. Indulgence in alcohol or carnivorous diet is absolutely fatal to
anything
like real development, and those who adopt these habits are putting
serious
and utterly unnecessary difficulties in their own way.
Nor
is the effect during physical life the only point which is to be borne in
mind
in connection with this matter. If, through introducing impure particles
into
his physical body, the man builds himself an unseemly and unclean astral
body,
we must not forget that it is in this degraded vehicle that he will have
to
spend the first part of his life after death. Just as, here in the physical
world,
his coarseness draws into association with him all sorts of undesirable
entities
who, like parasites, make his vehicles their home, and find a ready
response
within him to their lower passions, so also will he suffer acutely from
similar
companionship after death, and from the working out in astral life of
the
conditions which he has here set in motion.
FLESH-EATING
All
this applies not only to indulgence in intoxicating liquor, but also to the
prevalent
practice of feeding upon corpses. This habit also, like the other,
produces
a consistent effect; this also, like the other, draws round its
votaries
all kinds of undesirable entities-- horrible gaping red mouths, such as
those
that gather round the shambles to absorb the aroma of blood. It is indeed
strange
and pitiable to a clairvoyant to see a lady, thinking herself dainty and
refined
(truly refined and dainty she cannot be, or she would not be there)
surrounded
by an incongruous nightmare of such strange forms in a butcher' s
shop,
where she goes to examine the corpses left by the grim, ceaseless
slaughter
on the battle-field between man' s bestial, tigerish lust for blood
and
the divine Life incarnated in the animal kingdom. Little she realises that
there
will come a time when those who by their support make possible this
ghastly
blot on the record of humanity, this daily hecatomb of savage, useless
murder
of the forms through which the Deity is patiently trying to manifest,
will
find themselves face to face with His ineffable Majesty, and hear from the
Voice
that called the worlds into existence the appalling truth: “Inasmuch as
you
have done this unto one of the least of these My little ones, you have done
it
unto Me.”
Surely
it is time, with all our boasted advance, that this foul stain upon our
so-called
civilisation should be removed. Even if it were only for selfish
reasons,
for the sake of our own interests, this should be so. Remember that
every
one of these murdered creatures is a definite entity-- not a permanent
reincarnating
individual, but still an entity that has its life in the astral
world.
Remember that every one of these remains there for a considerable time,
to
pour out a feeling of indignation and horror at all the injustice and torment
which
have been inflicted; and perhaps in that way it may be possible faintly to
realise
something of the terrible atmosphere which hangs over a slaughter-house
and
a butcher' s shop, and how it all reacts at many points upon the human race.
Most
of all, these horrors react upon those who are least able to resist them--
upon
the children, who are more delicate and sensitive than the hardened adult;
and
so for them there are constant feelings of causeless terror in the air--
terror
of the dark, or of being alone for a few moments. All the time there are
playing
about us tremendous forces of awful strength, which only the occult
student
can understand. The whole creation is so closely interrelated that we
cannot
do horrible murder in this way upon our younger brothers without feeling
the
effect upon our own innocent children.
The
pitiable thing about it is that a lady is actually able to enter a butcher'
s
shop-- that because of the indulgence of her forefathers in this shocking form
of
food, her various vehicles have become so coarsened that she can stand amidst
those
bleeding carcasses without being overcome by loathing and repulsion, and
can
be in the midst of the most ghastly astral abominations without being in the
slightest
degree conscious of it. If we take into such a place any person who
has
never corrupted himself with such carrion, there is no doubt that he will
shrink
in disgust from the loathsome, bleeding masses of physical flesh, and
will
also feel stifled by the actively and militantly-evil astral entities which
swarm
there. Yet here we have the sad spectacle of a lady who ought, by her very
birthright,
to be delicate and sensitive, whose physical and astral fibre is so
coarsened
that she neither observes the visible nor senses the invisible horrors
which
surround her.
The
pity of it is, too, that all the vast amount of evil which people bring upon
themselves
by these pernicious habits might so easily be avoided. No man needs
either
flesh or alcohol. It has been demonstrated over and again that he is
better
without them. This is a case in which actually all the arguments are on
one
side and there is nothing whatever to be said on the other, except the man'
s
assertion: “I will do these horrible things, because I like them.”
With
regard to flesh-eating, for example, it cannot be questioned that: (1) the
right
kind of vegetables contain more nutriment than an equal amount of dead
flesh;
(2) many serious diseases come from this loathsome habit of devouring
dead
bodies; (3) man is not naturally made to be carnivorous and therefore this
abominable
food is not suited to him; (4) men are stronger and better on a
vegetable
diet; (5) the eating of dead bodies leads to indulgence in drink and
increases
animal passions in man; (6) the vegetable diet is in every way cheaper
as
well as better than flesh; (7) many more men can be supported by a certain
number
of acres of land which are devoted to the growing of wheat than by the
same
amount of land which is laid out in pasture; (8) in the former case healthy
work
upon the land can be found for many more men than in the latter; (9) men
who
eat flesh are responsible for the sin and degradation caused in the
slaughter-men;
(10) carnivorous diet is fatal to real development, and produces
the
most undesirable results on both astral and mental bodies; (11) man' s duty
towards
the animal kingdom is not to slaughter it recklessly, but to assist in
its
evolution.
These
are not points about which there can be any question; the fullest evidence
in
support of each of them will be found in my book, Some Glimpses of Occultism.
No
man needs these things, and to take them is just a matter of selfish
indulgence.
Most men commit this act in ignorance of the harm that it is doing;
but
remember, to continue to commit it when the truth is known is a crime.
Widely
spread as they are, these are nothing but evil habits, and with a little
effort
they can be laid aside like any other habit.
SMOKING
Another
custom, also pernicious and equally widely spread, is that of smoking.
In
this, as in so many other cases, a man at once resents any suggestions that
he
should give up his bad habits, and says: “Why should I not do as I like in
these
matters?” With regard to flesh-diet the answer to this is perfectly clear,
for
that is a practice which not only seriously injures the man who adopts it,
but
also involves terrible crime and cruelty in the provision of the food. In
the
case of alcohol also a clear answer can be given, quite apart from the
effect
upon the drinker himself, for by buying this noxious fluid he is
encouraging
a pernicious trade, helping to create a demand for a liquor which
tempts
thousands of his fellow-creatures to excess and lures them to their own
destruction.
No man who buys alcohol for drinking purposes can escape his share
in
the responsibility of that.
It
may be said that with regard to smoking the position is somewhat different,
since
no cruelty is necessary in obtaining tobacco, nor are lives destroyed by
it
as by alcohol. This is true, and if the smoker can entirely shut himself away
from
any contact with his fellow-men, and if he has no desire to make anything
in
the nature of occult progress, his argument may, so, far, hold good. If, not
being
actually a hermit, he has sometimes at least to come into touch with his
fellowmen,
he can have no possible right to make himself a nuisance to them.
There
are many people who, being deeply steeped in the same pollution
themselves,
have no objection to the nauseating odour of tobacco; but all who
have
kept themselves pure from this thing know how strong is the disgust which
its
coarse and fetid emanations inevitably arouse. Yet the smoker cares little
for
that. As I have said elsewhere, this is the only thing that a gentleman will
deliberately
do when he knows it to be offensive to others; but the hold which
this
noxious habit gains upon its slaves appears to be so great that they are
utterly
incapable of resisting it, and all their gentlemanly instincts are
forgotten
in this mad and hateful selfishness.
Anything
which can produce such an effect as that upon a man' s character is a
thing
that all wise men will avoid. The impurity of it is so great and so
penetrating
that the man who habitually uses it is absolutely soaked in it, and
is
most offensive to the sense of smell of the purer person. For this purely
physical
reason no one who comes into contact with his fellows should indulge in
this
most objectionable practice, and, if he does, he thereby brands himself as
one
who thinks only of his own selfish enjoyment and is willing in taking it to
inflict
much suffering upon his fellow-creatures. And all this is quite apart
from
the deadening effect which it produces, and from the various diseases--
smoker'
s throat, smoker' s heart, cancer in the mouth, indigestion and others--
which
it brings in its train. For nicotine, as is well known, is a deadly
poison,
and the effect of even small quantities of it can never be good.
Why
should any man adopt a custom which produces all these unpleasant results?
To
this there is absolutely no answer except that he has taught himself to like
it;
for it cannot be pretended that it is in any way necessary or useful. I
believe
it to be quite true that in certain circumstances it soothes the nerves;
that
is part of its deadening effect as a poison, but that result can be equally
well
achieved by other and far less objectionable means. It is always evil for a
man
to adopt a habit to which he becomes a slave-- evil for himself, I mean; it
is
doubly evil when that habit brings with it the bad karma of inflicting
constant
annoyance upon others.
No
child by nature likes the loathsome taste of this evil weed but, because
others
older than himself indulge in it, he struggles painfully through the
natural
nausea which it causes him at first-- the protest of his healthy young
body
against the introduction of this polluting matter-- and so gradually he
forces
himself to endure it, and eventually becomes a slave to it, like his
elders.
It stunts his growth; it leads him into bad company; but what of that?
He
has asserted his dawning manhood by proving himself capable of a ` manly'
vice.
I know that parents frequently advise their children not to smoke; perhaps
if
they set them the example of abstention, their sage counsels would produce a
greater
effect. This is another habit with evil results which could so easily be
avoided--
all that is needed being simply not to do it.
The
impurity produced by this obscene practice is not only physical. It may be
taken
as an axiom that physical filth of any sort always implies astral filth as
well,
for the counterpart of that which is impure cannot itself be pure. Just as
the
physical nerve-vibrations are deadened by the poison, so are both astral and
mental
undulations. For occult progress a man needs to have his vehicles as
finely
strung as possible, so that they may be ready at any moment to respond in
sympathy
to any kind of vibration. Therefore he does not want to have his
thought-waves
deadened and his astral body weighed down with foul and poisonous
particles.
Many who call themselves students still cling to this unpleasant
habit,
and try to find all sorts of weak excuses to cover the fact that they
have
not the strength to break away from its tyranny; but facts remain facts,
for
all that, and no one who can see the effects on the higher vehicles of this
disastrous
custom can avoid the realisation that it does serious harm.
Its
effect in the astral world after death is a remarkable one. The man has so
filled
his astral body with poison that it has stiffened under its influence,
and
has become unable to work properly or to move freely. For a long period the
man
is as though he were paralysed-- able to speak, yet debarred from movement,
and
almost entirely cut off from all higher influences. In process of time he
emerges
from this unpleasant predicament, when the part of his astral body which
is
affected by this poison has gradually worn away.
DRUGS
The
taking of opium or cocaine, though happily less common, is equally
disastrous,
for from the occult point of view it is entirely ruinous and fatal
to
progress. These drugs are sometimes a necessity in order to relieve great
pain;
but they should be taken as sparingly as possible, and on no account be
allowed
to degenerate into a habit. One who knows how to do it, however, can
remove
the evil effect of the opium from the astral and mental bodies after it
has
done its work upon the physical.
Nearly
all drugs produce a deleterious effect upon the higher vehicles, and they
are
therefore to be avoided as much as possible. There are definite cases in
which
they are clearly required, when they are really specifics for certain
diseases;
but these are few, and in far the greater number of cases nature
herself
will work a rapid cure if the surroundings are pure and healthy.
With
regard to the treatment of the body, prevention emphatically better than
cure,
and those who live rationally will rarely need the services of a doctor.
Under
all circumstances animal serums and products in any way connected with or
obtained
by means of vivisection should be absolutely avoided. It should be
remembered
that tea and coffee contain as their essence drugs called
respectively
theine and caffeine, which are poisonous, so that an excess of
these
beverages is a bad thing, especially for growing children; indeed, I
incline
to the opinion that, while in moderation they do no serious harm, those
who
find themselves able to avoid them are all the better for it.
CLEANLINESS
Doctors
are usually agreed as to the necessity for physical cleanliness, but the
requirements
of occultism are far more stringent than theirs. The waste matter
which
is constantly being thrown off by the body in the shape of imperceptible
perspiration
is rejected because it is poisonous and decaying refuse, and the
astral
and mental counterparts of its particles are of the most undesirable
character.
Dirt is often more objectionable in the higher worlds than in the
physical,
and, just as in the physical world, it is not only foul and poisonous
in
itself but it also inevitably breeds dangerous microbes, so in these higher
worlds
it attracts low-class nature-spirits of a kind distinctly prejudicial to
man.
Yet many people habitually carry a coating of filth about with them, and so
ensure
for themselves the possession of an unpleasant retinue of astral and
etheric
creatures.
The
thorough daily bath, therefore, is even more an occult than a hygienic
necessity,
and purity of mind and feeling cannot exist without purity of body
also.
The physical emanations of dirt are unpleasant, but those in the astral
and
mental worlds are much more than merely unpleasant; they are deleterious to
the
last degree, and dangerous not only to the man himself, but to others. It is
through
the pores of the body that the magnetism of the person rushes out,
bearing
with it what remains of the vital force. If therefore these pores are
clogged
with filth, the magnetism is poisoned on its way out, and will produce a
pernicious
effect upon all those around.
We
must remember that we are constantly interchanging the particles of our
bodies
with those about us, and that our bodies therefore are not wholly our
own;
we cannot do just as we like with them, because of the fact that they thus
constantly
influence those of our brothers, the children of our common Father. A
comprehension
of the most rudimentary idea of brotherhood shows us that it is an
absolute
duty to others to keep our bodies healthy, pure and clean. If the
person
be perfectly clean, his emanations will carry health and strength, and so
when
we make ourselves purer we are helping others also.
OCCULT
HYGIENE
This
radiation is strongest of all from the ends of the fingers and toes, so
that
even more than usual care should constantly be lavished upon the strictest
cleanliness
in the case of these channels of influence. A careless person who
allows
filth to accumulate under his finger-nails is all the time pouring forth
from
the ends of his fingers what in the astral world exactly corresponds to a
torrent
of peculiarly noisome sewage in the physical-- an effect which makes his
neighbourhood
exceedingly unpleasant to any sensitive person, and causes him to
do
harm in many cases where, but for that, he might be doing good.
For
a similar reason special care of the feet is desirable. They should never be
encased
in boots too tight for them, and thick, heavy walking boots should never
be
worn an instant longer than is absolutely necessary, but should be replaced
by
something soft, loose and easy. Indeed it is far better that whenever
possible
the feet should be left uncovered altogether, or when that is
considered
impossible, that a light sandal should be used without stockings or
socks.
This plan could hardly be adopted out-of-doors amidst the horrible filth
of
our large towns, but it surely ought to be possible in country houses and at
the
seaside. It could be done indoors everywhere, and would be healthier and
more
comfortable physically, as well as correct from the occult point of view.
But
while we are all such slaves of fashion that any man who lived and dressed
rationally
would probably be regarded as insane, I suppose that it is hopeless
to
expect people to have sufficient strength of mind to do what is obviously
best
for them.
From
the point of view of occult hygiene great care should be taken also with
regard
to the head, which should be left uncovered whenever possible, and never
allowed
to get hot. A hat is an utterly unnecessary article of clothing, and
people
would be much better in every way without it; but here again probably the
foolishness
of fashion will, as usual, stand in the way of common sense. The
folly
of wearing a hat becomes immediately obvious when we remember that even in
the
coldest weather we habitually leave the face entirely uncovered, even though
there
is usually but little hair on it, whereas we are careful to put a
considerable
and most insanitary weight upon the upper part of the head, which
nature
has already abundantly covered with hair! Think, too, how much money
might
be saved by discarding all unnecessary and positively harmful articles of
dress--
hats, boots, stockings, collars, cuffs, corsets.
But
people never use their own brains with regard to such matters; they think
only
of what some one else is doing, and they never realise that their boasted
liberty
is the merest sham, since they do not feel themselves free to follow the
plainest
dictates of their reason, even with regard to a matter which is so
clearly
their own private business as the clothing that they shall wear. Future
and
more enlightened generations will look back with wonder and pity upon the
dreary
monotony of ugliness to which this senseless thraldom condemns us.
Another
of the objectionable customs of our modern civilisation is that of
hair-cutting.
It is outrageous that we should be expected to submit to have our
heads
pawed about for a quarter of an hour or so by a person who is not usually
of
the higher classes, who generally smells offensively of tobacco or onions or
pomatum,
who breathes in our faces and worries us with a stream of inane
chatter--
and in any case has been promiscuously pawing the heads of a score of
others
of His Majesty' s lieges without any intermediate process of
purification.
Considering the fact that the head is precisely the part of the
human
body where unpleasant alien magnetism will produce the greatest effect,
and
that it is through the hands that magnetism flows most easily, one sees at
once
what a peculiarly unscientific abomination this is. I do not suggest that
every
man should let his hair grow to its full length; that is a matter entirely
for
his private taste; but I do say that the person who cuts it should be his
wife
or his mother, his brother or his sister, or at least somebody of the same
family
or in close friendship, whose magnetism is likely to be on the whole
harmonious
and reasonably pure. It may be that until we all have had a certain
amount
of practice, the hair would not be quite so well cut as by the
professional
person; but we should be far more than compensated by freedom from
headache,
from unpleasant smells and from foreign influences.
PHYSICAL
EXISTENCE
In
order that its reaction upon higher vehicles should be satisfactory, it is
necessary
that the physical body should be regularly exercised. This, which
doctors
tell us is so desirable from the point of view of physical health, is
still
more desirable from the point of view of health in other worlds. Not only
do
unused muscles deteriorate and become feeble, but their condition produces a
congestion
of magnetism, a check to its proper and healthy flow; and that means
a
weak spot in the etheric double, through which a hostile influence can easily
penetrate.
A man who keeps his physical body thoroughly well exercised also
keeps
his etheric body in good order, which means in the first place that he is
far
less liable to the penetration of unpleasant physical germs, such as those
of
infection, for example. And in the second, because of the reaction of this
upon
the astral and mental bodies, thoughts of depression or of animal passion
will
find it almost impossible to seize upon him. Therefore we see that due and
regular
physical exercise has great importance from the occult standpoint;
indeed
we may say that all such practices as have been found by experiment to
promote
the health of the physical body are also found to react favourably upon
the
higher vehicles.
READING
AND STUDY
There
is an occult side to ever act of daily life, and it often happens that if
we
know this occult side we can perform these daily actions more perfectly or
more
usefully. Take, for example, the case of reading. Broadly speaking, we read
for
two purposes, for study and for amusement. If one watches with clairvoyant
vision
a person who is reading for the purpose of study, one is often surprised
to
see how little the real meaning of what is written penetrates into the mind
of
the reader. In a book that is carefully written, in order that it may be
studied,
each sentence or paragraph usually contains a clear statement of a
certain
definite idea. That idea expresses itself as a thought-form, the shape
or
size of which varies according to the subject. But whether it is small or
large,
whether it is simple or complicated, it is at least clear and definite of
its
kind. It is usually surrounded with various subsidiary forms, which are the
expressions
of corollaries or necessary deductions from the statement. Now an
exact
duplicate of this, which is the author' s thought-form, should build
itself
up in the reader' s mind, perhaps immediately, perhaps only by degrees.
Whether
the forms indicating corollaries also appear; depends upon the nature of
the
student' s mind-- whether he is or is not quick to see in a moment all that
follows
from a certain statement.
As
a general rule, with a good student the image of the central idea will
reproduce
itself fairly accurately at once, and the surrounding images will come
into
being one by one as the students revolves the central idea in his mind. But
unfortunately
with many people even the central idea is by no means properly
represented.
Less developed mentally, they cannot make a clear reflection at
all,
and they create a sort of amorphous, incorrect mass instead of a
geometrical
form. Others manufacture something, which is indeed recognisable as
the
same form, but with blunted edges and angles, or with one part of it
entirely
out of proportion to the rest-- a badly drawn representation, in fact.
Others
succeed in making a kind of skeleton of it, which means that they have
grasped
the outline of the idea, but are as yet quite unable to make it living
to
themselves, or to fill in any of its detail. Others-- perhaps the most
numerous
class-- touch one side of the idea and not the other, and so build only
half
the form. Others seize one point in it and neglect all the rest, and so
generate
a figure which may be accurate as far as it goes, but is not
recognisable
as a copy of that given in the book. Yet these people will all
assert
that they have studied the book in question, though if they were asked to
reproduce
its contains from memory, the resulting essays would have little in
common.
This
means in the first place a lack of attention. These people presumably read
the
words, but the ideas expressed by those words do not effect a lodgment in
their
minds. Often it is easy for the clairvoyant to see the reason for this,
for
if he watches the mental body of the student he sees it to be occupied with
half
a dozen subjects simultaneously. Household cares, business worries,
thoughts
of some recent pleasure or expectations of an approaching one, a
feeling
of weariness and repulsion at having to study and a longing for the time
when
the half-hour of study shall be over; all such feelings as these are
seething
in the man' s brain, and occupying between them nine-tenths of the
matter
of his mental body, while the poor remaining tenth is making a despairing
effort
to get hold of the thought-form which he is supposed to be assimilating
from
the book. Under these circumstances, naturally enough, it is hopeless to
expect
any real benefit, and it would probably, on the whole, be better for such
a
man of he did not attempt to study at all.
From
the examination of this hidden side of study, then, certain definite rules
emerge
which it would be well for the intending student to follow. First, he
must
begin by emptying his mind of all other thoughts and must see to it that
they
are not permitted to return until his time of study is over. He must free
his
mind from all cares and perplexities, and then he must concentrate it wholly
on
the matter in hand. He should read through his paragraph slowly and
carefully,
and then pause to see whether the image is clear in his mind. Then he
should
read the passage over again with equal care, and see whether any
additional
features have been added to his mental image; and he should repeat
this
until he feels that he has a thorough grasp of the subject, and that no new
idea
upon it will immediately suggest itself. When that is done he may usefully
see
whether he can pick out any of the corollaries, whether he can surround his
central
thought-form with planets depending on it.
All
this while, a mass of other thoughts will have been clamouring for
admission;
but if our student is worthy of the name he will sternly refuse them
and
keep his mind fixed exclusively on the question in hand. The original
thought-form
which I have described represents the author' s conception as he
wrote,
and it is always possible by earnest study to get thus into touch with
the
mind of the author. Often through his thought-form he himself may be
reached,
and additional information may be obtained or light may be gained on
difficult
points. Usually the student, unless highly developed, cannot come into
conscious
touch with the author, so as actually to interchange ideas with him;
any
new thought will probably appear to the student as his own, because it
always
comes into his physical brain from above, just as much when it is
suggested
from outside as when it originates in his own mental body; but that
matters
little so long as he gets a clear conception of his object.
SYSTEM
AND THOROUGHNESS
All
this the occult student does as a matter of course, and he does it daily
with
the most exemplary regularity, for he recognises its importance, first
because
he knows the necessity of systematic work or training, and secondly
because
one of the duties most strongly impressed upon him is that of
thoroughness.
His motto must be: “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with
thy
might.” He knows that whatever he does he ought to do better than the man of
the
world does it, that nothing will suffice but the best that is possible to
him,
and that he must try ceaselessly to attain perfection in all his work,
developing
all his vehicles to the utmost, in order that he nay gain that
perfection.
NOVEL
AND NEWSPAPER-READING
Even
when we read for amusement it is still eminently desirable that we should
form
a habit of concentration upon what is read. After much study or hard mental
labour
of any kind, it is often a great relief to turn to a good novel, and
there
is no harm whatever in doing so, so long as moderation is observed. The
person
who gives up his whole life to novel-reading is yielding to mental
dissipation,
and if he continues to treat his mind in that way he will probably
soon
find that it is of little use to him as an instrument for serious study.
But,
as I have said, occasional novel-reading for relief is harmless and even
beneficial.
Even
then it is well not to read carelessly, but to try to form a clear
conception
of each character, to make the people live and move before one. When
the
author wrote his story he made such a series of thought-forms. Many other
readers
since have come into touch with them and strengthened them, (though some
prefer
to construct a fresh set of their own), and it is frequently possible to
see
with the mind the author' s original set, and so to follow his story exactly
as
he meant it.
Of
some well-known stories there are many renderings in the mental and astral
worlds.
Of the biblical stories, for example, each nation has usually its
special
presentation, and generally with the characters all dressed in its
particular
national garb. Children have vivid and capable imaginations, so books
much
read by them are sure to be well represented in the world of thought-forms;
we
find many excellent and life-like portraits of such people as Sherlock
Holmes,
Captain Kettle, John Silver, or Dr. Nikola.
On
the whole, however, the thought-forms evoked from the novels of to-day are by
no
means so clear as those which our forefathers made of Robinson Crusoe or of
the
characters in Shakespeare' s plays. That comes largely from the fact that we
rarely
give more than half our attention to anything, even to a good story, and
that
in turn is the consequence of the curious literary conditions of our modern
life.
In the older days, if a man read at all, he read earnestly and fixed his
mind
upon what he was doing. If he took up any subject, he read serious books
upon
that subject. In these days a large number of people dependent for almost
all
the information they possess upon newspapers and magazines. The magazine or
newspaper
article conveys in a handy form for easy assimilation a certain amount
of
superficial information upon its subject, whatever that may be; it gives
enough
to enable a man to talk lightly about the matter at a dinner-table, but
not
enough to tax his intellect or to give him a sense of mental effort. It is
an
age of information by snippets, and the ultimate expression of its spirit is
shown
by the enormous circulation of such papers as Tit-Bits and Answers. The
mind
which gains its information in this way has no real grasp of any subject--
no
solid foundation; and because it has accustomed itself to feeding upon
highly-spiced
fragments it finds itself incapable of digesting a more satisfying
meal.
An
unpleasant feature of the newspaper press of the present day is the great
prominence
given to murders and divorce cases, and the wealth of sickening
detail
about them which is put before the public, day after day. This is bad
enough
from any point of view, but when, we add to ordinary considerations those
which
are shown to us by the study of the hidden side of all these things, we
are
fairly appalled. The result of this prurient publicity is that all over the
country
great masses of vivid and most objectionable thought-forms are
constantly
being generated; people picture the horrible details of the murder,
or
gloat libidinously over suggestive facts or remarks connected with the
divorce
case, and the resulting thought-forms in the first case are of a
terrifying
character to any nervous person who can be influenced by them, and in
the
second case constitute a distinct temptation towards evil thought and action
for
those who have in them germs of sensuality. This is no mere supposition as
to
what must occur-- it is a definite chronicle of what constantly does occur.
No
clairvoyant can avoid noticing the great increase in unpleasant thought-forms
during
the progress of any of these sensational cases.
On
the other hand, it is only fair to remember that the curious fragmentary
literature
of to-day reaches a multitude of people who in the old days did not
read
at all. A man who is at heart and by disposition a reality serious student
still
studies just as of old. A certain number of people who in the older days
might
have studied seriously, are now diverted from doing so by the facility
with
which they can obtain superficial information in small doses; but a much
greater
number of people who would never under any circumstances have taken up
serious
study are now beguiled into acquiring at least a certain amount of
information
by the ease with which it can be done. Many a man buys a magazine on
a
railway-journey, for the purpose of reading the stories in it; finishing them
before
the journey is over, he fills up his time by imbibing the other contents
of
his periodical, and in that way learns many things which he did not know
before,
and may even have his attention attracted to some subject which appeals
to
him-- in which presently he will learn to take serious interest.
So
these curious basketfuls of miscellaneous information may be said to do good
as
well as harm, for though the taste for desultory reading and bad jokes may
not
in itself be a great gain to the errand-boy or the shop assistant, it is
nevertheless
for him the beginning of literature, and it occupies a certain
amount
of his time which might easily be worse spent in public-houses or in
doubtful
company. In days before the school-board, the place of the cheap
magazine
was largely taken by the spoken story, and it is to be feared that many
of
the stories told by young men when they were alone together were often of a
nature
that would certainly not be admitted into our weekly papers. So we must
not
altogether despise these things, though the serious student does well to
avoid
them, just because they fill the mental body with a mass of little
unconnected
thought-forms like pebbles, instead of building up in it an orderly
edifice.
SPEECH
It
is emphatically necessary to remember that speech must be absolutely true.
Accuracy
in speech is a quality rarely shown in these days, and careless
exaggeration
is painfully common. Many people are habitually so loose in their
statements
that they lose all sense of the meaning of words; they constantly say
`
awfully' when they mean ` very,' or describe something as ` killing' when they
are
trying to convey the idea that it is mildly amusing. The occultist must not
be
led away by custom in this matter, but must be meticulously exact in all that
he
says. There are people who consider it allowable to tell a falsehood by way
of
what they call a joke, in order to deceive another and then to laugh at his
credulity--
a credulity which is surely in no way blameworthy, since the victim
has
simply given the narrator credit for being enough of a gentleman to speak
the
truth! I need hardly say that such falsehood is absolutely unpermissible.
There
can never under any circumstances be anything amusing in telling a lie or
deceiving
anyone, and the word or the action is just as definitely a wicked
thing
when spoken or done for that purpose as for any other.
The
wise man will never argue. Each man has a certain amount of force, and is
responsible
for using it to the best possible advantage. One of the most foolish
ways
in which to fritter it away is to waste it in argument. People sometimes
come
to me and want to argue about Theosophy. I invariably decline. I tell them
that
I have certain information that I can give, certain testimony that I can
offer
as to what I have myself seen and experienced. If this testimony is of
value
to them, they are more than welcome to it, and I am glad to give it to
them,
as indeed I have done over and over again in this and in other books; but
I
have not time to argue the matter with people who do not believe me. They have
the
full right to their own opinion, and are at perfect liberty to believe or
disbelieve
as they choose. I have no quarrel with those who cannot accept my
testimony;
but I have also no time to waste over them, for that time may be far
better
occupied with those who are prepared to accept such message as I have to
give.
Whistler
is credited with having once remarked in the course of a conversation
on
art: “I am not arguing with you; I am telling you the facts.” It seems to me
that
that is the wisest position for the Theosophical student. We have studied
certain
things; so far as we have gone we know them to be true, and we are
willing
to explain them; if people are not yet prepared to accept them, that is
exclusively
their affair, and we wish them good speed in whatever line of
investigation
they wish to take. Argument leads constantly to heated feelings
and
to a sense of hostility-- both things by all means to be avoided. When it is
necessary
to discuss any subject in all its bearings, in order to decide upon a
course
of action, let it be done always gently and temperately, and let each man
state
his own case kindly and deliberately, and listen with all politeness and
deference
to the opinions of others.
MEDITATION
Just
as a man who wishes to be strong finds it advisable to use definite,
prescribed
exercises to develop his physical body, so the student of occultism
uses
definite and prescribed exercises to develop his astral and mental
vehicles.
This is best done by meditation. Of this there are many kinds, and
each
teacher enjoins that which he thinks most suitable. All the religions
recommend
it, and its desirability has been recognised by every school of
philosophy.
This is not the place to suggest any particular system; those who
belong
to the Theosophical Society know that within it there is a school for
such
practices, and those who wish for further information are referred to it.
All
systems alike set before themselves certain objects, which are not difficult
to
comprehend. They all direct that a man should spend a certain time each day
in
thinking steadily and exclusively of holy things, and their objects in doing
so
are: first, to ensure that at least once each day a man shall think of such
things,
that his thoughts shall at least once in twenty-four hours be taken away
from
the petty round of daily life, from its frivolities and its troubles;
secondly,
to accustom the man to think of such matters, so that after a time
they
may be present always at the back of his mind, as a kind of background to
his
daily life-- something to which his mind returns with pleasure when it is
released
from the immediate demands of his business; thirdly, as I began by
saying,
as a kind of astral and mental gymnastics, to preserve these higher
bodies
in health, and to keep the stream of divine life flowing through them
(and
for these purposes it should be remembered that the regularity of the
exercises
is of the first importance); fourthly, because this is the way, even
though
it be only the first halting step upon the way, which leads to higher
development
and wider knowledge, the gate of the road which through many a
struggle
and many an effort leads to the attainment of clairvoyance, and
eventually
into the higher life beyond this world altogether.
Although
the man in his daily meditation may see but little progress, and it may
seem
to him that his efforts are altogether unsatisfactory and without result, a
clairvoyant
watching him will see exactly how the astral and mental bodies are
slowly
coming out of chaos into order, slowly expanding and gradually learning
to
respond to higher and higher vibrations. He can see, though the experimenter
cannot,
how each effort is gradually thinning the veil that divides him from
that
other world of direct knowledge. He can see how the man' s thought-forms
grow
day by day more definite, so that the life poured into them from above
becomes
fuller and fuller, and reacts more and more strongly upon their
originator,
even though that originator may be entirely unconscious of it; and
so,
speaking from his knowledge of the hidden side of things, the clairvoyant
advises
all aspirants to meditate, to meditate regularly, and to continue their
meditation
with the certain conviction that (quite irrespective of their own
feelings)
they are producing results, and steadily drawing nearer and nearer to
their
goal.
Old
Dr. Watts is alleged to have perpetrated a hymn which said that “Satan finds
some
mischief still for idle hands to do”. He probably referred exclusively to
the
physical world; but the wise man knows that that is true at any rate with
regard
to the mind. The time when an evil thought springs up in the mind is the
time
when it is lying fallow and unoccupied. Therefore the surest way to avoid
temptation
is to keep steadily at work, and since even the most indefatigable of
mortals
cannot work always, it is well that for those dangerous moments of
leisure
he should have a safeguard in the shape of a definite subject upon which
his
mind always instinctively falls back when not otherwise occupied. Most men
have
some such background, but often its nature is trivial or even undesirable.
There
are men who have impure thoughts at the back of their minds all the time,
and
others have jealousy or hatred. Many mothers are thinking all the time of
their
children, and the man in love usually has a portrait of his charmer always
on
view, often indeed occupying the foreground as well as the background of his
mind.
When
a man has attained to the dignity of having the right sort of background to
his
life, he is in a position of far greater security. For some natures religion
provides
such a background; but these natures are rare. For most men only the
study
of the great truths of nature can provide it-- only that knowledge of the
scheme
of things which in these modern days we call Theosophy. When that great
plan
is once grasped, the mind and the higher emotions are both engaged on it,
and
the man' s whole nature is so filled with it that no other thought, no other
attitude
is possible to him but that of the intense desire to throw himself and
all
that he has into that mighty plan, and to become, as far as in him lies, a
fellow-worker
together with the Deity who conceived it.
So
this becomes the background of his mind-- the dominating thought from which
he
has to turn away in order to attend to the details of outer life-- to which
he
gladly and instantly returns when his duty to those details is done. When he
can
attain to this condition he is in a position of far greater safety from evil
thought,
and he need have no fear that this constant preoccupation with higher
things
will in any way mar his efficiency down here. He will do his daily work
better,
not worse, because he is constantly going behind it to something far
greater
and more permanent; for it is precisely the men with this higher
stimulus
for a background who have been the most efficient workers of the world.
As
Keble puts it
There
are, in this loud stunning tide
Of
human care and crime,
With
whom the melodies abide
Of
the everlasting chime.
And
then he speaks of them as
Plying
their daily task with busier feet
Because
their secret souls a holy strain repeat.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XV
BY
PHYSICAL ENVIRONMENT
HOUSES
IT
is the fashion, and not unreasonably, to attach great importance to the
influence
of environment. When that expression is used people generally mean an
environment
into which they are born, or one which is imposed upon them from
without
and is in no way dependent upon their own will. There is, however,
another
environment which is often forgotten: that which we create for
ourselves--
the great influence produced upon us in daily life by the place in
which
we choose to live and the objects with which we voluntarily surround
ourselves.
One may often judge from the outside of a house something of the
disposition
of those who inhabit it, and a man' s room is to a certain extent an
expression
of him, for it shows his taste in books, pictures, statues,
furniture,
wall-paper and flowers; and every one of all these things is
constantly
reacting upon him, even though he never thinks of it.
One
who is a student of occultism will be guided in choosing a house for himself
by
a number of considerations which would not be likely to occur to the ordinary
man,
who probably bases his decision principally on such facts as the size and
the
rent of the house, whether its drains are in order, and how far it is from
the
tramway or railway station. Such points as these naturally define the area
of
his choice; the study of the hidden side of things, while not interfering
with
these, suggests some additional considerations. From our point of view it
is
material to have as much room as possible about the house-- to have it as far
removed
as possible from its neighbours. Once more, this means no reflection
upon
the neighbours. They may be all that can possibly be desired, yet it is
always
better to avoid the mixture of varying vibrations. One may earnestly wish
sometimes
for the society of one' s neighbour, and when that happens it is
always
possible to visit him or to invite him to call. But to be always in such
close
proximity to him as to feel every change in his aura-- that is a condition
of
affairs which ought never to exist, although unfortunately it too often does.
In
all those long lines of houses which are so common in our great towns, it is
impossible,
from the occult point of view, to escape from one' s neighbour.
Whenever
he walks up to the dividing wall, his aura must project through it, and
it
will be seen that, with a neighbour in close contact on each side, we are
practically
in the room with two families, whose tastes and interests may be
absolutely
different from our own, who may have all sorts of thoughts and
aspirations
which clash entirely with those to which we wish to devote
ourselves.
Even a semi-detached house is better than these, for at least in that
we
share our quarters with only one family, but the truth is that there ought to
be
no houses but detached houses, however valuable the ground may be. Certainly
no
one who understands the power of the unseen influences would take a house
which
is one of a row, if he could by any possibility avoid it. The same
difficulty
occurs with our modern flats and apartment houses. They may have many
advantages
and their fittings may be all that can be desired, but they are
always
open to this most serious objection. If, however, a man' s circumstances
are
such that he must thus live in common with others, he will at least do all
that
lies in his power to secure that these others shall be reasonably
harmonious.
Another
weighty matter from the occult point of view is the aspect of the house.
Considerations
of physical health prescribe that a sunny rather than a dark
house
should be chosen, and these are emphatically reinforced when we think of
the
higher worlds. I have already said something as to the imperious necessity
of
sunshine and of all that it brings with it. Not only physical disease, but
irritability
and depression fly before the direct rays of the sun; so plenty of
sunlight
and fresh air are the first and most prominent desiderata.
The
influences of the immediate neighbourhood must also be taken into account.
Under
no circumstances whatever ought a man to take a house which is near to a
public-house,
a slaughter-house, a prison, or a butcher's shop. It is also
eminently
undesirable to be in close proximity to the office of a pawnbroker or
a
moneylender, or to any place where violent and acrimonious debates and
arguments
are frequently held-- in the latter case because of the wearing effect
of
constant jarring and angry vibrations, and in the case of the usurer because
radiations
of sorrow and despair are always connected with his business, and
often
there is bitter hatred as well. A club, too, should be avoided, if it
permits
gambling.
The
type of the previous tenants may make a great difference in the comfort of a
house.
If they have been spendthrifts, if they have been quarrelsome, or if they
have
suffered deeply from long-continued depression, the place may be so
impregnated
with thought-forms of those varied types as to be a dwelling quite
unsuitable
for any sensitive family. This difficulty, however, can be overcome
by
an elaborate demagnetisation, if the student knows how to do it.
Not
only the aspect of the house, as regards the points of the compass, but its
aspect
in the other sense of the word is also worth noticing. No one should take
a
house which is ugly, gloomy-looking, or depressing in appearance-- not only
because
of its effect upon himself when he looks at it, but because it is
constantly
surrounded by a cloud of thought-forms made by neighbours or passing
strangers
who are disgusted with its appearance. Even though the house outside
be
pretty, if there is squalid ugliness in the immediate neighbourhood, it is
unsuitable.
Above all things to be avoided are those long and monotonous lines
of
mean and sordid-looking houses which one may see in some London suburbs. A
garden
of some sort is a most valuable asset. In fact, a little cottage in the
midst
of a large garden is better than the most magnificent house which stands
close
upon the road in the midst of a row of others.
STREETS
If
the house be in a street, the nature of that street is a matter of great
importance.
If the road be paved with granite blocks or in any other way
conducive
to noise, it should be avoided at all costs; whereas a quieter form of
paving,
such as asphalt or wood, would count much in its favour. A street
infested
by yelling fiends in the shape of hawkers is also unfit for the
habitation
of anyone possessing the usual allowance of nerves-- so long as our
government
neglects to protect us against so flagrant a nuisance. It goes
without
saying that one should avoid a street in which there is constant heavy
traffic
or one in the immediate neighbourhood of a railway or tram line-- near
enough,
I mean, to suffer from the noise; for noise, as I have already
explained,
is one of the greatest defects of our defective civilisation.
Although
after a time a man gets used to the noise, and hardly notices it,
nevertheless
every fresh outburst is a blow to his astral and mental bodies, and
the
effect of this is precisely that of constantly repeated blows upon the
physical
body-- each one may be no great matter, but after a time the cumulative
effect
hurts exceedingly. In the physical body this would mean pain, and we
should
at once understand it and refer it to its source; in the case of the
astral
body it means irritability; and in the case of the mental body a feeling
of
fatigue and inability to think clearly. But when these supervene we do not so
readily
understand them, nor do we always assign them to their true cause.
Consequently
the neighbourhood of any building which is either noisy or noisome
with
smoke or chemicals (as a factory might be) is to be sedulously avoided.
Many
of my readers may be so situated that it is impossible for them to take all
these
recommendations into consideration, and I offer them only as a guide to
what
is desirable when it can be had. If a man who is entirely unfettered is
about
to choose a house or a site for a house, I should advise him to be
governed
in his selection by what I have said above; but I know well that most
people
are practically limited as to the range of their choice by the question
of
rent, convenient access to their work, and a number of other personal
reasons.
In such cases a man must simply balance the advantages and
disadvantages,
and do the best that he can, taking it as the result of his own
actions
in the past that he cannot do better.
PICTURES
A
matter in which a man has usually much greater liberty is the decoration of
his
room, and it is one of considerable importance to him. For example, the
pictures
which we hang on the walls of our homes are exercising all the while an
unnoticed
influence upon us, not only because they keep the expression of
certain
ideas constantly before our eyes, but also because the artist puts a
great
deal of himself, of his inmost thought and feeling, into his work, and the
effect
of all that thought and feeling inheres in the picture and radiates from
it
just as surely as scent inheres in and radiates from a rose. There is a
hidden
side to every picture-- the conception which was in the artist' s mind
and
heart. That conception, when he formed it, expressed itself clearly in
astral
and mental matter, even though he may have succeeded but partially in
bringing
his idea down to the physical world.
Every
true artist will acknowledge that, however excellent his work may be, it
invariably
falls short of what he intended and expected. Yet the conception, as
he
thought it out, exists really and vividly in the mental world, and the
feelings
and emotions which he endeavoured to express exist in the astral realm,
and
these, which we may call the unseen counterparts of the picture, are always
radiating
vibrations of their own character, whatever that may be, and are
therefore
producing a never-ceasing effect upon those who live within their
influence.
Manifestly,
therefore, it behoves us to be careful as to the nature of the
objects
of art which we gather around us. We must avoid all pictures whose
subjects
are mean, sordid or terrible, however accurately or powerfully those
subjects
may be delineated. It is well also to avoid even those which, though
harmless
in themselves, are likely to suggest impure thought to undeveloped
minds,
because such thought-forms will hang about the picture and act as a
constant
and baneful influence. The modern craze for inane representations of
the
female face and figure is from this point of view distinctly to be
deprecated.
So also is that form of artistic realism which sees only the darkest
side
of life, and recognises nothing as natural unless it be decadent and
depraved.
Pictures
of sordid scenes of low life, of peasants drinking in an ale-house, of
battle
scenes or of huntsmen gathered together to slaughter an unfortunate fox:
all
these will be avoided by the wise man. He will be careful to surround
himself
only with such pictures as are ennobling, soothing, helpful, those which
shed
upon him and his an influence tending ever to happiness and peace.
Beautiful
landscapes and sea-views are usually best of all; pictures also of
grand
old cathedrals-- magnificent buildings with peaceful associations;
sometimes
a portrait or imaginary figure, if the face be really a fine one, but
never
under any circumstances one which suggests sorrow, anger or pain.
In
religious pictures, for example, the crucifixion, and the garden of
Gethsemane
must never appear, but the risen and radiant Christ or a reasonably
attractive
presentment of the Virgin and Child are admissible. In the same way
with
statues; only those should find a place which are of exquisite beauty, in
connection
with which there could never be the least thought of impurity. A man
should
think not only of himself, but of servants and possible visitors. No
decent
person could have thoughts other than the purest in connection with any
picture
or statue whatever; but if such a thing hangs or stands where others may
see
it, it is useless to ignore the fact that low-class minds will form
low-class
images, and so an object which to us is noble and beautiful may come
to
radiate abominable influences.
Care
must be exercised with regard to photographs. Private friends are of course
admissible,
or a public man whom one admires; but on no account should the
figures
of actresses be introduced, as they always attract the most undesirable
thought-forms
from hosts of impure-minded people. A praiseworthy custom is to
have
in a prominent position the best available portrait of the ruler of the
country,
and to surround it constantly with waves of affectionate and loyal
thought,
for in this way it will radiate an influence of loyalty and devotion
upon
all who enter the room.
CURIOSITIES
Many
people like to surround themselves with all sorts of curious little
objects--
figures, pieces of pottery, carvings in ivory and ebony and so on.
Most
of these things are harmless enough, though it means a great deal of
trouble
to keep them scrupulously clean, and unless they are so kept, they
become
a nuisance of an aggravated type. But with regard to some of these little
mementos
a certain amount of caution is desirable. Many of such things are old,
and
some of them have a history attached to them-- sometimes a terrible history.
It
is widely known, for example, that a lady in London had in her house for some
time
an Egyptian mummy-case, the influences connected with which were of so
serious
a character that she was speedily forced to get rid of it altogether,
because
of a series of disasters which overtook all who came into contact with
it.
That is an extreme case, but other kinds of curiosities also have
undesirable
or mischievous auras.
Many
such objects tell their own story, though the owner is often unaware of it.
A
sensitive person sometimes finds landscapes which are entirely unknown to him
or
scenes from some foreign land starting up unbidden in his mind. These may
come
from various sources. They may be mere pictures formed by the imagination,
his
own or that of some other person in the neighbourhood, either dead or
living;
they may be examples of casual clairvoyance at a distance; but they may
be,
and often are, instances of unintentional psychometry, and can be traced to
some
object in the room.
For
every body, of whatever nature it may be, carries within it the power of
showing,
to those who can see, pictures of its past history, and sometimes these
come
to the surface unexpectedly. Some are good and some are bad; some are
harmless
and others are actively unpleasant. When a man acquires some ancient
object
of unknown history, he has usually no means of telling immediately
whether
it will prove helpful, harmful or negative, but if he watches carefully
he
will soon see. Certain types of curiosities are obviously undesirable from
the
outset-- such things, for example, as spears, swords, daggers, or anything
which
may have been connected with bloodshed.
BOOKS
To
a discerning eye a man shows his nature in his choice of books-- a choice
which
is of great importance to him. A man reads a book; he lays it aside and
perhaps
forgets it; but nevertheless it lies there on his table or his
book-shelf
and it continues to pour upon him a steady influence, whether for
good
or for evil. Many books, it is true, have no pronounced influence, and may
therefore
be considered as neutral. But if a book has done us good, its
influence
will usually continue to be for good, unless indeed it happens that we
outgrow
it altogether, and in that case its influence might possibly be a kind
of
retardation.
The
main thing is to avoid definitely evil books-- horrible, neurotic studies of
characters
which are better left unstudied, tales of unnatural and most
unpleasant
women who are always hovering as near as they dare to the edge of
impropriety
of some sort, stories of doubtful morality, of shady transactions,
or
of blank inanity. All these are things for which a sensible man will spare no
room
on his book-shelves, because they are not worth reading in the first place,
and
they certainly radiate an impure and unwholesome influence in the second.
The
great criterion in the formation of a library is that only sane and healthy
books
should be admitted, for books are specially strong centres of
thought-forms,
and their unnoticed influence in a man' s life is often a
powerful
one. They should be not too many, but emphatically good of their kind.
FURNISHING
There
is hidden side to even so homely a question as that of furniture and
colour
decoration, since every colour has its own special rate of vibration, and
some
of these rates are helpful to man, while others are distinctly a hindrance.
Broadly
speaking, light and delicate tints are good, while heavy, coarse and
dark
colours are usually to be avoided. Some consideration should also be given
to
the purpose for which the room is intended; for example, certain shades of
red
might be not out of place in a dining-room, but would be far from desirable
in
a room consecrated to sleep or to meditation.
JEWELLERY
Another
adjunct of ordinary life, in which the hidden side is of great
importance,
is jewellery. On the whole, the wearing of jewellery is to be
discouraged,
because, though every stone has its own special property and
influence,
the most prominent effect of nearly all of them is to excite bitter
envy
and covetousness in the hearts of others. Quite a number of women seem to
be
unable to contemplate a jewel without becoming filled with an inordinate
greed
to possess it, so that there is scarcely a stone of any beauty or value
which
is not the centre for many converging streams of jealous longing.
In
the case of the great historical jewels we have the additional complication
that
all kinds of ghastly crimes have been committed in connection with them,
and
they are therefore usually objects of horror rather than of beauty to any
sensitive
person. The jewel represents the highest development of the mineral
kingdom,
and consequently its power of receiving and retaining impressions is
much
greater than is the case with almost any other object. The Gnostic gems
employed
in initiation ceremonies two thousand years ago still remain vigorous
centres
of magnetic influence, as may be seen and felt by any sensitive person
who
will take the trouble to examine some of those in the British Museum.
At
the spot where any great crime has been committed, or where vivid emotions of
fear,
anger, hatred or revenge have been in action, an astral impression is made
which
is immediately obvious in its full horror to the clairvoyant, and is
frequently
sensed to some extent even by persons in whom the higher senses are
entirely
undeveloped. This is true to a still greater extent of a jewel which
has
been the cause of many crimes, has been present at them and has absorbed the
effect
of all the passions which prompted them. Such a jewel retains these
impressions
with unimpaired clearness for thousands of years, and continues to
radiate
out from itself the vibrations appropriate to them; and the psychometer
sees
around it all these pictures of indescribable horror. The wearer of the
jewel
frequently does not see them, but nevertheless their pernicious effect is
constantly
exercised upon her.
It
is not only in connection with great historical gems that this unpleasantness
exists,
for I have come across several instances in which ordinary stones have
been
the occasion of a terrible crime among the miners who discovered them. I
know
of one such, in which the finder was murdered by another man, but lived
long
enough to attach a fearful curse to the gem for the sake of which he had
lost
his life. This curse was acting so definitely upon various wearers of the
jewel
fifty years later, that it seemed the safest and best course to throw the
stone
into the sea-- which was accordingly done.
TALISMANS
In
a general way, therefore, the occultist avoids all jewellery, and he
certainly
never wears it for the sake of show. At the same time the fact that a
precious
stone will retain magnetism so perfectly for so long a time, and will
store
so much power in such a small compass, makes it a convenient object when a
talisman
is required for any purpose. For a talisman is not, as is often
supposed,
a mere relic of mediaeval superstition; it may be a definite and very
effective
agent in daily life. It is some small object, strongly charged with
magnetism
for a particular purpose by someone who knows how to do it, and when
properly
made it continues to radiate this magnetism with unimpaired strength
for
many years. The purposes to which such things can be applied are almost
infinite
in number.
For
example, many a student at the beginning of his career is much troubled by
impure
thoughts. Naturally he sets himself to struggle against them, and
maintains
a constant watch against their advance; but nevertheless thought-forms
of
an objectionable nature are numerous and insidious, and sometimes one of them
contrives
to obtain a lodgment in his mind and causes him much trouble before be
can
finally shake it off. He may perhaps have been in the habit of yielding
himself
to such thoughts in the past without realising the evil of it, and if
that
is so, his thought has acquired a momentum in that direction which is not
easy
to overcome. A talisman, strongly charged with the powerful magnetism of
thoughts
of purity, may be an invaluable help to him in his efforts.
The
rationale of its action is not difficult to understand. An impure thought
expresses
itself as a certain definite set of undulations in the astral and
lower
mental bodies, and it can find entrance into a man' s vehicles only when
they
are either comparatively at rest or vibrating so feebly that its impact can
readily
overpower the existing rate of motion, and take its place. The talisman
is
heavily charged with an exactly contrary rate of oscillation, and the two
cannot
co-exist. One of them must overpower the other and bring it into harmony
with
itself. The impure thought has probably been made by some casual person,
not
usually with any definite intent; it is generally simply a suggestion or
reminiscence
of lower passions. It is not therefore a thing of great power in
itself;
but it is likely to produce an effect quite out of proportion to its
intrinsic
strength, because of the readiness with which the average person
accepts
it and responds to it.
The
talisman, on the other hand, has been intentionally charged for a definite
purpose
by some one who knows how to think; and this is a matter in which
definite
training makes so much difference that the lightest thought of a man
who
has learnt how to think is far more powerful than a whole day' s desultory
musings
on the part of an ordinary man. So, when the two streams of thought come
into
contact, there is not the slightest doubt as to which will vanquish the
other.
If we can suppose that the wearer of the amulet forgot his good
resolutions,
and actually wished for a time for the impure thought, no doubt he
could
attract it in spite of the talisman, but he would be conscious all the
time
of great discomfort arising from the discord between the two sets of
vibrations.
In
most cases the man who is really trying to do better falls only because he is
taken
off his guard. The impure thought creeps in insidiously and has seized
upon
him before he is aware of it, and then he quickly reaches the condition in
which
for the moment he does not even wish to resist. The value of the talisman
is
that it gives him time to recollect himself. The disharmony between its
undulations
and those of the wandering thought, cannot but attract the man' s
attention,
and thus while he wears it he cannot be taken unawares, so that if he
falls
he falls deliberately.
Again,
some people suffer much from apparently causeless fear. Often they are
quite
unable to give any reason for their feelings; but at certain times, and
especially
when alone at night, they are liable to be attacked by extreme
nervousness,
which may gradually increase to positive terror. There may be
various
explanations for this. Perhaps the commonest is the presence of some
hostile
astral entity who is persecuting the victim-- sometimes in the hope of
obtaining
through him some sensations which he desires, sometimes in the
endeavour
to obtain control over him and obsess him, sometimes for sheer
mischief
and impish love of demonstrating his power over a human being. Here
again
is a case in which the mediaeval remedy has a distinct practical value.
Naturally,
the talisman against impurity would not avail in this case, for quite
a
different sort of motion is required. What is wanted in this case is a centre
strongly
charged with vibrations expressive of courage and self-reliance-- or,
if
the wearer is of the devotional type, with thoughts of the protective power
of
his special deity.
For
an amulet has a double action. Not only does it operate directly by means of
the
waves which it radiates, as we have just described in the case of impurity,
but
also the knowledge of its presence usually awakens the faith and courage of
the
wearer. In the case of a talisman against fear, such as we are now
considering,
the two lines of action will be clearly marked. Courage expresses
itself
in the mental and astral bodies by the strength and steadiness of their
striations,
and by the calm, steadfast shining of the colours indicating the
various
higher qualities. When fear overpowers a person all these colours are
dimmed
and overwhelmed by a livid grey mist, and the striations are lost in a
quivering
mass of palpitating jelly; the man has for the time quite lost the
power
of guiding and controlling his vehicles.
The
vibrations of strength and courage steadily radiating from the talisman are
quite
unaffected by the feelings of the wearer, and when the first tremblings of
fear
begin to manifest themselves they find a difficulty in their way. If
unopposed,
they would steadily increase, each augmenting and strengthening the
other
until their power became irresistible. What the talisman does is to
prevent
them from reaching this condition of irresistible velocity. It deals
with
them at the commencement, while they are still weak. The resistance which
it
opposes to them is precisely the same in kind as that which a gyroscope
opposes
to any effort to turn it aside from its line. It is so determinedly set
in
motion in one direction that it will sooner fly to pieces than allow itself
to
be turned into any other. Suddenly to bring such a power as this into
conflict
with unreasoning panic would probably result in the complete shattering
of
the astral body concerned; but if the gyroscopic force of the talisman is
already
working before the alarm is felt, its determined persistence along its
own
lines checks the first beginnings of fear, and so makes it impossible for
the
person ever to reach the later stages of panic terror.
That
is its direct operation; but it works also indirectly upon the mind of the
wearer.
When he feels the first beginnings of fear stirring within him he
probably
recollects the amulet and clutches at it, and then there arises within
him
the feeling: “Why should I fear so long as I have with me this strong centre
of
magnetism?” And so, instead of yielding to the vibrations and allowing them
to
lengthen themselves until they become unmanageable, he calls up the reserve
strength
of his own will and asserts himself as master of his vehicles, which is
in
truth all that is necessary.
There
is a third possibility in connection with a talisman, which is in some
cases
even more powerful than the other two. The object, whatever it may be, has
been
strongly magnetised by some individual, by the hypothesis a person of power
and
development, and therefore also probably highly sensitive. That being so,
the
talisman is a link with its creator, and through it his attention may be
attracted.
Under ordinary conditions its connection with its originator is of
the
slightest, but when the wearer is in desperate circumstances he sometimes
actually
calls upon the maker, much in the way in which the mediaeval devotee
when
in difficulties invoked the assistance of his patron saint; and that call
will
unquestionably reach the maker of the amulet and evoke a response from him.
If
he is still living in the physical world, he may or may not be conscious of
the
appeal in his physical brain; but in any case his ego will be conscious, and
will
respond by reinforcing the vibration of the talisman by a strong wave of
his
own more powerful thought, bearing with it strength and comfort.
Many
ignorant men would scoff at such an idea as relic of mediaeval
superstition,
yet it is an actual scientific fact which has been demonstrated on
hundreds
of occasions. So far as its direct action goes, a talisman will work
only
in the direction in which it is made to work; but its indirect action on
the
faith of the possessor may sometimes take unexpected forms. I remember once
making
a charm for a certain noble lady, in order to protect her against spasms
of
extreme nervousness and even positive fear which occasionally swept over her
when
alone at night. She told me afterwards that this amulet had been of the
greatest
assistance to her in an emergency which I certainly did not contemplate
when
I made it.
It
appears that on a certain occasion she was driving an exceptionally spirited
horse
(I believe that her husband made it a sort of boast that he never used
horses
which anybody else could drive) in a dog-cart, through a forest. The
horse
took fright at something or other, got the bit between its teeth and
dashed
madly off the road, and started at a wild gallop among the tree trunks.
The
groom on the back seat was so certain that they were all destined to
immediate
death that he threw himself off as best he could, and was sorely
injured
by the fall; but the lady declares that her thought at once flew to the
charm
which she was then wearing, and she says that she knew absolutely that she
could
not be killed while, as she expresses it, under its protection. This utter
certainty
kept her perfectly cool and collected, and she steered that dog-cart
through
the forest with consummate skill. She declares that on the whole she was
certainly
in the air more often than on the ground as the wheels bounded over
roots
and crashed through the bushes. But nevertheless she held on bravely until
the
horse became tired, and she was able to regain control of it. She thanked me
enthusiastically
for saving her life by means of the charm; but the truth is
that
it was not the direct action of the talisman, but the strength of her faith
in
it, which enabled her to gain so splendid a victory. That was undoubtedly the
main
factor; there may have been a certain amount of direct action also, because
the
stilling effect of the strong vibration of the talisman would catch any
dawning
feeling of fear and calm it, though I had prepared it to deal rather
with
first symptoms gradually arising than with so sudden an emergency as that.
There
are various articles which are to a large extent natural amulets. All
precious
stones may be said to belong to this category, for each has a distinct
influence
which can be utilised in two ways. First, the influence necessarily
attracts
to it elemental essence of a certain kind, and also all such thoughts
and
desires as naturally express themselves through that essence; and secondly,
the
fact that it has these natural peculiarities makes it a fit vehicle for
magnetism
which is intended to work along the same line as those thoughts or
emotions.
Suppose, for example, it is desired to drive away impure thought.
Impure
thought means usually a complex set of vibrations, but set on the whole
in
a certain definite key. In order to resist them a stone should be chosen
whose
natural undulations are inharmonious with that key, so that they may offer
to
the impure impulses the greatest possible obstacle. If it is intended to make
a
talisman against those impure thoughts, a stone which naturally offers
resistance
to them is the vehicle which can most easily be loaded with the
opposing
influence.
The
vibrations of the particles of the stone are on the physical level, while
those
of the emotions are on the astral level, several octaves higher; but a
stone,
the particles of which move naturally on the physical plane in a key
which
is identical at this level with the key of purity on higher levels, will
itself,
even without magnetisation, operate as a check upon impure thought or
feeling
by virtue of its overtones; and furthermore, it can be readily charged
at
astral or mental levels with the undulations of pure thought or feeling which
are
set in the same key.
There
are instances of decided magnetism of this kind in the vegetable kingdom
also.
A good example of this is the rudraksha berry, of which necklaces are so
frequently
made in India. The oscillations connected with it, especially in its
small
and undeveloped state, render it specially suitable for magnetisation
where
sustained holy thought or meditation is required, and where all disturbing
influences
are to be kept away. The beads made from the tulsi plant are another
example,
although the influence which they give is of a somewhat different
character.
An
interesting set of natural talismans are those objects which produce strong
scents.
It has already been mentioned that incense produces a strong effect
along
these lines, the gums of which it is composed being specially chosen
because
the radiations which they give forth are favourable to spiritual and
devotional
thought, and do not harmonise with any form of disturbance or worry.
It
is possible so to combine ingredients as to make an incense which will have
the
opposite effect; this was sometimes done by the mediaeval witches, and is
done
to-day in Luciferian ceremonies. On the whole, it is generally desirable to
avoid
coarse and heavy scents, such as that of musk or of sachet powder, as many
of
them are closely in tune with sensual feelings of various kinds.
An
object not intentionally charged for that purpose may sometimes have the
force
of a talisman. A present received from some loved one, if it be of a
nature
that can be worn or carried about by the recipient, constantly serves to
him
as a reminder of the donor, and often so far gives the sense of the donor' s
presence
as to prevent him from doing things that he would not do if that donor
were
looking on. I have heard of more than one case in which a man, wearing a
ring
or a chain given to him by his mother, was thereby saved from committing
some
questionable act, or indulging in some improper pleasure, because, just as
he
was about to yield to the temptation, his glance fell upon the object, and
that
brought to him so strongly the thought of his mother and of what she would
feel
if she could see him, that he at once abandoned his project. A letter
carried
about in the pocket has been known to serve the same purpose, for a man
feels:
“How can I do this thing with her very letter in my pocket-- how can I
take
that into surroundings where I should be ashamed that she should see me?” I
remember
one case in which such a struggle ended in the man tearing up the
letter
and throwing it away in order that he might be able to indulge himself;
but
usually the opposite result is produced.
THINGS
WE CARRY ABOUT
Thus
it will be seen that the objects which we carry about with us in our
pockets
may have decided influence upon us. A man' s watch, for example which he
has
always with him, becomes strongly charged with his magnetism, and if after
wearing
it for some years he gives it or lends it to another, that other person,
if
he be at all sensitive, will be constantly reminded of his friend, and
conscious
of a feeling as though he were present. I remember that a prominent
member
of the Theosophical Society, long since dead, used often to make presents
of
watches to those disciples in whom he was specially interested, charging them
strongly
before he gave them with whatever quality he thought that the recipient
most
needed. As his young friends naturally wore those watches, he succeeded in
several
cases in effecting in them considerable changes of character.
MONEY
One
unpleasant thing (from one point of view) which we all have to carry about
with
us is money. It will naturally occur to the humorist to say at this point
that
he could do with a good deal of that kind of unpleasantness. I quite
understand
that point of view, and I recognise that in our present civilisation
it
is desirable to possess a certain amount of filthy lucre, and even necessary
to
carry at least a little of it about with one, so as to be prepared for
unexpected
emergencies. Nevertheless, the fact remains that while money in the
abstract
is no doubt a good thing to have if one knows how to use it wisely,
money
in the concrete form of coins and notes is frequently charged with the
worst
possible magnetism. New notes and new coins are harmless enough, but after
they
have been in circulation for a little time they acquire not only all sorts
of
physical dirt but also many varieties of influences, nearly all of them
exceedingly
unpleasant.
The
reason for this is not difficult to understand, for the magnetism
surrounding
the coin is produced by the thoughts and feelings of those who have
handled
it or carried it. First and as a general principle, without taking any
special
feeling into consideration, any coin which has been handled and carried
by
a large number of people must inevitably be charged with a great mixture of
different
kinds of magnetism. It is, therefore, from the point of view of
vibrations,
a centre of discord around which all kinds of warring influence are
boiling
up in the wildest confusion. The influence of such a thing as this is
disturbing
and irritating, and it has, though to a much stronger degree, exactly
the
same effect upon the astral and mental bodies as has the continued
bombardment
of radium emanations upon the physical body.
Several
scientific people have discovered by painful experience that to carry a
fragment
of radium in one' s waistcoat pocket presently produces a peculiarly
obstinate
sore upon the skin underneath it; just like that, but larger in
proportion,
is the effect produced on the higher vehicles by the presence of a
much-used
coin. Copper and bronze coins are in this respect the worst of all--
except
perhaps old and dirty bank-notes. Gold and silver coins absorb the
influences
which surround them, but their qualities make them somewhat less
receptive
to the worst characteristics. From all this it emerges that it is
better
not perpetually to have in one' s pocket more money than is actually
necessary.
I have known students who partially met the difficulty by carrying
copper
or bronze coins only in a purse so strongly magnetised as to be
practically
impervious to the unpleasant vibrations. Many countries have
realised
the unsuitability of those metals for daily use, and are adopting
nickel
as a substitute; and nickel, while not so ` noble' a metal as gold or
silver,
is much less receptive to evil influence than copper. A noble metal, in
alchemical
parlance, is one which answers readily to the wave-lengths of the
higher
thought, but is resistant towards the lower kinds.
CLOTHING
We
come now to a subject upon which all the considerations dictated by the sight
of
the higher worlds, and the additional knowledge which occultism gives, are in
direct
contradiction in nearly every way to the fashions at present prevailing
in
the West. In a course of researches, extending over many years, it has
happened
to me to see clairvoyantly a large number of the civilisations of the
world,
in all parts of it and at widely diverging periods, and it has also come
within
my duty to examine the inhabitants of at least two other planets. The
various
races have differed widely in customs and costumes, but never in any of
them
at any time have I seen anything approaching in hideousness the dress which
is
at present the fashion in Europe for males.
It
is supremely ugly, ungainly and unhealthy, and the only point (so far as I
can
see) which can be urged in its favour is a certain measure of practical
convenience.
It is tight-fitting, whereas all clothing ought to be loose. It is
made
principally of materials which are from the inner point of view most
undesirable,
and the only colours (or lack of colours) which custom permits are
precisely
the worst that could possibly be chosen. Our outer garments are black,
or
brown, or grey (and one has only to study Man Visible and Invisible in order
to
see what those hues signify), or if a shade of blue is sometimes permitted,
it
is so dark that one can scarcely distinguish that it is blue at all.
There
are certain practical reasons for all these unpleasant features. Our
clothes
are tight-fitting because we wish to be ready at any moment to exhibit
activity
in running, jumping or riding. They are made of heavy woollen materials
in
order to keep out the cold; and they are made in these ugly dark colours in
order
to disguise the dirt which accumulates upon them after even a single day'
s
wear, owing to the facts that we are not yet sufficiently civilised to make
all
kinds of fires consume their own smoke, and that we have not yet learnt to
make
a road that shall be free from dust and mud. If anyone desires to know what
a
load of unspeakable filth he is carrying about with him, let him take any old
coat
or other outside garment which he has discarded, and wash it thoroughly in
a
tub of water, as underclothing is washed; the colour of the water will be a
revelation
to him.
From
the occult point of view nothing will justify a man for existing in such a
condition
of filth. Clothing which is not only washable but frequently washed is
absolutely
the only kind that is permissible from the standpoint of the thinker.
I
know quite well that, as things stand in Europe or America, it is practically
impossible
for the most earnest student to do in this respect what he knows he
ought
to do; for the slavery of custom is so absolute that a man cannot live
among
his fellows unless he follows it. It is strange that this should be so,
and
it is most discreditable to those nations; it absolutely disposes of their
claim
to be considered liberal or free-minded people; but so it is. Information
as
to what ought to be done in these matters is therefore unfortunately useless
to
our Western brothers, because they simply cannot do it; but fortunately there
are
other countries in the world which, though perhaps equally under the slavery
of
custom along other lines, happen to have a better custom in regard to this
particular
matter, and so information about it may be of use to their
inhabitants.
A
man dresses primarily for decency and for the sake of his own comfort; but he
ought
surely also to consider the aspect which he presents to his
fellow-creatures,
and even for that reason alone the superlative ugliness of our
present
costume is a positive sin.
I
am aware then that, for the Westerner at least, I am suggesting counsels of
perfection
which cannot be followed, when I say what occultism prescribes in the
matter
of dress. I am not speaking of the customs of any race or religion, or of
what
any man or set of men happens to approve. I am simply prescribing what is
dictated
by a scientific consideration of the higher side of life and the unseen
elements
which are all the time entering into it. The prescription then is as
follows:
All
dress should be loose and flowing, never under any circumstances exercising
pressure
upon any part of the body, and no part of it which touches the skin
should
ever be composed of wool or leather. How then are we to keep ourselves
warm?
Well, the Chinese, who at least in the North of their country suffer under
a
most appalling climate, contrive to solve the difficulty by using garments of
padded
silk or cotton, something like eiderdown quilts; and it is quite certain
that
it is within the resources of science to supply us with a number of
efficient
substitutes for wool, if there were only a demand for them.
Old-fashioned
doctors in England used to have a craze for recommending the
wearing
of wool next to the skin-- the very last thing that ever ought to be
allowed
to touch it; for, as has been well said by a doctor: “It is an animal
product
which can never be properly cleaned; it creates unnatural heat; it
becomes
felted and chokes the pores; it absorbs moisture very slowly and dries
very
slowly, therefore retaining the moisture of the body; it enervates and
enfeebles
the system, encourages chills and colds, and promotes rheumatism; it
often
causes (and always irritates) rashes and other skin diseases; it cannot be
boiled
without destroying the fabric, and it always shrinks.” From the occult
point
of view the condemnation of it is even more emphatic, and includes various
other
reasons.
Clothes
ought to be of brilliant colours, not only for the sake of giving
pleasure
to the eyes of our neighbours, but also because of the effect of the
colours
upon ourselves. The present system of dressing entirely in subfusc hues
is
undoubtedly productive of a vast amount of depression and stagnation of
thought,
and by it we entirely lose the different effects which may be produced
upon
the disposition by the wearing of different colours. When we have advanced
sufficiently
for a reasonable costume to become possible, it will be of interest
to
discuss the qualities of the colours, and which are most suitable for
particular
types of people; at present it would be of little use.
In
many oriental countries the customs in these matters are far more rational.
In
Burma, for example, when lecturing on a festival day at the Great Golden
Pagoda
in Rangoon, I have seen my audience stretch before me glowing like a
splendid
flower-bed with variegated colours. The delicately-coloured satins worn
by
the Chinese there on festive occasions produce in the glowing tropical
sunlight
an effect not easy to be surpassed, and one cannot but wonder how it is
that
we, who certainly belong to a later race than these people, and may not
unreasonably
claim to have advanced distinctly beyond them in many of the
departments
of civilisation, should yet have fallen so utterly and lamentably
behind
them in this particular of dress.
The
worst features of it are really quite recent. I myself can remember in my
childhood
seeing a few survivals of the ordinary costume of a century ago, when
brilliant
colours were still worn by gentlemen on other occasions than in the
hunting-field.
It has really taken us only about a century to reach the lowest
possible
level in these matters; how long will it take us to rise again to
beauty
and gracefulness and dignity?
The
subject of clothing leads us to bed-clothing; but there is not much to be
said
upon this, save that from the occult standpoint feather-beds or thick and
heavy
mattresses are always undesirable, and that if it be necessary that wool
should
form part of the covering, at any rate precautions should be taken that
it
does not touch the skin of the sleeper; for if at other times it is
inexpedient
to bring into close contact with ourselves that which is saturated
with
animal influences, and is indeed animal in its very essence, it is a
thousandfold
more serious to do this when the body is asleep and so specially
amenable
to such influences. A bed made of interlaced webbing, such as is
commonly
used at Adyar, is one of the best from the occult point of view.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XVI
BY
MENTAL CONDITIONS
THOUGHT-FORMS
MAN
clothes himself in other worlds than this, though in a somewhat different
way.
For in the astral world he draws round himself a veritable garment of the
feelings
which are habitual to him, and in the mental world a similar garment of
the
thoughts in which he commonly indulges. I should like to make it thoroughly
clear
that in saying this I am not speaking symbolically, but am describing an
objective
fact-- objective as far as those higher levels are concerned. It has
been
repeatedly explained that our feelings and thoughts generate definite forms
in
the matter which they respectively affect, and that these forms follow the
thoughts
and feelings which made them. When those thoughts and feelings are
directed
towards another person, the forms actually move through space to that
person
and impinge upon his aura, and in many cases blend themselves with it.
When,
however, the thoughts and feelings are self-centred (as I fear we must
admit
that the majority of many people' s are) the forms do not pass away, but
remain
clustering round the man who has given birth to them.
Thus
we find that every man has built for himself a shell of such thought-forms,
a
veritable clothing at their level; thus all this thought and feeling is
constantly
reacting upon the man himself. He gave it birth; he made it out of
himself;
and now it is external to him and capable of reacting upon him, though
he
knows nothing of its propinquity and its power. Floating thus around him, the
forces
which it radiates seem to him to come altogether from without, and he
often
regards as a temptation from some external source, a thought which is in
reality
only a reflection of one of his own of yesterday or of yesterweek. “As a
man
thinketh, so is he.” And this is largely because his own thoughts are the
nearest
to him and are constantly playing upon him, so that they have a better
opportunity
than any others to act upon him.
The
constant radiations which pour forth from his thought-forms impregnate the
inanimate
objects round him, so that even the walls and furniture of his room
reflect
upon him the thoughts and feelings to which he is accustomed. If a man
sitting
in a certain chair in a certain room devotes himself for many days to
some
train or type of thought, he fills the surrounding objects, the chair, the
desk,
the very walls of the room, with vibrations which express that type of
thought.
He unconsciously magnetises these physical objects, so that they
possess
the power of suggesting thoughts of the same type to any other person
who
puts himself in the way of their influence. Many striking instances of this
may
be found among the collections of stories which refer to such matters. I
have
already given one of a number of persons committing suicide, one after
another,
in the same prison-cell, because the place was reeking with that idea,
and
they felt it acting upon them as a force from without, which they thought
themselves
compelled to obey.
From
these considerations emerge two main ideas on the subject of our feelings,
which
at first sight appear absolutely contradictory: first, that we must be
most
careful about our feelings; secondly, that they do not matter at all. But
when
we come to seek for the explanation of this apparent contradiction, we see
that
it lies in the fact that we are not using the word ` feelings' in quite the
same
sense in the two statements. We must be careful what feelings we allow to
arise
within us; we need pay no attention to the feelings which press upon us
from
outside. True; but in the first case we mean original feelings-- thought
-feelings
which emanate from our own minds; in the second case we mean moods,
which
come without any volition on our part. These latter we can afford to
disregard
utterly. The mood is the result of our thought of yesterday, and we
cannot
alter that thought or affect it in any way; our business is with the
original
thought of to-day, for that thought is within our control, and when it
suggests
itself we can receive it and adopt it, or we can reject it. And the
same
is true with our feelings. You say you cannot help your feelings; that is
what
the ordinary uncomprehending person thinks, but it is not in the least
true.
You can help them and control them if you will.
MOODS
We
have all had the experience of feeling moods of different sorts coming over
us.
On one occasion we feel joyful without knowing why, and on another occasion
depressed
and pessimistic. There may be many reasons for this latter feeling;
indigestion
in some shape or other is the commonest. It comes often, too, from
lack
of exercise, lack of sunlight, lack of open air; and too much night-work;
but
also sometimes it is simply the reaction upon us of previous thoughts of our
own--
and sometimes of the previous thoughts of someone else. It may be due to
the
presence of an astral entity who is in a condition of depression, and
contrives
to communicate his vibration to our astral bodies. But whatever may be
its
cause, the depression must be thrown aside, and we must endeavour to go on
with
our work precisely as though it did not exist.
This
is largely a matter of feeling, and that makes it difficult to take a
coldly
scientific view of it; yet it is precisely that which we must endeavour
to
do. These moods of ours make no difference whatever to the facts of life. Why
therefore
should we allow them to influence us? Our future destiny lies before
us,
and is entirely unaffected by the fact that we take at one time an
optimistic
and at another a pessimistic view of it. Why then should we allow
ourselves
to be worried to-day merely because we were worried yesterday, or
because
some astral entity feels worried? The hidden side of all these moods
shows
them to come from various causes; but it also shows us clearly that,
whatever
the causes may be, our duty is to go on with our work, and pay
absolutely
no attention to them.
RECURRENT
THOUGHTS
In
yet another way, too, we must carefully watch the action of recurring
thoughts.
What at first was merely an unfounded suspicion-- perhaps an unworthy
suspicion--
may presently solidify itself into a prejudice; not because there is
any
additional evidence for it, but simply by virtue of its own recurrence. We
adopt,
often without due reason, a certain attitude towards some person or
thing,
and then, merely because we have taken it up, we persist in it; and even
though
we may be quite aware that at first it was nothing but the merest
suspicion,
by virtue of having thought it over and over again we believe it to
be
well-founded, and proceed to reason from it as though it were a fact. Thus
often
prejudices are born, and we have already explained that prejudices are
fatal
to progress.
Again,
this reaction of thought-forms tends to set up in us certain qualities.
Many
a man has begun by being, quite rightly, careful as to the expenditure of
his
money; but the anxious thought which he has devoted to the consideration as
to
how he should economise has reacted upon him again and again until it has
become
the dominant idea in his mind-- until it has generated within him the
quality
of avarice. It is not only inward upon its maker that the thought-form
pours
its influence; it is also radiating outwards. And the effect of that
outward
vibration is to attract other similar thought-forms which strengthen the
action
of the original. It is therefore necessary for us to be on our guard in
these
matters, to watch carefully the thoughts and feelings which arise within
us,
and to distinguish between those which come from above, from the ego, and
those
which merely flow in at lower levels.
FALLING
IN LOVE
Another
instance of the repeated action of a thought-form is what is commonly
called
falling in love. Of this there are at least two clearly marked varieties,
which
are commonly defined by novelists as “gradually growing into love” and as
“falling
in love at first sight”. This latter phenomenon (if it ever really
occurs,
as I am inclined to think that it does) must mean the recognition by the
ego
of one who was well known in previous incarnations; but the former and more
ordinary
variety is usually due to the intensified action of repeated thought.
To
speak with any degree of common sense on this subject is likely to render one
unpopular,
because each man regards his lady-love as the only woman in the world
who
is really an epitome of all the virtues, and is prepared to maintain that
proposition
at the sword-point if necessary. Yet if it were possible for him to
take
an unimpassioned and reasonable view of the matter (which of course it is
not),
he would have to admit that, while she is all this to him, there are other
ladies
in the world who appear to occupy the same position in the minds of other
people--
people who are, in the abstract, just as intelligent and as capable of
forming
an opinion on such a matter as he himself is.
Why
then, where there is no question of a tie formed in a previous incarnation,
should
he select a certain young woman out of all the rest of the world, to be
for
him an embodiment of all that is noble and beautiful? The truth is
unromantic;
it is largely a question of propinquity. The normal young man,
thrown
by circumstances into close relations with the normal young woman, is
likely
to fall in love with her; and though be would never believe it, if he had
been
thrown into similar intimate relations with any one of a hundred other
equally
normal young women, he would have fallen in love with that other just as
easily!
In
the first place a young lady makes upon him an agreeable passing impression;
if
he did not meet her again, it is probable that after a few days he would
cease
to think of her; but if he sees her often, his thought-form of her becomes
strengthened
and he begins, though he does not know it, to see more deeply into
her
than he did at first. And this process continues until he learns to see in
her
the divine reality which lies behind us all. It lies behind all equally, but
he
has learnt to see it only in her, and therefore for him it takes her form;
and
when once he has seen it through that form, to him at any rate it can take
no
other. And so he dowers her in his imagination with all sorts of virtues and
all
splendid qualities-- which are in her, as they are in us all, yet may not be
manifested
through her to other eyes than his. They are in her, because her ego,
like
all others, is a spark of the Divine Fire; and in Him these qualities
inhere
and exist in perfection. The manifestation of them in this physical world
may
be no greater in her than in a hundred others, but he sees them in her
because
it was through her that he first learnt to realise them at all.
And
so in truth, from the occultist' s point of view the rhapsodies of thousands
of
lovers about the respective objects of their adoration are all true, even
though
they seem mutually exclusive; for the truth is that that which they all
love
is One, though for each It manifests through a different vehicle, and
because
they with their partial vision cannot separate the One from Its
manifestation,
they endow that special manifestation with qualities which belong
not
to it but to That which shines through. So all are right in the qualities
which
they see, and wrong only in claiming exclusive manifestation through the
form
through which they have learnt to see them.
Often
the impartial outsider finds it difficult to understand, looking at it
from
the point of view of the physical world, what a certain man saw in a
certain
woman to induce him to desire to make her his wife. The answer is that
the
husband saw in her something which is not visible on the physical level;
something
which is to be discerned only by looking much deeper than that, and
his
attraction to her was that it was through her that that aspect of the Divine
was
revealed to him.
People
often say that the lover' s imagination gives to his prospective bride
qualities
which in truth she does not possess. The occultist would say that the
lover
is right; she does possess them, because God, of whom she is a part,
possesses
them. And for her lover she is a channel through which he can see Him.
But
others for whom she is not the channel cannot see those qualities through
her,
but may at the same time be seeing them through someone else.
One
great advantage of this is that, if the woman be a good woman, she tries to
live
up to the level of her lover' s thought-form of her. She is fully conscious
that
he is idealising her, that he endows her with qualities which she does not
believe
herself to possess; but in order that he may not be disappointed, in
order
that she may be worthy of his love and trust, she tries hard to develop
these
qualities in herself-- to be what he thinks her to be. And because in
essence
she is what he thinks her, because in the Monad behind her those
qualities
do exist, she is often successful, at least to some extent, in
bringing
them down into manifestation, and thus the confidence of the lover is
justified,
and his faith in her brings forth her higher self and helps her on
the
path of evolution.
All
this, be it observed, works both ways, and the woman tries to find her ideal
through
a man just as does a man through a woman. The human being as at present
constituted
usually finds his ideal most readily through some one of the
opposite
sex, but this is not invariably so. Sometimes a younger man adores an
elder
one, and through his admiration and affection for him obtains his glimpse
of
that true world which we call the ideal; and sometimes the same feeling
exists
between a younger woman and an experienced matron.
Since
that real ideal is behind us all alike, the mystic who lives wrapped in
solitary
contemplation may find it just as perfectly within himself. It is the
tendency
of every man to seek it, whether through his own self or through
another,
and the feeling which moves him to seek it is the divinely implanted
force
of evolution, the desire to find and to return to the Divine from whom we
came.
For the force which at this early stage can only manifest itself in this
way
is the very same that later on will bring the man to final union. As Saint
Augustine
beautifully put it: “God, Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our
hearts
are ever restless till they find their rest in Thee.”
UNSET
BLOSSOM
A
beautiful variant of this, which is often misunderstood, is the “falling in
love”
of children. Unsympathetic adults often ridicule it, because they know
that
in nine cases out of ten its object is quite unsuitable, it does not last,
and
it comes to nothing. All that is true, yet in essence it is the same feeling
as
that which comes in later life, and it is usually a far purer and more
unselfish
form of it. If you could penetrate the secret heart of a young lover
of
ten or twelve, you would find that often he does not even dream of marrying
his
prospective bride and settling down comfortably to be happy for ever after;
his
idea is rather to sacrifice himself for her, to exhibit splendid heroism in
her
defence, and die at her feet. Absurdly romantic, no doubt, yet not without
its
good effect upon that young heart-- indeed, upon both the young hearts
concerned.
To
pour out such thought-forms as these is indeed well, both for their creator
and
their recipient, and they are preparing both for the maturer but not more
beautiful
feeling which comes in later life. Have you ever seen the vast amount
of
unset blossom on our cherry-trees or plum-trees? One might think of all that
as
a useless waste of Nature' s energy, because it never comes to fruit. Yet the
botanist
tells us that it is by no means useless-- that it has an important
purpose
to serve in drawing up the sap and thereby strengthening the tree, and
so
preparing the way for finer fruit in the autumn than could have existed
without
it. These innocent young love-affairs of childhood have precisely the
same
effect; they strengthen the nature and prepare it for the fuller
development
which comes later.
OCCULTISM
AND MARRIAGE
Yet
in spite of all that I have said above-- in spite of the beauty and
exaltation
of the love affair-- can we from the point of view of occultism
advise
our students to marry? I think the best answer is to be found in the
words
of our great founder, Madame Blavatsky:
It
depends on the kind of man you mean. If you refer to one who intends to live
in
the world-- one who, even though a good, earnest Theosophist and an ardent
worker
for our cause, still has ties and wishes which bind him to the world--
who,
in short, does not feel that he has done for ever with what men call life,
and
that he desires one thing and one thing only-- to know the truth, and to be
able
to help others-- then for such a one I say there is no reason why he should
not
marry, if he likes to take the risk of that lottery where there are so many
more
blanks than prizes. ( The Key to Theosophy, Section xiii, “Theosophy and
Marriage”.)
But
if the man means to be more than this, if he intends to devote his whole
life
to Theosophical work, and aspires to become a pupil of one of the great
Masters
of the Wisdom, then we cannot advise him to divide his attention between
that
world and this. Again Madame Blavatsky tells us:
Practical
occultism is far too serious and dangerous a study for a man to take
up,
unless he is in the most deadly earnest, and ready to sacrifice all ,
himself
first of all , to gain his end. I am only referring to those who are
determined
to tread the path of discipleship which leads to the highest goal. (
Ibid.,
Section xiii. )
There
is nothing to prevent a man from loving his ideal as much as he will; the
mistake
is in the desire for sole possession, in the animal passion which
prevents
him from being satisfied to worship at a distance, in the jealousy
which
is annoyed that others should love and worship also. The student who
wishes
to devote himself even to the uttermost must keep himself free from all
entanglement--
free for the work; and let him not, as has been the case with
many,
be deceived by the specious reasoning of his passion, and fall under the
delusion
that he can work better in chains. But, remember once more, this is
only
for the man who is absolutely determined to go on to the end. Short of such
high
resolve, there is a vast amount of good work that may be done-- and even of
progress
that may be made-- by taking advantage of the troubles and trials of
the
ordinary worldly life, and endeavouring to live one' s highest, even though
it
be in chains.
Another
excuse which is sometimes put forward is that it is necessary that
bodies
should be provided for the high-class in-coming egos who will be needed
to
do the work; it is argued that students can surely provide these better than
the
good people of the outer world. This is probably so, and therefore in
certain
rare cases students have been ordered to marry for this very purpose;
but
it is surely wisest to wait for such an order from a source that cannot be
questioned.
Meanwhile we have plenty of good married members who are perfectly
capable
of providing bodies for the occult workers of the future. Truly there
can
be no greater honour than to be selected by the karmic Deities to provide
those,
except the still greater honour of training them when they are provided.
Let
it be the work then of the student who still retains his ties with the world
to
provide those bodies, and let those who feel themselves capable of the higher
life
help in their training. For verily no man can serve two masters, and the
path
of occultism demands the whole energies of body, soul and spirit.
CHANGES
IN CONSCIOUSNESS
The
human consciousness has wonderful possibilities, and what we commonly call
by
that name is only the fragment of it which we can use for the moment. We may
perhaps
take an analogy from the action of our physical senses. There is an
enormous
gamut of possible vibrations. One little group of those at a certain
level
appeals to us as light; another little group at a much lower level appeals
to
us as sound. We are conscious in various ways of other intermediate groups.
But
we are fully aware from our knowledge of science that the gamut extends at
both
ends far beyond our possibilities of dealing with it.
We
may suppose the human consciousness to be like that gamut, and the part of it
now
in action in the physical brain to correspond, let us say, to the block of
oscillations
which we call sound. Following out the same analogy, we might
suppose
our block of astral consciousness to be equivalent to the wave-lengths
which
we call light; but here again there are many undulations capable of
carrying
light which we cannot see-- undulations both below and above our limit
of
vision. In just the same way, below our physical consciousness and above it,
and
below our astral consciousness and above that, are further sets of
vibrations
to which our consciousness might be adapted, but is not.
There
are two ways in which it can be adapted; permanently and intentionally, by
the
development of that consciousness so that it can receive more of those waves
which
are above and below its normal possibilities; or temporarily, by some
disease
or abnormality which shifts our octave of consciousness either upwards
or
downwards. An example of the first way is the development of psychic powers
of
all sorts. But it is unnecessary for me to take up the consideration of those
here,
as I have already done it in other books-- Clairvoyance, The Other Side of
Death
and Some Glimpses of Occultism. Various drugs have the power of
temporarily
changing or widening the scope of consciousness, and therefore they
enable
us to see things normally unseen by us, sometimes at the sacrifice of our
ordinary
power of vision for the time, and sometimes without robbing us of that.
What
we call our physical consciousness is not a fixed and determinate amount
which
has always been the same. It has gradually grown to be what it is, and
many
things which were formerly within its purview have now passed below it-- or
more
accurately, it has so developed itself as to rise above them. Its level is
gradually
rising; our descendants will be able to see colours which at present
are
invisible to us-- higher, purer and more delicate colours. Whether they will
at
the same time lose the possibility of appreciating some of the coarsest of
the
colours which we now know, is uncertain.
Delirium
shifts the place of this consciousness, and often altogether shuts out
from
us the everyday world which we know, giving us sometimes in its place
memories
of our past-- not only of the past of this life but of the
longer-forgotten
part of the human race. Such sight as delirium gives often
includes
the power to see the sufferer' s own thought-forms, or those of others,
and
sometimes also to see the astral and etheric creatures which are around him.
In
the case of delirium-tremens, for example, the snakes and other horrors are
almost
invariably creatures of low type which are feasting upon the fumes of
alcohol
exuding from the body of the drunkard.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XVII
BY
OUR AMUSEMENTS
CHILDREN'
S GAMES
THERE
is a hidden side even to a thing usually considered so unimportant as the
games
of children. If the parents think of these at all, it is probably chiefly
from
the physical point of view. They either disapprove of games in a general
way
as causing destruction of clothes or enticing the boy away from his school
work,
or they grant them a qualified approval as at any rate keeping the boy out
of
their way for a certain number of hours, or as affording him physical
exercise
which they recognise as a necessity for the development of his body.
Sometimes
also they are particular as to his associations from a social point of
view,
and occasionally also from a religious or moral standpoint; but it is
probable
that most parents regard play as a sort of necessary evil.
They
do not in the least realise that a game, if played as all games ought to
be,
is a lesson whose value can hardly be overestimated, for it inculcates as
nothing
else can the virtues of honour, unselfishness and chivalry. Honour
first,
because of the necessity of abiding with uttermost loyalty by the rules
of
the game, because of the realisation that a seeming success gained by an
infringement
of them, no matter how slight, would be dishonestly gained, and so
would
be no success at all, but the deepest disgrace, whether the delinquency
were
known to others or only seared into the memory of the culprit himself.
Unselfishness,
because for success in many games it is absolutely necessary that
the
unit shall be subordinated to the whole, and that each player shall seek not
his
own glorification, but the benefit of the side upon which he plays. No one
who
watches the instant, unhesitating obedience so willingly given in any good
school
to the captain of an eleven at cricket, or to the coach of a boat' s
crew,
can fail to perceive that this is a most valuable discipline, teaching
each
to accept loyally and to perform thoroughly the duty assigned to him,
looking
to the good of the club rather than to his personal desires. Chivalry,
because
of the rule, invariable among all gentlemanly boys, of giving the
opponent
the benefit of any doubtful point, and of declining to profit by an
accidental
advantage. Evil indeed is it for a country when such honour, such
unselfishness,
such chivalry are not to be found among its children, for the
child
is father to the man, and as the twig is bent so the tree inclines.
The
great thing to impress upon the child is that though he must always do his
best
for his own side, in reality it does not matter who wins, as the exercise
obtained
and the pleasure of the game are the same in any case. It should be
explained
to him that he must act not only fairly, but also graciously and
hospitably
in his play; that he must always be ready to applaud good play on the
other
side, that he must never exult over those who are defeated, but must
always
endeavour to find excuses for them and minimise the disappointment which
they
will naturally feel.
True,
others will not always do this for him, but he need not be in any way
disturbed
or annoyed by that, since it simply shows that they have not yet
reached
the level at which they can put themselves mentally in the place of
their
opponents. It is natural that a boy should take pleasure in the victory of
his
school or his side, but he must learn not so to show that pleasure as to
hurt
in any way the feelings of another.
Never
for a moment must he find pleasure or amusement in anything that hurts or
annoys
another living creature, whether it be a school-fellow or an animal. The
tendency
which some ill-taught children show to tease an animal or another child
is
a manifestation of cruelty, and it must be explained to the child that
cruelty
of any sort is one of the worst of crimes. The child must remember
always
to put himself in thought in the place of the other, and so to manifest
the
uttermost brotherhood, kindliness and love, to be willing always to put
aside
what he wants in order to give pleasure to other children, and to do what
they
like.
I
noticed an interesting example of chivalry some time ago when attending the
College
boat-races at one of our great Universities. A certain College had held
unquestioned
for some years the chief place in aquatic affairs, but on this
occasion
another College succeeded in gaining several places and finally
attained
the coveted position of Head of the River, defeating its previous
holders.
Naturally there was great rejoicing, and a triumphal procession was
formed
in which not only the banner of the winning boat, but also its oars and
rudder
were carried home in exultant ovation. In their jubilant march the crowd
of
undergraduates of the victorious College had to pass along the river and in
front
of the long line of boat-houses, and suddenly I observed that the cheering
mob
fell silent, furled its flag and lowered its oars and obviously endeavoured
to
efface itself and hastily assume as unobtrusive a demeanour as possible.
Asking
what was the matter, I was told that they were approaching the boat-house
of
the College which had so long held supremacy, and that it would of course be
in
bad taste to seem to glory over them by parading the conquest before them.
Therefore
our victors for the time tried to look as much as possible like
ordinary
students going quietly home; but their magnanimous attempt was at least
partially
defeated, for before they could steal past they were observed by the
defeated
crew and their fellow-members, who immediately rushed out from their
boat-house
to cheer them lustily, while the captain of the defeated boat ran to
the
great flagstaff of the boat-house and hauled down his College flag in token
of
cheerful submission to fate. As a spontaneous expression of good feeling on
the
part of these young fellows just fresh from school, this pleased me greatly,
and
I could not but see that the public opinion among them was a healthy and
enviable
one.
SPORT
Unfortunately
the amusements of adults are not always as harmless and wholesome
as
those of children. There is nothing to be said against cricket or golf; and
rowing
and swimming are always admirable, as bringing the etheric, astral and
mental
bodies into closer contact with the nature-spirits of the water and their
influences,
which make an agreeable contrast with those to be found upon land.
Still
more is this true if the swimming is done in the sea, for the variety
there
is greater. Such change of impressions is always good, as it sets in
vibration
new parts of the various bodies, and so adds greatly to their general
health.
But
it is impossible to reprobate too strongly the revolting cruelty that is
sometimes
misnamed sport. Needless to say, the crime connected with the murder
of
defenceless animals far outweighs any benefit that may be incidentally
derived
from fresh air and exercise. The whole thing is horrible beyond words,
and
it is difficult to understand how it is possible for civilised and otherwise
kind-hearted
people to take part in such abomination-- and not only to take part
in
them, but even apparently to enjoy the bloodshed and the cruelty, and to vie
with
one another in the diabolical work of destruction. No country in which such
things
happen can claim to be really civilised, and we cannot doubt that when
our
descendants look back on this period they will find it incredible that we
actually
indulged in such wholesale and gratuitous barbarities.
All
forms of hunting incur similar reprobation. Even apart from the pain, misery
and
death inflicted upon the fox, the deer, the hare, or the otter, there is the
whole
question of the wickedness incurred in the training of dogs for such
purposes.
The dog is one of the domestic animals which are given into man' s
care
in order that he may advance their evolution. He does not help it, but
fatally
hinders it, when he trains the animal to be more ferocious than the wolf
or
the tiger-- when he teaches it to kill not for food, as do the wild beasts,
but
for the mere lust and pleasure of killing. This wanton destruction of the
wonderful
gift of life, “which all can take but none can give,” will surely
bring
a heavy retribution on the individuals who take part in it, and on the
country
whose public opinion permits it.
One
terrible thing connected with this is that our children imitate our
thoughtless
cruelty, and so young souls who would naturally be kind and helpful
are
led into the commission of these crimes. We can hardly wonder that a boy
fishes
or hunts, or sets his dog to kill some living creature, when he
constantly
sees his father doing the same thing. We so engrain cruelty into the
young
that even after their death it persists in the astral world, and we find
the
same tendency in the dead boy as in the living-- to hunt something about,
and
to cause it pain and terror. True, unless the shameful example set before
him
has made him thoroughly wicked, it is easier in the astral world to invoke
the
boy' s good feelings than it is on the physical, because there we can show
him
in a moment exactly what is the real sensation of the hunted creature, for
it
is apparent in changings and flashings of colour. So we can appeal directly
to
the boy' s better nature by showing him precisely what he has been doing. In
the
astral world we have also the advantage that we can deflect the cruel
hunting
instinct and the passion for destruction into the safe and useful
channel
of breaking up horrible thought-forms, such as those of devils, which
are
made by the unfortunate people who suffer under the curse of Calvinistic or
similarly
blasphemous religious teaching. These thought-forms, though not
dangerous
when understood, are often a source of great terror to the ignorant,
and
as they have no real evolving life in them, there is no sin involved in
destroying
them. Such work develops both chivalry and courage in the boy,
inducing
him to go about as a knight-errant, helping and protecting the weak,
and
facing for their sake what appear to him the most formidable odds.
FISHING
Fishing
is another manifestation of the lust for slaughter, and many people
indulge
in this who would recoil from other forms of enjoyment in which the
bloodshed
is more obvious, for here, instead of killing or crippling a bird by a
shot,
they only take the creature out of its element and leave it to die slowly
by
suffocation. Difficult though it is to understand how it can be so, I really
believe
that most of this atrocious cruelty is simple thoughtlessness, and the
baneful
effect of the collective thought-forms clustering round a custom which
has
come down to us from the barbarous times of the Dark Ages.
HORSE-RACING
Horse-racing,
again, is another so-called sport for which there can be nothing
but
condemnation. The mere running of horses against one another, if they are
not
struck or otherwise ill-treated, is no more objectionable than a race
between
boys, or men; but as matters stand now, the whole mass of ideas which
cluster
round the turf is objectionable to the highest degree, and from the
occult
point of view the atmosphere of a race-course is a veritable hell. All
the
cheating and trickery, all the mad anxiety and avarice, all the hatred and
deliberate
falsehood, make the whole scene an indescribable nightmare of
horrors.
Yet decent men will show themselves in such a place and, even worse
still,
will subject their wives and daughters to its appallingly evil magnetism.
Ignorance
again, of course, and thoughtlessness; in intention nothing worse than
that;
but the results are serious nevertheless.
GAMBLING
Everyone
who takes part in horse-racing has his share of the responsibility of
all
the wickedness of the gambling connected with it, and of the ruin to
thousands
which it brings in its train. Even on the physical level the evils of
gambling
and of betting are surely obvious enough; but with the added sight of
higher
worlds they are a hundred times more objectionable. Men plunge into this
foolishness
presumably for excitement; but this is a form of excitement which
arouses
all the worst passions of men, and can do nothing but harm to them, for
the
moral effect on the man who wins is usually at least as evil as upon him who
loses.
Readers
of Thought-Forms will remember the awful pictures there given of the
thought-forms
of the winner and of the loser; those who can see such things for
themselves
will need no one to inform them of the evils of gambling. It can
never
be anything but evil in any of its forms; but, if one must pronounce
between
them, the kind which is pursued at the notorious Casino of Monte Carlo
is
decidedly the less objectionable of the two, for there the gambling is at
least
fair, and the victim knows his chances beforehand; also, he wins or loses
to
an impersonal entity-- the bank, and, so does not obviously and intentionally
ruin
his fellow-men.
From
the occult point of view, betting, alcohol-drinking, corpse-eating and the
slaughter
of living creatures in sport, are the great blots upon the fair fame
of
the English nation. If those could be removed we should have made several
long
steps on the way towards civilisation.
Although
occultism has nothing but unequivocal condemnation for all forms of
so-called
sport, which in any way whatever injure any living creature, it has
not
a vestige of the puritan point of view that everything which gives pleasure
is
necessarily wrong. On the contrary, the promotion of pleasure ranks in the
mind
of the occultist next to the promotion of progress. It is good to give
pleasure
to anyone; it is far better still to help him on the path of progress;
but
it is best of all when it is possible to combine the two. So the occultist
welcomes
harmless amusement; his only proviso is that it shall be harmless--
that
it shall not involve pain or suffering or even discomfort or ridicule for
any
living being.
THE
THEATRE
The
hidden side of a performance at the theatre depends entirely upon the nature
of
the performance. The passions portrayed by the actors, not being in any sense
real,
produce practically no effect on higher matter, but unfortunately there
seems
to be not infrequently a great deal of conceit connected with acting, and
a
great deal of jealousy of other actors. So far as these exist they represent
undesirable
influences. The principal effect to be seen at a theatre is the
result
of the feelings excited in the audience, and these again depend upon the
character
of the play.
There
seems almost always to be an undercurrent of sensuality directed towards
the
principal actresses, but the people who make-up the majority of the audience
usually
follow the plot of the play and feel a mild amount of hatred for the
villain
and a sort of gentle pleasure when the hero succeeds in over-throwing
his
machinations. There are some ingenuous people who really throw themselves
heart
and soul into the play-- to whom it is for the time exactly like real
life.
These send out strong emotions of various kinds as the play progresses,
but
usually their number is not sufficient to count for much in the general aura
of
the theatre. There are unfortunately many modern plays which are in
themselves
of a highly objectionable nature, and the thought-forms of those who
patronise
them are naturally unpleasant in character.
One
may sum up the matter by saying that to many people a visit to the theatre
is
like the reading of a novel, but it presents the different characters to them
in
a manner which makes them more real to them. There are others, on the other
hand
(perhaps more imaginative people), who when they read a story make for
themselves
thought-forms of all the characters, and these forms seem to them far
more
vivid and suitable than any representation in the theatre can be. Such
people
are always disappointed when they go to see a dramatised representation
of
one of their favourite stories.
Others
who have not the power of imagination to clothe the characters with
definite
forms for themselves are very glad to have this done for them by the
dramatist'
s art. For these-- and they are the majority of theatre-goers-- a
visit
to the theatre is no more harmful than the reading of a novel, except for
the
necessary unpleasant surroundings-- the tinge of sensuality in the audience,
and
of conceit and jealousy in the actors, to which I have previously referred,
and
the spending of a couple of hours in a vitiated atmosphere and in the midst
of
a more or less excited crowd. From the occult point of view these latter
considerations
usually rather outweigh the advantage of any possible enjoyment
that
may be obtained from the performance.
FOURTH
SECTION
HOW
WE INFLUENCE OTHERS
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
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CHAPTER XVIII
BY
WHAT WE ARE
THE
INTERRELATION OF MEN
WE
have been examining the influences to which we are liable, and we have also
considered
how, by reactions which we do not notice, we are constantly
influencing
ourselves. Now we come to the third great branch of our subject, the
question
of how we influence others. What has been already said is sufficient to
show
us that invariably we must influence them, whether we wish to do so or not;
for
if, as we have already seen, all these varied influences are constantly
playing
upon and affecting us, it is quite clear that what we do in our turn
must
be part of the influence which is acting on those near us. We are all so
closely
interrelated that no man can live his life to himself alone, and every
thought
or action is producing its result on others-- not only because people
see
our actions in the physical world and imitate them, but because they are
affected
by the unseen radiation of the vibrations of our thoughts and feelings.
We
influence people in three ways: by what we are; by what we think and desire;
by
what we say and do.
First
by what we are; because what we are expresses itself in our various
vehicles,
and they are constantly pouring out waves of influence which tend to
reproduce
themselves-- that is, to infect other people. So whatever we wish
other
people to be, we ourselves must be first of all. What then is the idea
which
we should set before ourselves in this matter? Many would say “To be
good,”
and of course that is the first consideration; but surely we may take
that
for granted. Anyone who has got so far as even to think about the duty of
influencing
the world, must by the hypothesis be trying his best to live a good
life.
Let us then assume the good intention and the earnest endeavour, and let
us
see what we can do to improve the world around us by our example. I think the
first
point is the duty of happiness and peace.
THE
DUTY OF HAPPINESS
Let
us take happiness first. Unquestionably the Deity means man to be happy.
Happiness
is a duty; I do not mean merely philosophical calm, though assuredly
that
is a good thing; I mean active happiness. It is a duty, not only to the
Divine
Power and to ourselves, but also to others, as I shall presently show;
and
it is a duty not difficult of accomplishment, if we will only exercise the
inestimable
faculty of common sense. Yet the majority of men and women are
obviously
often unhappy; why?
Unhappiness
is a mental condition, so the suffering which comes from sickness or
accident
is not strictly part of our subject, yet there is often a mental side
even
to that, which may be greatly minimised by the application of reason.
Eternal
Justice rules the world, and therefore nothing can, by any possibility,
happen
to us that we have not deserved; and as that eternal Justice is also
eternal
Love, everything that happens to us is intended to help us forward in
our
development, and is capable of doing so, if we will only take it in the
right
way and try to learn the lesson which it is meant to teach. Since this is
true--
and those who have probed most deeply into the mysteries of life and
death
know that it is-- to grumble or to repine at suffering is manifestly not
only
to waste much force uselessly, but also to take an entirely inaccurate and
foolish
view of life, and to lose what is designed as an opportunity.
Let
us consider some of the more frequent causes of this prevalent unhappiness,
in
order to see how it can be avoided. Man has displayed exceeding ingenuity in
inverting
reasons for being miserable, but most of them can be classed under one
or
other of four heads-- desire, regret, fear and worry.
Desire
-- Much unhappiness arises because people are perpetually yearning for
what
they have not-- for riches, for fame, for power, for social position, for
success
in all sorts of undertakings. I do not forget that contentment may
sometimes
denote stagnation, and that what has been called “divine discontent”
is
a prerequisite to progress. That we should unceasingly endeavour to improve
ourselves,
to better our position, to augment our power of helpfulness to
others--
all this is good and estimable, and tends to our evolution; but most of
our
discontent is anything but divine, because it is not a desire for
improvement
and usefulness, but rather a mere selfish craving for the personal
enjoyment
that we expect to derive from riches or from the exercise of power;
and
that is why so much misery results from it. Press forward, indeed, as
ardently
as you will; but be happy in your pressing, be cheery under failure,
and
never be too busy to hold out a helping hand to your fellow-pilgrim.
Among
the most poisonous of the manifold forms of this great weed desire, are
those
called envy and jealousy. If men would only learn to mind their own
business
and leave other people alone, many fertile sources of unhappiness would
disappear.
What is it to you that another man has more money or a larger house,
that
he keeps more servants or owns better horses, or that his wife is able to
indulge
in more astonishing vagaries of millinery and dressmaking? All these
things
afford him a certain kind of opportunity-- a test of his capacity for
using
them aright; he may be succeeding or he may be failing, but in any case
you
are not his judge, and your business is clearly not to waste your time in
criticising
and envying him, but to be quite sure that you yourself are
fulfilling
to the uttermost the duties which appertain to your own state of
life.
Perhaps
of all the passions which poor human nature cherishes, jealousy is the
most
ridiculous. It pretends to love fervently, and yet objects that any other
should
share its devotion; whereas unselfish affection but rejoices the more
when
it finds the object of its adoration universally appreciated. Jealousy
loathes,
above all things, to see evidence of the fondness of for its idol, and
yet
it is always eagerly watching for confirmation of its suspicions, and will
take
any amount of trouble to prove to itself the existence of what most it
hates!
See then how much utterly unnecessary unhappiness is escaped by the man
who
is strong enough and sensible enough to mind his own business, and refuses
absolutely
to be drawn into the meshes either of envy or jealousy.
Curb
desire and cultivate contentment; let your wants be few and simple and your
ambitions
for progress and usefulness rather than for possessions; and you will
find
that you have eliminated one of the most fruitful and potent causes of
misery.
Regret
-- It is pitiable to think how many thousands every day are suffering
needless,
hopeless, useless agonies of regret. You had money perhaps, and it is
gone;
you had a position, and you have lost it. That is no reason why you should
squander
your strength and your time in unavailing lamentation. Start at once to
earn
more money, to make for yourself another position. “Let the dead past bury
its
dead,” and turn your thought to the future.
Yes,
and this is true even though the loss has been caused by your own fault,
even
though that which you regret be a sin. You may have failed, as many a man
before
you has failed, but you have no time to waste in remorse. If you have
fallen,
do not lie mourning in the mud, but get up at once, and go on your way
more
circumspectly. Set your face forward, and push resolutely ahead. If you
fall
a thousand times-- well, get up a thousand times and go on again; it is
absolutely
useless to sink discouraged by the way. There is just as much reason
for
the thousandth attempt as there was for the first, and if you persevere
success
is certain, for your strength grows by repeated effort. A Master once
said:
“The only repentance which is of the slightest value is determination not
to
commit the same sin again.” The wise man is not he who never makes mistakes,
but
he who never makes the same mistake twice.
The
greatest of all regrets, I know full well, is that for “the touch of a
vanished
hand, and the sound of a voice that is still”. Yet even that most
sacred
of sorrows may be dispelled, if we are willing to take the trouble to
understand.
When those whom we love pass from the sight of our physical eyes, we
are
no longer left gazing at a blank wall, clinging with desperate faith to
nebulous
uncertainty, hoping against hope for some far distant reunion, as were
so
many of our forefathers.
Science
now treads where ignorance once resigned, and anyone who is ready to
examine
the available evidence may convince himself that death is but the
stepping
from one room into another, the gate of a higher and fuller life, and
that
we have not in any sense lost our friends, as we so often erroneously say,
but
have only lost for the time the power to see them. A little patient study of
the
facts soon enables us to turn from a selfish contemplation of this illusion
of
our bereavement to the glorious certainty which opens out before those who
are
so much dearer to us than ourselves; and thus one of the saddest of all
forms
of unhappiness is at least greatly mitigated, even when not entirely
removed.
Fear
-- I suppose that only those who, like some of the clergy, have had special
opportunities
of knowing the inner side of men' s lives, can be aware of the
extent
to which humanity suffers from the fear of death. Many a man who shows a
brave
front to the world, and laughs and smiles with the best, is yet groaning
inwardly
all the while under the oppression of a secret horror, knowing that
death
must come, dreading lest the sword should fall. Yet all this is quite
unnecessary,
and comes only from ignorance, as indeed does all fear; for those
who
comprehend death feel no dismay at its approach. They know that man does not
die,
but simply lays aside his body as one lays aside a worn-out suit of
clothes;
and to them one process is no more terrible than the other. The man who
in
this twentieth century does not yet know the facts about death, is merely the
man
who has not taken the pains to look into the matter, and if he suffers from
fear
of that which does not exist, he has only himself to blame.
Many
are haunted by the apprehension of loss of property, of lapsing into
poverty.
There are thousands who just manage to live upon such income as they
can
earn, but they feel that if through sickness or from any other cause
supplies
should fail them, they would at once be plunged into direct distress.
Even
when this danger is real, nothing is gained by brooding over it; this
ever-present
anxiety in no way helps them; they are no whit the safer because
this
terror hovers over them and darkens all their day.
These
poor souls also should try to understand life, to grasp the purport of
this
great scheme of evolution of which they find themselves a part; for when
once
they comprehend a little of its plan they will realise that nothing comes
by
chance, but that truly all things work together for good, and so pain and
trouble
and sorrow cannot come unless they are needed, unless they have their
part
to play in the development that is to be. So they will look forward with
hope
instead of with fear, knowing that if they loyally do the best they can
with
each day as it passes, they will have nothing wherewith to reproach
themselves,
whatever the future may bring forth.
Worry
-- The same considerations show us the futility of worry and grumbling. If
the
world be in God' s hands, and if we are all working under His immutable
laws,
manifestly our business is to do our duty in our corner, and to try to
move
intelligently along with the mighty stream of advancement; but to grumble
at
the way in which it is working, or to worry as to how matters will turn out,
is
obviously the height of folly. How often we hear men say: “If it were not for
the
unfortunate circumstances which surround me, I should be a very fine fellow
indeed;
I would soon show you what I could do along this line or along that;
but,
cramped as I am, how can you expect anything from me?”
Now
the man who talks in that way has no conception of the meaning of life. What
each
man would like best, no doubt, would be a set of circumstances which would
give
him a chance of using such powers as he already possesses, of showing what
he
can do. But we must remember that Nature wants to develop us in all
directions,
not in one only; and to that end we often find ourselves thrown into
conditions
where we must do the very thing that we would say we cannot do, in
order
that we may learn that lesson and unfold that power, which at present lies
latent
within us.
So
instead of sitting down and grumbling that we are under the control of
adverse
circumstances, our business is to get up and control the circumstances
for
ourselves. The weak man is the slave of his environment; the strong man
learns
how to dominate it, which is precisely what he is intended to do.
Then
again, see how we worry ourselves about what others think of us, forgetting
that
what we do is no affair of theirs, so long as it does not interfere with
them,
and that their opinion is, after all, not of the slightest consequence.
Our
endeavour must be to do our duty as we see it, and to try to help our
fellows
whenever occasion presents itself; if your conscience approves your
action,
no other criticism need trouble you. It is to your Father in Heaven that
you
are responsible for your deeds, not to Mrs. So-and-so, who is peeping
through
the blind next door.
Perhaps
the same worthy lady says something spiteful about you, and half-a-dozen
kind
friends take care to repeat and exaggerate it. If you are foolish you are
mightily
offended, and a feud is set on foot which may last for months and
involve
a host of innocent people; and then you actually try to throw the
responsibility
for all this silly unpleasantness on the shoulders of the
neighbour
at whose remark you chose to take offence! Use plain common sense for
a
moment, and just think how ridiculous that is.
In
the first place, in nine cases out of ten, your neighbour didn' t say it at
all,
or didn' t mean it in the sense in which you take it, so that you are
probably
doing her a gross injustice. Even in the tenth case, when she really
did
say it and meant it, there was most likely some exasperating cause of which
you
know nothing; she may have been kept awake all night by a toothache or a
restless
baby! Surely it is neither kind nor dignified to take notice of a hasty
word
uttered under the influence of irritation. Of course it was quite wrong of
her,
and she ought to have exhibited the same angelic charity that you yourself
always
show; I am not defending her in the least; I am only suggesting that
because
she has done one foolish thing there is no real reason why you should do
another.
After
all, what harm has she done you? It is not she who is responsible for your
annoyance,
but your own want of thought. What are her words but a mere vibration
of
the air? If you had not heard of them you would not have felt offended, and
yet
her part of the action would have been just the same. Therefore, the feeling
of
anger is your fault and not hers; you have unnecessarily allowed yourself to
be
violently excited by something which in reality is powerless to affect you.
It
is your own pride which has stirred up your passion, not her idle words.
Think,
and you will see that this is so. Simple, plain common sense, and nothing
more;
and yet how few people see clearly enough to take it in that way! And how
much
unhappiness might be avoided if we only used our brains more and our
tongues
less!
These
considerations show us that the clouds of unhappiness can be dispelled by
knowledge
and reason; and it is unquestionably both our interest and our duty
instantly
and vigorously to set about that dispersion. It is our interest, since
when
that is done our lives will be longer and more fruitful; “a merry heart
goes
all the day; a sad one tires in a mile.” Make the best of everything, not
the
worst; watch for the good in the world, and not for the evil. Let your
criticism
be of that happy kind which pounces upon a pearl as eagerly as the
average
atrabilious critic flies at a flaw; and you have no idea how much easier
and
pleasanter your life will become. There is a beauty everywhere in Nature, if
we
will only look for it; there is always plenty of reason for gladness, if we
will
but search for it instead of trying to hunt out causes for grumbling.
It
is our duty, for it is thoroughly well established that both happiness and
misery
are infectious. All who have studied these matters know that these waves
of
matter, finer than we can see, which are continually radiating from us in
every
direction, carry with them to those around us our feelings of joy or of
sorrow.
So if you allow yourself to give way to sadness and despondency, you are
actually
radiating gloom-- darkening God' s sunlight for your neighbours, and
making
your brother' s burden heavier for him to bear; and you have no right to
do
this.
On
the other hand, if you are yourself full of happiness, that radiant joy is
poured
upon all who come near you, and you become a veritable sun, showering
life
and light and love in your small circle on the earth, even as the Deity
Himself
floods them forth through all the universe; and so in your tiny way you
are
a fellow-worker together with Him.
PEACE
Behind
the active happiness there must be an abiding peace, and this also we
must
try to radiate. The lack of peace is one of the most lamentable
characteristics
of our age. There never was a time when man needed more sorely
the
sage advice of S. Peter: “Seek peace and ensue it,” but the majority know
not
even in what direction to begin the search, and so they decide that peace is
unattainable
on earth, and resign themselves to discomfort.
Man
is living simultaneously in three worlds, the physical, the astral or
emotional,
and the mental, and he has in each of these a body or vehicle through
which
he expresses himself. At all these levels, in all these vehicles, there
should
be peace; yet with most of us that is very far from being the case.
On
the physical earth, there is hardly a person who is not complaining of
something,
who is not frequently ill in some way. One man' s digestion is out of
order,
another has constant headaches, a third finds his nerves breaking down,
and
so on. In the world of emotion matters are no better, for people are
constantly
allowing themselves to be shaken and torn by violent feelings,
sorrow,
anger, jealousy, envy; and so they are quite unnecessarily miserable.
Nor
are they at peace mentally, for they are perpetually rushing from one line
of
thought to another, full of worry and hurry, always desiring new things
before
they have understood or utilised the old.
The
causes of this universal unrest are three-- ignorance, desire, and
selfishness.
Therefore, the path to peace consists in conquering these
hindrances,
and replacing them by their opposites-- in gaining knowledge,
self-control
and unselfishness. Men often think that the causes of their
disquiet
are exterior to themselves, that sorrow and trouble press upon them
from
without, not realising that nothing outside can affect them unless they
themselves
permit it to do so. None but ourselves can ever hurt us or hinder us,
just
as no one else can make our progress for us. As has been beautifully said
in
the East, the path lies within us. If we take the trouble to consider it, we
shall
see that this is so.
To
gain peace we must first gain knowledge-- knowledge of the laws under which
evolution
is working. When we are ignorant of these laws, we are constantly
breaking
them, constantly pushing aside from the path of the progress of the
race
in pursuit of some fancied private and personal advantage or pleasure. The
steady
pressure of the law of evolution forces us back, for our own good, into
the
path which we have left, we are restless; we struggle against it; we
complain
of the pain and the trouble as though they had come upon us by mere
chance,
when all the time it is our own resistance to the guidance of the law
that
causes us to feel its constraining power.
Our
health suffers because we so often live unhealthily; we eat the wrong food,
we
wear unsuitable clothing, we ignore ventilation and exercise, we pass our
lives
amidst unsanitary conditions, and then we wonder why our heads ache or why
our
nerves and digestion fail us. The man who knows the laws of hygiene and
takes
the trouble to obey them avoids these evils.
Precisely
the same is true with regard to the worlds of thought and emotion;
these
have their natural laws, and to break those laws means suffering.
Unfortunately,
many people have the idea that all rules relating to these realms
of
thought and emotion are arbitrary; religious teachers have made the
disastrous
mistake of talking about the imposition of punishment for the breach
of
them, and so have obscured the plain fact that they are just as much laws of
nature
as those with which we are familiar in physical life, and that what
follows
upon any infraction of them is not punishment, but merely the natural
result.
If a man seizes a red-hot bar of iron with the naked hand, he will be
burnt;
but it would not occur to us to describe the burn as a punishment for
taking
hold of the bar. Yet we often do so describe results which are just as
natural
and just as inevitable.
Knowledge
of the great scheme of evolution and its laws not only shows us how to
live
so as to earn peace in the future; it also gives us peace here and now in
the
present, because it enables us to understand the object of life, to see the
unity
through all its diversity, the glorious final triumph through the mist of
apparently
hopeless misery and confusion. For when once the scheme is
comprehended,
its end is no longer a matter of blind faith, but of mathematical
certainty;
and from that certainty comes peace.
To
our knowledge we must add self-control-- control, not merely of actions and
words,
but of desires, emotions and thoughts.
For
all thoughts and emotions show themselves as waves in the matter of the
mental
and astral bodies respectively; and in both cases the evil or selfish
thoughts
are always comparatively slow vibrations of the coarser matter, while
the
good unselfish thoughts are the more rapid undulations which play only in
the
finer matter. But a sudden rush of anger or envy or fear overwhelms for a
moment
the whole of the astral body, and forces it all to swing for that moment
at
a special rate. This soon calms down, and the body returns to its normal
rates
of oscillation. But ever after it is a little more ready to respond to the
particular
rate which expresses that evil passion.
Long
ago the great Lord Buddha taught His followers that the life of the
ordinary
man is full of sorrow, because he attaches himself to earthly things
that
decay and pass away. He desires wealth and power or position, and he is
discontented
because he does not gain them, or because, having gained them, he
finds
them slipping from him. Even to his friends he attaches himself wrongly,
for
he loves the physical body which must change and fade, instead of the real
man
who lives on through the ages, and so when his friend lays aside the outer
vehicle
he mourns him as ` dead' and thinks that he has lost him.
The
whole tendency of our civilisation is to increase desire, to multiply our
requirements.
Things which were regarded as luxuries by one generation are
considered
necessities of life by the next, and our desire is ever reaching out
in
new directions. If we wish for peace; we must learn to limit these desires,
to
live a simpler life, to be satisfied with comfort without longing for luxury,
we
must distinguish necessities from superfluities. It is better to decrease our
wants
and leave ourselves time to rest, rather than to work ourselves to death
in
the desperate effort to satisfy constantly increasing wants. If we are to
have
peace, we must certainly control desire.
Another
fertile source of disquiet is the habit that we have of interfering with
other
people-- of perpetually trying to make them see and do things as we see
and
do them. Many of us seem quite unable to hold a conviction on any subject,
social,
political or religious, without immediately quarrelling with every one
whose
convictions happen to be different, and getting up a heated argument about
the
matter. When we learn ungrudgingly to allow others the same freedom of
opinion
on every subject that we so unhesitatingly claim for ourselves, when we
learn
to refrain from criticising them because they differ from us, we shall
have
advanced far along the path which leads to peace.
Most
of all is it necessary for peace that we should cast aside the personality
and
acquire unselfishness. So long as we are self-centred, so long as the ` I'
is
the pivot round which all our universe turns, we insensibly but inevitably
expect
that it shall be the centre for others as well, and when we find that
they
are acting without reference to us-- without recognising our paramount
claims
to consideration-- we become irritable and self assertive, and peace
flies
far from us.
We
must realise that we are souls and not bodies; if we identify ourselves (as
men
usually do) with the physical vehicle, we cannot avoid giving altogether
undue
importance to what happens to it, and we become, to a large extent, slaves
to
it and its perpetually changing feelings. It is to avoid such bondage that
the
Oriental adopts the habit of thought which leads him to substitute for our
ordinary
phrases: “I am hungry, I am tired,” the more exact statement: “My body
is
hungry, my body is tired.”
It
is only one step farther to see that we are equally in error when we say: “I
am
angry, I am jealous.” The true ` I' is the self behind or within all these
vehicles,
and that self cannot be angry or jealous, though its astral body may;
but
it is just as much a mistake for a man to identify himself with the astral
vehicle
as with the physical. He must not be the slave of any of his bodies
mental,
astral or physical; these three together make up his personality, the
temporary
and partial expression of him, but they are not he, any more than the
clothes
are the man.
These
four steps, then, must be taken. We must acquire knowledge by study, and
having
acquired it, we must put it into practice; we must learn to limit our
desires
and control our emotions, and we must eliminate the lower personality,
and
identify ourselves as the self behind. We must substitute altruism for
egoism;
we must realise the God within us before we can attain “the peace of God
which
passeth all understanding”.
That
is the path to peace. May that peace rest upon us all.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XIX
BY
WHAT WE THINK
THE
REALM OF THOUGHT
A
STUDENT of occultism trains himself in the art of thinking, and consequently
his
thought is much more powerful than that of the untrained man, and is likely
to
influence a wider circle and to produce a much greater effect. This happens
quite
outside of his own consciousness, without his making any effort in the
matter.
But precisely because he has learnt the mighty power of thought it
becomes
his duty to use it for the helping of others. In order to do this
effectively
he must understand exactly how it acts.
One
of the most striking characteristics of the unseen world which lies all
about
us is the ready response of the finer type of matter of which it is
constructed
to the influences of human thought and emotion. It is difficult for
those
who have not studied the subject to grasp the absolute reality of these
forces--
to understand that their action is in every respect as definite upon
the
finer type of matter as is that of steam or electricity upon physical
matter.
Every
one knows that a man who has at his disposal a large amount of steam-power
or
electrical power can do useful work and produce definite results; but few
people
know that every man has at his disposal a certain amount of this other
and
higher power, and that with that he can produce results just as definite and
just
as real.
As
matters stand at present in the physical world, only a few men can have at
their
disposal any large amount of its forces, and so only a few can become rich
by
their means; but it is a prominent feature of the vivid interest of the
unseen
side of life that every human being, rich or poor, old or young, has
already
at his disposal no inconsiderable proportion of its forces, and
therefore
the riches of these higher worlds, which are obtained by the right use
of
these powers, are within the reach of all.
Here,
then, is a power possessed by all, but intelligently used as yet by few;
it
is surely well worth our while to take up the matter, to enquire into it and
try
to comprehend it. Indeed, there is even more reason for so doing than has
yet
been mentioned, for the truth is that to some extent we are all already
unconsciously
making use of this power, and because of our ignorance we are
employing
it wrongly, and doing harm with it instead of good. The possession of
power
always means responsibility, so in order to avoid doing harm
unintentionally,
and in order to utilise thoroughly these magnificent
possibilities,
it will clearly be well for us to learn all that we can on this
subject.
THE
EFFECTS OF THOUGHT
What
then is thought, and how does it show itself? It is in the mental body that
it
first manifests itself to the sight of the clairvoyant, and it appears as a
vibration
of its matter-- a vibration which is found to produce various effects,
all
of them quite in line with what scientific experience in the physical world
would
lead us to expect.
1.
There is the effect produced upon the mental body itself, and we find that to
be
of the nature of setting up a habit. There are many different types of matter
in
the mental body, and each of them appears to have its own special rate of
undulation,
to which it seems most accustomed, so that it readily responds to it
and
tends to return to it as soon as possible when it has been forced away from
it
by some strong rush of thought or feeling. A sufficiently strong thought may
for
the moment set all the particles of one division of the mental body swinging
at
the same rate; and every time that that happens it is a little easier for it
to
happen again. A habit of moving at that rate is being set up in these
particles
of the mental body, so that the man will readily repeat that
particular
thought.
2.
There is the effect produced upon the other vehicles of the man, which are
above
and below the mental body in degree of density. We know that physical
disturbances
in one type of matter are readily communicated to another type--
that,
for example, an earthquake (which is a movement in solid matter) will
produce
a mighty wave in the sea (which is liquid matter), and again from the
other
side that the disturbance of the air (which is gaseous matter) by a storm
will
immediately produce ripples, and shortly great waves in the ocean beneath
it.
In
just the same way a disturbance in a man' s astral body (which we commonly
call
an emotion) will set up vibrations in the mental body, and cause thoughts
which
correspond to the emotion. Conversely, the waves in the mental body affect
the
astral body, if they be of a type which can affect it, which means that
certain
types of thought readily provoke emotion. Just as the wave in mental
matter
acts upon the astral substance, which is denser than it is, so also does
it
inevitably act upon the matter of the casual body, which is finer than it;
and
thus the habitual thought of the man builds up qualities in the ego himself.
So
far we have been dealing with the effect of the man' s thought upon himself;
and
we see that in the first place it tends to repeat itself, and that in the
second
it acts not only upon his emotions, but also permanently upon the man
himself.
Now let us turn to the effects which it produces outside of himself--
that
is, upon the sea of mental matter which surrounds us all just as does the
atmosphere.
3.
Every thought produces a radiating undulation, which may be either simple or
complex
according to the nature of the thought which gives it birth. These
vibrations
may under certain conditions be confined to the mental world, but
more
frequently they produce an effect in worlds above and below. If the thought
be
purely intellectual and impersonal-- if, for example, the thinker is
considering
a philosophical system, or attempting to solve a problem in algebra
or
geometry-- the thought-wave will affect merely the mental matter. If the
thought
be of a spiritual nature, if it be tinged with love or aspiration or
with
deep unselfish feeling, it will rise upwards into the realm of the higher
mental,
and may even borrow some of the splendour and glory of the intuitional
level--
a combination which renders it exceedingly powerful. If on the other
hand
the thought is tinged with something of self or of personal desire, its
oscillations
at once draw downwards and expend most of their force in the astral
world.
All
these thought-waves act upon their respective levels just as does a wave of
light
or sound here on the physical. They radiate out in all directions,
becoming
less powerful in proportion to their distance from their source. The
radiation
not only affects the sea of mental matter which surrounds us, but also
acts
upon other mental bodies moving within that sea. We are all familiar with
the
experiment in which a note struck on a piano or a string sounded on a violin
will
set the corresponding note sounding upon another instrument of the same
kind
which has been tuned exactly to the same pitch. Just as the vibration set
up
in one instrument is conveyed through the air and acts upon the other
instrument,
so is the thought-vibration set up in one mental body conveyed by
the
surrounding mental matter and reproduced in another mental body-- which,
stated
from another point of view, means that thought is infectious. We will
return
to this consideration later.
4.
Every thought produces not only a wave but a form-- a definite, separate
object
which is endowed with force and vitality of a certain kind, and in many
cases
behaves not at all unlike a temporary living creature. This form, like the
wave,
may be in the mental realm only; but much more frequently it descends to
the
astral level and produces its principal effect in the world of emotions. The
study
of these thought-forms is of exceeding interest; a detailed account of
many
of them, with coloured illustrations of their appearance, will be found in
the
book Thought-Forms. At the moment we are concerned less with their
appearance
than with their effects and with the way in which they can be
utilised.
Let
us consider separately the action of these two manifestations of
thought-power.
The wave may be simple or it may be complex, according to the
character
of the thought; but its strength is poured out chiefly upon some one
of
the four levels of mental matter-- the four subdivisions which constitute the
lower
part of the mental world. Most of the thoughts of the ordinary man centre
round
himself, his desires and his emotions, and they therefore produce waves in
the
lowest subdivision of the mental matter; indeed, the part of the mental body
built
of that kind of matter is the only one which is as yet fully evolved and
active
in the great majority of mankind.
In
this respect the condition of the mental body is quite different from that of
the
astral vehicle. In the ordinary cultured man of our race the astral body is
as
fully developed as the physical, and the man is perfectly capable of using it
as
a vehicle of consciousness. He is not yet much in the habit of so using it,
and
is consequently shy about it and distrustful of his powers; but the astral
powers
are there, and it is only a question of becoming accustomed to their use.
When
he finds himself functioning in the astral world, either during sleep or
after
death, he is fully capable of sight and hearing, and can move about
whithersoever
he will.
In
the heaven-world, however, he finds himself under very different conditions,
for
the mental body is as yet by no means fully developed, that being the part
of
its evolution upon which the human race is at the present moment engaged. The
mental
body can be employed as a vehicle only by those who have been specially
trained
in its use under teachers belonging to the Great Brotherhood of
Initiates;
in the average man its powers are only partially unfolded, and it
cannot
be employed as a separate vehicle of consciousness. In the majority of
men
the higher portions of the mental body are as yet quite dormant, even when
the
lower portions are in vigorous activity. This necessarily implies that while
the
whole mental atmosphere is surging with thought-waves belonging to the
lowest
subdivision, there is as yet comparatively little activity on the higher
sub-divisions--
a fact which we shall need to have clearly in mind when we come
to
consider presently the practical possibility of the use of thought-power. It
has
also an important bearing upon the distance to which a thought-wave may
penetrate.
To
help us to understand this we may take an analogy from the action of the
voice
of a public speaker. He can make himself heard to a certain distance-- a
distance
which depends upon the power of his voice. In the case of a
thought-form
that power corresponds to the strength of the vibrations. But the
distance
to which a speaker can be understood is quite another matter, and
depends
often more upon the clearness of his enunciation than the strength of
his
voice. That clearness of enunciation is represented in the case of a
thought-form
by definiteness, clearness of outline.
Many
a man who is not trained in the art of public speaking might send forth a
shout
which would penetrate to a considerable distance, but would be quite
unintelligible.
Just in the same way a man who feels strongly, but is not
trained
in the art of thinking, may send forth a powerful thought-form which
conveys
strongly enough the feeling which inspires it-- a feeling of joy, of
terror
or of surprise; and yet it may be so vaguely outlined as to impart no
idea
of the nature or the cause of the emotion. Evidently, therefore, dearness
of
thought is at least as necessary as strength of thought.
Again,
the speaker' s voice may be clear and strong, and his words may be
perfectly
audible at the place where an auditor is standing; yet the words
convey
no meaning to that auditor if he is so preoccupied with some other matter
that
he is not paying attention. This also has its exact correspondence in the
world
of thought. One may send out a clear, strong thought, and even aim it
definitely
at another person, but if that man' s mind is entirely preoccupied
with
his own affairs, the thought-form can produce no impression upon his mental
body.
Often men in a wild panic do not even hear the advice or orders shouted to
them;
under the same influence they are equally impervious to thought-forms.
The
majority of mankind do not know how to think at all, and even those who are
a
little more advanced than that, rarely think definitely and strongly, except
during
the moments in which they are actually engaged in some piece of business
which
demands their whole attention. Consequently, large numbers of minds are
always
lying fallow all about us, ready to receive whatever seed we may sow in
them.
THE
THOUGHT-WAVE
The
action of the thought-vibration is eminently adaptable. It may exactly
reproduce
itself, if it finds a mental body which readily responds to it in
every
particular; but when this is not the case, it may nevertheless produce a
marked
effect along lines broadly similar to its own. Suppose, for example, that
a
Catholic kneels in devotion before an image of the Blessed Virgin. He sends
rippling
out from him in all directions strong, devotional thought-waves; if
they
strike upon the mental of astral body of another Catholic, they arouse in
him
a thought and feeling identical with the original; but if they strike upon a
Christian
of some other sect, to whom the image of the Blessed Virgin is
unfamiliar,
they still awaken in him the sentiment of devotion, but that will
follow
along its accustomed channel, and be directed towards the Christ.
If
they touch a Muhammadan they arouse in him devotion to Allah, while in the
case
of a Hindu the object may be Krishna, and in the case of a Parsi
Ahuramazda.
They excite devotion of some sort wherever there is a possibility of
response
to that idea. If this thought-wave touches the mental body of a
materialist,
to whom the very idea of devotion in any form is unknown, even
there
it produces an elevating effect; it cannot at once create a type of
undulation
to which the man is wholly unaccustomed, but its tendency is to stir
a
higher part of his mental body into some sort of activity, and the effect,
though
less permanent than in the case of the sympathetic recipient, cannot fail
to
be good.
The
action of an evil or impure thought is governed by the same laws. A man who
is
so foolish as to allow himself to think of another with hatred or envy,
radiates
a thought-wave tending to provoke similar passions in others, and
though
his feeling of hatred is for some one quite unknown to these others, and
so
it is impossible that they should share his feeling, yet the wave will stir
in
them an emotion of the same nature towards a totally different person.
THE
THOUGHT-FORM
The
work of the thought-form is more limited, but much more precise than that of
the
wave. It cannot reach so many persons-- indeed, it cannot act upon a person
at
all unless he has in him something which is harmonious with the vibrant
energy
which ensouls it. The powers and possibilities of these thought-forms
will
perhaps be clearer to us if we attempt to classify them. Let us consider
first
the thought which is definitely directed towards another person.
1.
When a man sends forth from himself a thought of affection or of gratitude
(or
unfortunately it may be sometimes of envy or jealousy) towards some one else
such
a thought produces radiating waves precisely as would any other, and
therefore
tends to reproduce its general character in the minds of those within
the
sphere of its influence. But the thought-form which it creates is imbued
with
definite intention, and as soon as it breaks away from the mental and
astral
bodies of the thinker, it goes straight towards the person to whom it is
directed
and fastens itself upon him.
If
he happens at the moment to be thinking of nothing in particular, and is
consequently
in a passive condition, it at once penetrates his mental and astral
bodies
and is lost in them, just as a comet might fall into the sun. It tends to
arouse
in them vibrations similar to its own-- which means that the man will
begin
to think upon that particular subject, whatever it may be. If he is in a
condition
of mental activity, and any part of that activity is of the same
nature
as the arriving thought-form, it enters his mental body through that part
of
it which is expressing the sympathetic thought, and adds its strength to that
thought.
If the recipient' s mind is so preoccupied that the thought-form cannot
find
entrance, it will hover about him until he is sufficiently disengaged to
give
it an opportunity to gain its object.
2.
In the case of a thought which is not directed to some other person, but is
connected
chiefly with the thinker himself (as indeed are the majority of men' s
thoughts)
the wave spreads in all directions as usual, but the thought-form
floats
in the immediate neighbourhood of its creator, and its tendency is
constantly
to react upon him. As long as his mind is fully occupied with
business,
or with a thought of some other type, the floating form waits, biding
its
time; but when his train of thought is exhausted, or his mind for a moment
lies
fallow, it has an opportunity to react upon him, and it immediately begins
to
repeat itself-- to stir up in him a repetition of the thought to which he has
previously
yielded himself. Many a man is surrounded by a shell of such
thought-forms,
and he frequently feels their pressure upon him-- a constant
suggestion
from without of certain thoughts; and if the thought be evil he may
believe
himself to be tempted by the devil, whereas the truth is that he is his
own
tempter and that the evil thoughts are entirely his own creation.
3.
There is the class of thought which is neither centred round the thinker nor
specially
aimed at any person. The thought-form generated in this case does not
hang
about the thinker, nor has it any special attraction towards another man,
so
it remains idly floating at the place where it was called into existence.
Each
man, as he moves through life, is thus producing three classes of
thought-forms:
1.
Those which shoot straight out away from him, aiming at a definite objective.
2.
Those which hover round him and follow him wherever he goes.
3.
Those which he leaves behind him as a sort of trail which marks his route.
The
whole atmosphere is filled with thoughts of this third type, vague and
indeterminate;
as we walk along we are picking our way through vast masses of
them,
and if our minds are not already definitely occupied, these vague,
wandering
fragments of other people' s thoughts often seriously affect us. They
sweep
through the mind which is lying idle, and probably most of them do not
arouse
in it any especial interest; but now and then comes one which attracts
attention,
and the mind fastens upon it, entertains it for a moment or two, and
dismisses
it a little stronger than it was on arrival.
Naturally
this mixture of thoughts from many sources has no definite coherence;
though
any one of them may start a line of associate ideas, and so set the mind
thinking
on its own account. If a man pulls himself up suddenly as he walks
along
the street, and asks himself:
“What
am I thinking about, and why? how did I reach this particular point in my
train
of thought?” and if he tries to follow back the line of his thoughts for
the
last ten minutes, he will probably be quite surprised to discover how many
idle
and useless fancies have passed through his mind in that space of time. Not
one-fourth
of them are his own thoughts; they are simply fragments which he has
picked
up as he passed along. In most cases they are quite useless, and their
general
tendency is more likely to be evil than good.
WHAT
WE CAN DO BY THOUGHT
Now
that we understand to some extent the action of thought, let us see what use
it
is possible to make of this knowledge, and what practical considerations
emerge
from it. Knowing these things, what can we do to forward our own
evolution,
and what can we do to help others? Obviously, a scientific
consideration
of the way in which thought works, exhibits it as a matter of far
greater
importance, not only for our own evolution but also for that of others,
than
is ordinarily supposed.
When
we look at this question of thought with regard to its effects upon others,
we
find ourselves brought back again from this different point of view to every
one
of the considerations which we have already emphasised when speaking of the
reaction
of this force upon ourselves. This is natural, for what tends to our
progress
must tend also to that of others. So we must touch these subjects
again,
though but in passing.
Since
every thought or emotion produces a permanent effect by strengthening or
weakening
a tendency, and since furthermore every thought-wave and thought-form
must
not only react upon the thinker, but also influence many other people, the
greatest
care must be exercised as to the thought or emotion which a man permits
within
himself. The ordinary man rarely thinks of attempting to check an
emotion;
when he feels it surging within him he yields himself to it and
considers
it merely natural. One who studies scientifically the action of these
forces
realises that it is his interest as well as his duty to check every such
upwelling,
and consider, before he allows it to sway him, whether it is or is
not
prejudicial to his evolution and to that of his neighbours.
Instead
of allowing his emotions to run away with him he must have them
absolutely
under control; and since the stage of evolution at which we have
arrived
is the development of the mental body, he must take this matter
seriously
in hand and see what can be done to assist that development. Instead
of
allowing the mind to indulge in its vagaries he should endeavour to assert
control
over it, recognising that the mind is not the man, but is an instrument
which
the man must learn to use. It must not be left to lie fallow; it must not
be
allowed to remain idle, so that any passing thought-form can drift in upon it
and
impress it. The first step towards control of the mind is to keep it
usefully
occupied-- to have (as has already been said) some definite, good and
useful
set of thoughts as a background to the mind' s operation-- something upon
which
it shall always fall back when there is no immediate need for its activity
in
connection with duty to be done.
Another
necessary point in its training is that it shall be taught to do
thoroughly
that which it has to do-- in other words, that the power of
concentration
shall be acquired. This is no light task, as any unpractised
person
will find who endeavours to keep his mind absolutely upon one point even
for
five minutes. He will find that there is an active tendency to wander-- that
all
kinds of other thoughts thrust themselves in; the first effort to fix the
mind
on one subject for five minutes is likely to resolve itself into spending
five
minutes in bringing the mind back again and again from various side-issues
which
it has followed.
Fortunately,
though concentration itself is no easy thing, there are plenty of
opportunities
for attempting it, and its acquisition is of great use in our
daily
life. We should learn then, whatever we are doing, to focus our attention
upon
it and to do it with all our might and as well as it can be done; if we
write
a letter, let that letter be well and accurately written, and let no
carelessness
in detail delay it or mar its effect; if we are reading a book,
even
though it be only a novel, let us read it with attention, trying to grasp
the
author' s meaning, and to gain from it all that there is to be gained. The
endeavour
to be constantly learning something, to let no day pass without some
definite
exercise of the mind, is a most salutary one; for it is only by
exercise
that strength comes, and disuse means always weakness and eventual
atrophy.
It
is also of great importance that we should learn to husband our energy. Each
man
possesses only a certain amount of energy, and he is responsible for its
utilisation
to the best advantage. The ordinary man wastes his force in the most
foolish
manner. He is always frittering it away without a shadow of necessity or
justification.
Sometimes he is full of eager desire for something which is quite
unnecessary;
or he is full of worry about some fancied evil which he imagines
may
be impending. At another time he is deeply depressed, but does not know
exactly
why; but whatever he alleges as the ostensible cause, the fact remains
that
he is more or less in a condition of excitement and agitation, because he
will
not take things philosophically, and lay to heart the wise old maxim that,
as
regards what comes upon us from the outer world, “nothing matters much, and
most
things don' t matter at all.” The thoughts and emotions of an average crowd
are
like the inhabitants of a disturbed ant-hill, all rushing wildly and
aimlessly
about in different directions, but causing a vast amount of disorder
and
tumult; which is precisely why the occultist invariably avoids a crowd,
unless
duty takes him into it. It is especially necessary for the student of
occultism
to learn to avoid this dissipation of his energies.
One
way in which the average man wastes a great deal of force is by unnecessary
argument.
It appears to be impossible for him to hold any opinion, whether it be
religious
or political, or relating to some matter in ordinary life, without
becoming
a prey to an overmastering desire to force this opinion upon every one
else,
He seems quite incapable of grasping the rudimentary fact that what
another
man chooses to believe is no business of his, and that he is not
commissioned
by the authorities in charge of the world to go round and secure
uniformity
in thought and practice.
The
wise man realises that truth is a many-sided thing, not commonly held in its
entirely
by any one man, or by any one set of men; he knows that there is room
for
diversity of opinion upon almost any conceivable subject, and that therefore
a
man whose point of view is opposite to his own may nevertheless have something
of
reason and truth in his belief. He knows that most of the subjects over which
men
argue are not in the least worth the trouble of discussion, and that those
who
speak most loudly and most confidently about them are usually those who know
least.
The student of occultism will therefore decline to waste his time in
argument;
if he is asked for information he is willing to give it, but not to
waste
his time and strength in unprofitable wrangling.
Another
painfully common method of wasting strength is that worry of which I
have
already written as so serious an obstacle in the path of peace. Many men
are
constantly forecasting evil for themselves and for those whom they love--
troubling
themselves with the fear of death and of what comes after it, with the
fear
of financial ruin or loss of social position. A vast amount of strength is
frittered
away along these unprofitable and unpleasant lines; but all such
foolishness
is swept aside for the man who realises that the world is governed
by
a law of absolute justice, that progress towards the highest is the Divine
Will
for him, that he cannot escape from that progress, that whatever comes in
his
way and whatever happens to him is meant to help him along that line, and
that
he himself is the only person who can delay that advance. He no longer
troubles
and fears about himself and about others; he simply goes on and does
the
duty that comes nearest in the best way that he can, confident that if he
does
that, all will be well for him. He knows that worry never yet helped any
one,
nor has it ever been of the slightest use, but that it has been responsible
for
an immense amount of evil and waste of force; and the wise man declines to
spend
his strength in ill-directed emotion.
So
we see that if it is necessary for his own evolution that man should keep
mind
and emotion under control, and not foolishly waste his force, it is still
more
necessary from another point of view, because it is only by such care that
he
can enable himself to be of use to his fellow men, that he can avoid doing
harm
to them and can learn how to do good. If, for example, he lets himself feel
angry,
he naturally produces a grave effect upon himself, because he sets up an
evil
habit and makes it more difficult to resist the evil impulse next time it
assails
him. But he also acts seriously upon others around him, for inevitably
the
vibrations which radiate from him must affect them also.
If
he is making an effort to control his irritability, so perhaps are they, and
his
action will help or hinder them, even though he is not in the least thinking
of
them. Every time that he allows himself to send out a wave of anger, that
tends
to arouse a similar vibration in the mind or astral body of another-- to
arouse
it if it has not previously existed and to intensify it if it is already
present;
and thus he makes his brother' s work of self-development harder for
him,
and places a heavier burden upon his shoulders. On the other hand, if he
controls
and represses the wave of anger, he radiates instead, calming and
soothing
influences which are distinctly helpful to all those near him who are
engaged
in the same struggle.
Few
people realise their responsibilities in this matter. It is bad enough
surely
that any evil thought of ours should communicate itself to the minds of
any
persons within range of us who may happen to be idle and unoccupied. But the
truth
is much worse than that. In every man there lie germs or possibilities of
evil
which have come over from a previous life, but have not as yet been called
into
activity in this incarnation. If we send out an evil or impure thought, it
may
easily happen that it arouses into activity one of these germs, and so
through
our lack of self-control there comes into that man' s life an evil of
which
otherwise he might have got rid. We revive in him the dormant tendency
which
was in the act of dying out, and thereby we delay him in his upward
progress.
So
long as that germ is dormant the quality is dying out, but when it is aroused
again
it may increase to any extent. It is like breaking a hole through a dyke
and
letting out the water. In fact, a man who sends out an evil thought cannot
tell
for what amount of evil he may make himself responsible; for a man who
becomes
wicked, in consequence of that thought, may in turn affect other people,
and
those yet others in turn; so it is actually true that because of one evil
thought
generations yet to come may suffer. Happily all this is true of good
thoughts
as well as of evil, and the man who understands this fact uses wisely
the
power which it gives him, and may have an influence for good which is beyond
all
calculation.
THE
RESPONSIBILITY OF THOUGHT
Possessing
this tremendous power, we must be careful how we exercise it. We must
remember
to think of a person as we wish him to be, for the image that we thus
make
of him will naturally act powerfully upon him, and tend to draw him
gradually
into harmony with itself. Let us fix our thoughts upon the good
qualities
of our friends, because in thinking of any quality we tend to
strengthen
its vibrations, and therefore to intensify it.
From
this consideration it follows that the habit of gossip and scandal, in
which
many people thoughtlessly indulge themselves; is in reality heinous
wickedness,
in condemning which no expression can be too strong. When people are
guilty
of the impertinence of discussing others, it is not usually upon the good
qualities
that they most insist. We have therefore a number of people fixing
their
thought upon some alleged evil in another, and calling to that evil the
attention
of others who might perhaps not have observed it; and in this way, if
that
bad quality really exists in the person whom they are so improperly
criticising,
they distinctly increase it by strengthening the undulation which
is
its expression. If, as is usually the case, the depravity exists only in
their
own prurient imagination, and is not present in the person about whom they
are
gossiping, then they are doing the utmost in their power to create that evil
quality
in that person, and if there be any latent germ of it existing in their
victim,
their nefarious effect is only too likely to be successful.
We
may think helpfully of those whom we love; we may hold before them in thought
a
high ideal of themselves, and wish strongly that they may presently be enabled
to
attain it; but if we know of certain defects or vices in a man' s character,
we
should never under any circumstances let our thoughts dwell upon them and
intensify
them; our plan should be to formulate a strong thought of the contrary
virtues,
and then send out waves of that thought to the man who needs our help.
The
ordinary method is for one to say to another.
“O
my dear, what a terrible thing it is that Mrs. So-and-So is so ill-tempered!
Why,
do you know, only yesterday she did this and that, and I have heard that
she
constantly, etc., etc. Isn' t it a terrible thing?”
And
this is repeated by each person to her thirty or forty dearest friends, and
in
a few hours several hundred people are pouring converging streams of thought,
all
about anger and irritability, upon the unfortunate victim. Is it any wonder
that
she presently justifies their expectations, and gives them yet another
example
of ill-tempered over which they can gloat?
A
person wishing to help in such a case will be especially careful to avoid
thinking
about anger at all, but instead will think with force:
“I
wish Mrs. So-and-So were calm and serene; she has the possibility of such
self-control
within her; let me try frequently to send her strong, calm,
soothing
thought-waves, such as will help her to realise the Divine possibility
within
her.”
In
the one case the thought is of anger; in the other it is of serenity; in both
alike
it will inevitably find its goal, and tend to reproduce itself in the
mental
and astral bodies of the recipient of the thought. By all means let us
think
frequently and lovingly of our friends, but let us think of their good
points
only, and try, by concentrating our attention upon those, to strengthen
them
and to help our friends by their means.
A
man often says that he cannot control his thoughts or his passions-- that he
has
often tried to do so, but has consistently failed, and has therefore come to
the
conclusion that such effort is useless. This idea is wholly unscientific. If
an
evil quality or habit possesses a certain amount of strength within us, it is
because
in previous lives we have allowed that strength to accumulate-- because
we
have not resisted it in the beginning when it could easily have been
repressed,
but have permitted it to gather the momentum which makes it difficult
now
to deal with it.
We
have, in fact, made it easy for ourselves to move along a certain line, and
correspondingly
difficult to move along another line-- difficult, but not
impossible.
The amount of momentum or energy accumulated is necessarily a finite
amount;
even if we have devoted several lives entirely to storing up such energy
(an
unlikely supposition), still the time so occupied has been a limited time,
and
the results are necessarily finite.
If
we have now realised the mistake we made, and are setting ourselves to
control
that habit and to neutralise that impetus, we shall find it necessary to
put
forth exactly as much strength in the opposite direction as we originally
spent
in setting up that momentum. Naturally we cannot instantly produce
sufficient
force entirely to counteract the work of many years, but every effort
which
we make will reduce the amount of force stored up. We ourselves as living
souls
can go on generating force indefinitely; we have an infinite store of
strength
on which to draw, and therefore it is absolutely certain that if we
persevere
we must eventually succeed. However often we may fail, each time
something
is withdrawn from that finite store of force, and it will be exhausted
before
we shall, so that our eventual success is simply a matter of mechanics.
The
knowledge of the use of these thought-currents makes it possible for us
always
to give assistance when we know of some case of sorrow or suffering. It
often
happens that we are unable to do anything for the sufferer physically; our
bodily
presence may not be helpful to him; his physical brain may be closed to
our
suggestions by prejudice or by religious bigotry. But his astral and mental
bodies
are far more easily impressible than the physical, and it is always open
to
us to approach these by a wave of helpful thought or of affection and
soothing
feeling.
The
law of cause and effect holds good just as certainly in finer matter as in
denser,
and consequently the energy which we pour forth must reach its goal and
must
produce it effect. There can be no question that the image or the idea
which
we wish to put before the man for his comfort or his help will reach him;
whether
it will present itself clearly to his mind when it arrives depends,
first
upon the definiteness of outline which we have been able to give to it,
and
secondly upon his mental condition at the time. He may be so fully occupied
with
thoughts of his own trials and sufferings that there is little room for our
idea
to insert itself; but in that case our thought-form simply bides its time,
and
when at last his attention is diverted, or exhaustion forces him to suspend
the
activity of his own train of thought, ours will at once slip in and do its
errand
of mercy. There are so many cases where the best will in the world can do
nothing
physically; but there is no conceivable case in which either in the
mental
or the astral world some relief cannot be given by steady, concentrated,
loving
thought.
The
phenomena of mind-cure show how powerful thought may be even in the physical
world,
and since it acts so much more easily in astral and mental matter we may
realise
vividly how tremendous the power really is, if we will but exercise it.
We
should watch for every opportunity of being thus helpful; there is little
doubt
that plenty of cases will offer themselves. As we walk along the street,
as
we ride in a tram-car or railway train, we often see some one who is
obviously
suffering from depression or sadness; there is our opportunity, and we
may
immediately take advantage of it by trying to arouse and to help him.
Let
us try to send him strongly the feeling that, in spite of his personal
sorrows
and troubles, the sun still shines above all, and there is still much
for
which to be thankful, much that is good and beautiful in the world.
Sometimes
we may see the instant effect of our effort-- we may actually watch
the
man brighten up under the influence of the thought which we have sent to
him.
We cannot always expect such immediate physical result; but if we
understand
the laws of nature we shall in every case be equally sure that some
result
is being produced.
It
is often difficult for the man who is unaccustomed to these studies to
believe
that he is really affecting those at whom his thought is aimed; but
experience
in a great number of cases has shown us that anyone who makes a
practice
of such efforts will in time find evidence of his success accumulating
until
it is no longer possible for him to doubt. The man should make it part of
his
life thus to try to help all whom he knows and loves, whether they be living
or
what is commonly called dead; for naturally the possession or the absence of
the
physical body makes no difference whatever to the action of forces which are
levelled
at the mental and astral bodies. By steady, regular practice of this
sort
great good will be done, for we gain strength by practice, and so, while we
are
developing our own powers and insuring our progress, the world will be
helped
by our kindly efforts.
Thus
whatever is truly for our own interest is also for the interest of the
world,
and what is not good for the world can never in reality be for our
interest
either. For all true gain is gained for all. To many a man this may
appear
a strange statement, because we are accustomed to think that what one man
gains
another loses; yet it enshrines a great truth. Elsewhere I have shown that
if
one party to a transaction is unfairly treated, and therefore loses, there is
no
true gain for the other.
A
straightforward, honest piece of business means gain for both parties. A
tradesman,
let us suppose, buys his goods wholesale, and then, taking care to
say
of them only what is strictly true, disposes of them by retail at a
reasonable
profit. Here all parties gain, for the wholesale merchant and the
tradesman
make their living, while the purchasers are willing to pay the retail
price
in order to have the convenience of buying in small quantities. Each
person
gains what he wishes; no one loses; all are satisfied.
This
is merely a superficial example from the physical world; it is in the
higher
realms of thought that we may see most clearly how beautifully this rule
works.
Suppose that a man gains knowledge. He may impart his gain to a hundred
others,
yet he himself will have lost nothing. Not only so, but even others, to
whom
he does not impart it, will gain indirectly from his possession of it.
Because
he has this added knowledge, he is by so much a wiser and more useful
man;
his words should be the more weighty, his actions the more sagacious, and
so
others around him should be the better for his learning.
We
may go deeper still. Since the man knows more, not only his words and action
but
his thoughts will be wiser than before. His thought-forms will be better,
the
waves flowing from his mental body higher and richer; and these must
inevitably
produce their result upon the mental bodies of others around him.
Like
all other waves in nature they tend to reproduce themselves, to provoke a
similar
rate of undulation in anything with which they come into contact. The
same
natural law, by the action of which in the physical world you are able to
boil
the water for your tea or to toast your bread at the fire, makes it
absolutely
certain that the good effects of additional wisdom will influence
others,
even though the possessor speaks never a word.
That
is why in all religions so much importance is attached to the company of
the
good, the wise, the pure. Human qualities are infectious, and it is of the
greatest
moment that we should be careful to which of them we subject ourselves.
Take
another instance. Suppose that you gain the valuable power of self-control.
Perhaps
you were formerly a passionate man, and now you have learnt to check
that
outpouring of force, and to hold it in subjection. Let us see how that
affects
others about you. In the physical world it is unquestionably pleasanter
for
them, but them, but let us consider the effect on their finer vehicles.
When
in earlier days you allowed yourself to get into a rage, great waves of
strong
wrath poured out from you in all directions. No one who has seen the
illustration
of such an outrush as that which appears in Man Visible and
Invisible
, will need to be told what disastrous effects such waves must have
produced
upon the astral bodies of those who were so unfortunate as to be near
you.
Perhaps one of those men was himself struggling the same evil habit. If so,
the
emanations of your fury stirred up similar activity in his astral body, and
so
you strengthened that evil, you made your brother' s task harder, and his
burden
heavier to bear than it otherwise would have been. And once more I must
insist
that you have no right to do that.
But
now that you have gained self-control, all this is most happily changed.
Still
you radiate vibrations, for that is Nature' s law, but now they are no
longer
the lurid flashes of anger, but the calm, measured sweep of the strong
waves
of love and peace. And these also impinge upon the astral body of your
fellow
man, and tend to reproduce themselves in him; and if he is fighting a
battle
against passion, their stately rhythm helps him and steadies him. Your
force
is being exerted on his side instead of against him, and so you lighten
his
burden, you aid him on his upward path. Is it not true then that in your
gain
he has gained also?
Men
are so inextricably linked together, humanity is so truly a unity amidst all
its
marvellous diversity, that no one can advance or recede without helping or
hindering
the progress of others. Wherefore it behoves us to take heed that we
are
among the helpers and not among the hinderers, and that no living being,
whether
man or animal, shall ever be the worse for any thought or word or deed
of
ours.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XX
BY
WHAT WE DO
WORK
FOR THE POOR
THE
question of what we can do is one which it is impossible to treat fully, for
the
reason that each person has his own opportunities, and no two sets of
opportunities
are alike. We are often asked whether a Theosophist should
undertake
any of the ordinary charitable lines of work, which are not specially
connected
with the Theosophical Society. This is a question which each must
answer
for himself, because the answer to it depends on his special
circumstances.
I think that it may be laid down as a general rule that when
there
is specially Theosophical work that he can do, he should devote his time
to
that, because that is a kind of business that only he can do, whereas many
other
people can do the ordinary charitable labour as well as he.
Take
for example a case of what is called slum work, the direct help of the poor
by
visiting them and carrying to them various small comforts. None can deny that
this
is a most excellent thing to do, and that it sadly needs doing; but if one
is
to choose between spending a certain time in this distinctly physical
occupation
and doing something in a higher world which will tend to bring nearer
the
time when slums shall no longer exist, then I say that the latter is the
greater
work to do and the better way of employing the time, for only one who
has
studied Theosophy can help to spread the Theosophical teaching, whereas any
good
and kind-hearted person, of whatever class, can undertake the task of
carrying
food and blankets to the poor.
It
is good work, surely, to help to make a road, but we should not put to that
task
of road-making a man who has qualified himself as an engineer or a doctor.
Any
man who has a talent in a certain direction or has the knowledge necessary
to
enable him to work in a particular way, should be employed along his special
line,
for there are only a few who can do that, whereas anyone can do the
unskilled
labour of the world, and there are vast numbers who can do only that.
Therefore
it seems to me that when a Theosophist can employ his time in
spreading
and teaching Theosophy, he should not put this aside in order to take
up
a more ordinary kind of work for the world. But if he is so situated that he
cannot
do anything for the Theosophical propaganda which is his speciality, he
ought
certainly then to employ his spare time in the highest type of charitable
labour
within his reach.
What
is required is that he should cultivate a spirit of benevolence, that he
should
be eagerly watching all day long for opportunities of being helpful. Best
of
course if he can be useful in the highest way, is guiding people towards
Theosophy,
but when that is not for the moment possible, he should be helpful in
a
more ordinary manner. He should employ himself in sending out benevolent
thoughts,
or in making people happy in the physical world. He should import the
idea
of helpfulness into every little daily action. Each man must decide for
himself
how he can best do this, and his study of the hidden side of things will
offer
him many suggestions; for it makes daily life much more interesting, and
enables
us much more useful than we could be without it.
It
shows us that many apparently trivial actions reach further than we think,
and
therefore impresses strongly upon us the necessity for living carefully and
recollectedly.
It shows a man that every action has its effect upon those around
him,
even when it seems on the surface to concern himself alone; that for this
effect
on others he is responsible, and that it offers him a welcome opportunity
for
doing good. When this is once grasped, he realises that he must order his
life
from this new point of view-- that it must be spent, even in small things,
not
for himself, but for others. Many a man lives for others in the sense that
he
regulates his life on what he imagines others are thinking about him; but our
student'
s altruism will be of another sort. He will put before himself for his
guidance
two stringent rules:
1.
That everything shall be done unselfishly.
2.
That everything shall be done with definite purpose, and as perfectly as he
can
do it.
THE
FORCE OF THE MASTER
If
he does this, if he lives in this way, the Powers who rule the world will
soon
recognise him and use him, for by living thus he makes himself a ready
channel
for the power of the Master, a valuable instrument in His hands. Truly,
the
help of the Holy Ones is given chiefly upon higher planes; but it is not
confined
to them; it acts in the physical world as well, if we give it the
opportunity.
The Master will not waste His strength in forcing a stream of His
energy
down into the dense matter of this lower world, because to do that would
not
be good spiritual economics; it would not be utilising that amount of energy
to
the best advantage. But if a man already living in our lower world so
arranges
his life as to make himself a fit channel for that energy, the position
is
altered, and it becomes worth the Master' s while to make an effort which
would
not otherwise have been remunerative.
We
have to remember that a channel must be open at both ends, not at one end
only.
The higher end of our channel consists in the devotion and unselfishness
of
the man, in the very fact that he is anxious to be used, and is ordering his
life
for that purpose. The lower end is the man' s physical body, through which
the
influence must pass out, and this also needs careful attention, in order
that
it may not befoul the stream which the Master sends.
Remember
that we are dealing with no vague abstraction, but with a physical
though
invisible fluid, which permeates the matter of the body and exudes
through
the pores of the skin, or is projected from the hands or feet. Therefore
that
body must be pure inside, uncontaminated by flesh-foods, alcohol or
tobacco;
and it must also be kept scrupulously clean outside by frequent and
thorough
ablutions, especial attention being paid to the hands and feet.
Otherwise
the fluid, transmuted with so much care from higher planes, will be
polluted
as it passes through man, and will fail to achieve the object for which
it
was sent.
Although
this force radiates from the worthy student at all times, he can also
gather
it up and pour it out with definite intention upon a particular object.
In
a previous chapter it was explained how the ordinary man can protect himself
from
evil influence when shaking hands, or when surrounded by a crowd; but the
student,
instead of protecting himself, will make out of these unpleasing
occurrences
opportunities to act upon others. When he shakes hands with a man,
he
will send the Master' s power rushing through his extended arm. The beginner
may
ask: “How can I do that? And even if I try, how can I be certain that I have
succeeded
?”
All
that is needed here is a firm conviction and an intense resolve-- a
conviction,
based upon his study, that this is a thing that can be done, and the
intense
resolve to do it, which comes from his deep devotion to the Master and
his
earnest desire to do His will. Success in all magical efforts depends upon
the
absolute confidence of the operator; a man who doubts his own capacity has
already
failed. So that all that is necessary is that he should mingle with the
hearty
welcome which he extends to his visitor the strong thought: “I give you
herewith
the love of the Master.” In the same way, when he finds himself in a
crowd,
he will spread among the people that same influence of the Master' s
love;
and that outpouring will be for him a far better protection than any
shell.
THE
MANUFACTURE OF TALISMANS
Another
use which can be made of this force is to charge certain objects with
it,
thereby converting them into talismans. I have written before of the effects
producible
by such charms; I speak now of the process of their manufacture. The
more
advanced branches of this art require definite knowledge, obtainable only
by
an extended course of study; but any earnest man can make a temporary
talisman
which will be of great use to one who needs help.
One
who is accustomed to the work can perform any ordinary process of
magnetisation
or demagnetisation practically instantaneously by the mere
exertion
of his will; but the beginner usually finds it necessary to help
himself
in the concentration of his will by thinking carefully of the various
stages
of the process and using the appropriate gestures. Suppose, for example,
that
it is desirable to magnetise some small body (such as a ring, a locket, a
penholder)
in order to make it an amulet against fear; what is the easiest
method
of procedure?
Realise
first exactly what is wanted. We wish to load that body with etheric,
astral
and mental matter heavily charged with a particular set of undulations--
those
of courage and confidence. The trained occultist would gather together
each
of those levels such types of matter as will most easily receive and retain
vibrations
of just that character; the beginner, knowing nothing, of that, must
use
whatever material comes to hand and so will have to expend a greater amount
of
force than would be exerted by his more experienced brother.
The
making of an amulet may be likened to the writing of an inscription, and the
acquisition
of the right kind of matter corresponds to obtaining a perfect
surface
on which to write. The beginner, who cannot do this must write with
greater
labour and less perfection of result upon the surface that happens to be
available.
The first difficulty that confronts him is that his sheet is not even
a
blank one; his paper already bears an inscription, which must be removed
before
he can use it. If, the ring or locket has been worn by anyone, it is
already
full of the magnetism of that person-- magnetism which may be better or
may
be worse than that of the student, but is at any rate different from it, and
so
is an obstacle-- just as any kind of writing, however good, which already
fills
a sheet of paper, stands in the way of its use for further writing. Even
if
the ring or pen-holder be quite new, it is likely to contain something of the
special
magnetism either of the maker or of the seller; so in any case the first
thing
is to remove whatever may be there-- to obtain a clear sheet for our
inscription.
There are various methods by which this may be done; let me
describe
a simple one.
Rest
the tip of the forefinger of the right hand against the end of the thumb,
so
as to make a ring, and imagine a film of ether stretched across that ring
like
the head of a drum. Will strongly that such a film should be made, and
remember
that that very effort of the will does make it, although you cannot see
it.
Remember also that it is essential to the success of the experiment that you
should
be quite certain of this fact-- that your previous study should have
convinced
you that the human will has the power to arrange subtle matter in this
or
any other way.
Then,
keeping your attention firmly fixed upon that film, so as to hold it quite
rigid,
pass slowly through it the object to be demagnetised, and by so doing you
will
cleanse it entirely of the etheric part of its previous magnetism. I do not
mean
that you will leave it without etheric matter, but that every particle of
such
matter will be swept out and replaced; just as, if a tube is filled with
gas
and one blows strongly into one end of it, all the gas is driven out; but
the
tube is not therefore empty, as the pressure of the surrounding air
immediately
refills it. So the specially charged ether is dredged out of the
locket
or pen-holder, and its place is taken by the ordinary ether which
interpenetrates
the surrounding atmosphere.
The
next step is to let the etheric film dissolve, and replace it by one of
astral
matter, through which the object is again passed. The process may be
repeated
with a film of mental matter, and we shall then have the object
entirely
free on all three planes from any sort of specialised magnetism-- a
clean
sheet, in fact, upon which we can write what we will. After a certain
amount
of practice the student can make a combined film containing etheric,
astral
and mental matter, so as to perform the whole operation by passing the
object
once through the ring.
The
operator must then exercise all his strength to fill himself with the
qualities
which he wishes the amulet to convey (in this case fearlessness and
self-reliance),
excluding for the moment all thought of other attributes and
becoming
the living incarnation of these. Then, when he has thus wound himself
up
to his highest level of enthusiasm, let him take the object in his left hand,
or
lay it on the table in front of him, and pour magnetism on it through the
fingers
of his right hand, all the time willing with his utmost strength that it
shall
be filled with the very essence of valour, calmness and intrepidity.
It
will probably help him in concentration if, while doing this, he repeats to
himself
firmly again and again such words as: “Courage, confidence, in the Name
of
the Master,” “Where this object is, may no fear enter,” or any others
expressing
a similar idea. Let him do this for a few minutes, never allowing his
attention
to swerve for a moment, and he need have no shade of doubt that he has
made
a really effective talisman.
This
process will probably occupy the tyro for some time, but a man who is
accustomed
to it does it quickly and easily. The trained occultist makes
constant
use of this power as a means of helping those with whom he comes into
contact;
he never despatches a letter, or even a postcard, without thinking what
good
gift of refreshing, consoling or strengthening magnetism he can send with
it.
He has at his command many other ways of making a talisman besides that
which
I have described; perhaps it may help towards a fuller comprehension of
the
subject if I enumerate some of them, even though they are quite beyond the
reach
of the ordinary student.
VARIETIES
OF TALISMANS
Amulets
are of all sorts and kinds-- literally many thousands of kinds-- but
they
may be arranged for our purposes into four classes, which we will call
respectively
general, adapted, ensouled and linked.
1.
General. The method which I have suggested above produces a talisman of this
description.
The trained man naturally obtains with less labour a better result,
not
only because he knows how to use his will effectively, but because he has
learnt
to select the most suitable materials; consequently the influence of his
amulet
is stronger, and lasts for many years instead of perhaps for a few
months.
This form of talisman is quite simple; its business is to pour out a
steady
stream of undulations expressing the quality with which it is charged,
and
it will continue to do this with undiminished vigour for a period the length
of
which depends upon the force originally put into it.
2
. Adapted. The adapted amulet is one that has been carefully prepared to fit a
particular
person. Its maker studies the man for whom it is intended, and notes
carefully
the deficiencies in his mental, astral and etheric bodies. Then he
culls
from the matter of the various planes the ingredients of his talisman,
just
as a physician selects the drugs to compound into a prescription, choosing
a
certain type of essence in order to repress an undesirable astral tendency,
another
in order to stimulate the sluggish action of some defective department
of
mental activity, and so on. Thus he produces an amulet accurately adapted to
the
needs of a particular person, and capable of doing for that person
enormously
more than a general talisman can do; but it would be of little use to
anyone
else but the man for whom it is intended. It is like a skillfully-made
key
with many wards, which exactly fits its lock, but will not open any other;
while
a general talisman may be compared to a skeleton key, which will open many
inferior
locks, but does not perfectly suit any.
3
. Ensouled. Sometimes it is desired to establish a centre of radiation which,
instead
of acting for a few score years at most, shall continue its outpouring
through
the centuries. In this case it is not enough to charge the selected
object
with a dose of magnetic force-- for, however large that dose may be, it
must
some time be exhausted; to produce this more permanent result we must bring
into
play some form of life; and for this purpose one of two methods is usually
adopted.
The
first is to include in the physical charm a minute fragment of one of those
higher
minerals which are sufficiently alive to throw out a ceaseless stream of
particles.
When that is done, the store of force poured into the amulet will
last
almost indefinitely longer, for instead of radiating steadily in all
directions
on its own account, it remains self-contained, and charges only the
particles
which pass through it. The work of distribution is thus done by the
mineral,
and a vast economy of energy is thereby secured.
The
second plan is so to arrange the ingredients of the talisman as to make it a
means
of manifestation for any one of certain comparatively undeveloped orders
of
nature-spirits. There are tribes of these creatures which, though full of
energy
and strongly desirous to do something with it, cannot express themselves
unless
they can find some sort of outlet. It is possible so to magnetise an
amulet
as to make it precisely the kind of outlet required, and thus to ensure
the
steady outflow through it of a stream of energy at high pressure, which may
last
for thousands of years, to the intense delight of the nature-spirits and
the
great benefit of all who approach the magnetised centre.
4.
Linked. The linked talisman differs completely from the other kinds in one
important
particular. All those previously described are made and set going by
their
creators, and then left to run their course and live their life, just as a
clockmaker
constructs a timepiece and then sells it to a customer and knows no
more
about it. But the clockmaker sometimes chooses to remain in touch with his
masterpiece,
and undertakes to keep it wound and in order; and this corresponds
to
the arrangement made in the case of a linked talisman. Instead of merely
loading
the object with influence of a certain type, the operator when he
magnetises
it brings it into close rapport with himself, so that it may become a
kind
of outpost of his consciousness, a sort of telephone-receiver always
connected
with him, through which he can reach the holder or be reached by him.
An
amulet of this type does not work mechanically upon the gyroscope principle,
as
the others do; or perhaps I should rather say it has a slight action of that
sort,
because it so strongly suggests the presence of it creator that it often
acts
as a deterrent, preventing the wearer from doing what he would not like the
maker
to see him do; but its principal action is of quite another kind. It makes
a
link through which the wearer can at a critical moment send a cry for help to
its
builder, who will instantly feel the appeal and respond by an outpouring of
strength
of whatever type may be required.
Its
manufacturer can also use it as a channel through which he can send periodic
waves
of influence, and so administer a course of treatment-- a kind of
emotional
or mental massage. Such a method of handling a case (I believe our
Christian
Science friends call it “absent treatment”) may be undertaken without
an
amulet, merely by projecting astral and mental currents; but a talisman makes
the
work easier, and enables the operator to deal more readily with the etheric
double
of the subject.
Usually
the link is made only in the physical, astral and lower mental worlds,
and
is therefore confined to the personality of its constructor; but there are
instances
when a Great One has chosen to link a physical talisman to Himself in
His
causal body, and then its influence lasts through the ages. This was done in
the
case of the physical objects buried at various points of future importance
by
Apollonius of Tyana.
DEMAGNETISATION
It
not infrequently occurs that it is desirable to demagnetise objects which are
larger
than those instanced above. In such cases one may hold the two hands at
the
requisite distance apart, and imagine a broad band of etheric matter
extending
between them, with which the previous magnetism can be dredged out as
before.
Another plan is to hold the two hands one on each side of the object,
and
send a strong stream of etheric matter through it from one hand to the
other,
thus washing away the undesired influence. The same force can often be
employed
in the same way to relieve pain. A headache, for example, is usually
either
caused or accompanied by a congestion of etheric matter in the brain, and
it
can often be cured by that same plan of putting the hands one on each side of
the
sufferer' s temples and washing away the congested matter by an effort of
the
will.
Another
use to which the power of demagnetisation can be put is to clear
objectionable
influences out of a room. One may have a visitor who leaves an
unpleasant
atmosphere behind him; or one may find uncomfortable astral
conditions
prevailing in one' s apartment at a hotel; and if such an emergency
arises,
it is useful to know how to deal with it. One practised in these mild
forms
of magic would manage the business in a few moments by the exercise of his
trained
will; but the younger student will probably find it better to employ
intermediate
means, precisely as the Catholic Church does.
The
cubic content of even a small room is too great for the employment of the
dredging
tactics previously recommended, so we must invoke the great principle
of
sympathy and antipathy, and set up within the room a series of vibrations so
hostile
to the evil influence that the latter is dominated or driven forth. To
create
such an undulation is not difficult; but means must be found for
spreading
it rapidly all over the room. One ready method is the burning of
incense
or pastilles; another is sprinkling of water; but both incense and water
must
first be passed through the process recommended for the making of a
talisman.
Their original magnetism must be removed, and they must be loaded with
the
thought of purity and peace. If that be thoroughly done, when the incense is
burned,
its particles (each bearing the desired influence) will quickly be
disseminated
through every cubic inch of air in the room; or if water be used
and
sprinkled about the chamber, each drop of it will at once become a centre of
active
radiation. A vaporiser is an even more effective method of distribution;
and
if rose-water be used instead of ordinary water, the work of the student
will
be considerably facilitated.
The
method of action of these etheric or astral disinfectants is obvious. The
disturbing
influence of which we desire to rid ourselves expresses itself in
etheric
and astral waves of a certain length. Our magnetic efforts fill the room
with
another set of waves, different in length and more powerful, because they
have
been intentionally set swinging, which probably the others were not. The
two
sets of inharmonious vibrations cannot co-exist, and so the stronger
overpowers
and extinguishes the weaker.
These
are some of the ways in which the force that dwells within man, the force
that
flows through man, may be used. In this case, as in every other, knowledge
is
power, in this case, as in every other, additional power means additional
responsibility
and additional opportunity. If you can readily develop this
power,
if you can do these things quickly and easily, so much the better for
you,
so long as you use this advantage unselfishly, and make the world by its
means
a little happier, a little better, a little cleaner as the result of your
efforts.
DO
LITTLE THINGS WELL
Remember
the second maxim-- that everything shall be done as perfectly as we can
do
it. Charge your letter with magnetism and make a talisman of it, by all
means;
you will do great good thereby; but do not forget that the mere physical
handwriting
must be perfect also-- first, out of courtesy to the recipient, and
secondly,
because all work done for the Master must be done with the utmost
care,
even to the minutest detail. And as all our work is work for Him, executed
in
His name and to His glory, that means that nothing must ever be done
carelessly.
In this, too, unselfishness may be applied; no one has the right to
cause
trouble to another by illegible handwriting-- to save a few moments of his
own
time by wasting many minutes of another' s.
We
must not think that because we know more of the hidden side of things than
others,
and so are able to add unexpected blessings to daily acts, we are
thereby
absolved from doing the ordinary part of those acts to the very best of
our
ability. Not worse but better than that of others must our work be, in every
respect
and from every point of view, for the honour of the Master whom we
serve.
What the work is that He gives us, matters little; that it should be
nobly
done matters supremely. And the man who, all his life through, does the
small,
daily details well and carefully, will not be found wanting when some day
he
suddenly finds himself face to face with a great opportunity.
The
little things in life weigh more than the big things; there are so many of
them,
and it is so much more difficult to go on steadily doing them. Saint
Augustine
remarked: “Many there be who will die for Christ, but few there be who
will
live for Him.” Many of us would instantly and gladly do some great thing
for
the Master; but He does not commonly ask for that. He asks us to live our
daily
life nobly, not for ourselves but for others; to forget ourselves, only to
remember
the good of mankind. Let us then form the habit of helpfulness-- for it
soon
becomes a habit, like everything else. It certainly makes life more
interesting;
and, above all, it brings us every day nearer to Him.
WRITING
A LETTER
I
mentioned some pages back that an occultist never despatches a letter without
putting
into it something of strength and encouragement; but it does not need
person
of a great advancement to perform so elementary an act of magic as this.
Anyone
may do it with a little trouble, when be understands how these forces
work.
We
all know that when a psychometrist takes a letter into his hand he can
describe
the personal appearance of the writer, the condition of his mind at the
time
of writing, the room in which he was sitting, any other people who happened
to
be present, and even the surrounding scenery.
It
is manifest, therefore, that a letter brings with it much more than the
message
written in it, and though only one who is developed as a psychometrist
may
be able to sense this with sufficient clearness to reduce it to actual
vision,
yet an effect of some sort must obviously be produced even upon those
who
do not fully see. The vibrations upon which the psychometrist' s
observations
are founded are there, whether there is or is not anyone present
who
can see by their means, and they must affect to some extent anyone with whom
they
come directly into contact. This being so, we see that here is an
opportunity
for the person who understands. The student can learn the operation
of
these forces, and can then direct them intelligently as he will.
Suppose,
for example, he wishes to write a letter of condolence and consolation
to
some friend who has, as we mistakenly phrase it, ` lost' some one near and
dear
to him. We all know the difficulty of writing such a letter. In attempting
it
we put upon the paper whatever of solace comes into our minds, and we try to
express
it as forcefully and sympathetically as we can, yet we are conscious all
the
while that words are impotent in such a case, and that they can bring but
poor
comfort to the bereaved one. We feel the futility and inefficiency of our
communication,
though we send it because we wish to express our commiseration,
and
we know that we ought to do something.
Such
a letter need not be fruitless and unavailing. On the contrary it may
produce
the most beneficent effect, and may lead to great alleviation of
suffering.
Words often fail us, but our thoughts do not; and in the writing of
such
a letter a man' s heart may be filled with the strong wish to bring
encouragement
and help, however poorly the written lines may express it. If he
exercises
his will he may make that letter bear with it his thought and feeling,
so
that they shall react upon the mind and emotions of the recipient, while his
eyes
are perusing the manuscript.
We
know that currents of thought and feeling can be sent to the mourner
immediately
and without the physical agency of a letter, and one who has no
other
pressing work could undoubtedly console and strengthen the sufferer by
pouring
upon him a steady stream of such thought and feeling. The writing of the
letter
by no means precludes the student from offering efficient help in that
other
way as well; but it usefully supplements such work, and carries it on
while
the student is otherwise engaged.
Those
who are trying on their small scale to help the world soon find that they
have
a multitude of cases upon their hands, and that they can work best by
dividing
their time between them. The more advanced student will leave with each
such
case a puissant thought-form, which will radiate invigoration and
cheerfulness
until he can again turn his attention to that case. But one who has
not
yet developed his powers to that extent may readily produce an effect almost
equivalent,
if he has a physical basis upon which to found the thought-form. A
letter
furnishes him with exactly such a basis, and into it he can pour healing
and
strengthening forces until it becomes a veritable talisman. If the writer
thinks
strongly of his sympathy and affection, and wills earnestly to charge the
letter
with this thought and feeling, it will assuredly bear this message for
him.
When it reaches its destination the friend who opens it will naturally
recognise
the kindly intention of the sender, and by that very recognition will
open
himself towards the influence, and adopt unconsciously a recipient
attitude.
As he reads the written message, the helpful thoughts and feelings are
playing
all the while upon his mind and emotions, and the effect produced upon
him
will be out of all proportion to the mere physical words.
The
action of the letter does not cease here. The recipient reads it, lays it
aside
and perhaps forgets it, but its vibrations are nevertheless steadily
radiating,
and they continue to influence him long after the letter itself has
passed
from his mind. If he happens to put the letter in his pocket and carry it
about
with him, its influence upon him will naturally be closer and stronger;
but
in any case such a letter of helpfulness and good intention will fill the
whole
room with peace and comfort, so that the mourner will feel its effect
whenever
he enters his chamber, however unconscious he may be as to its source.
Obviously
it is not only for consolation that this power can be employed. A
mother,
who feels uneasy as to the temptations which may surround an absent son,
may
send him letters which will encompass him with a halo of purity and peace,
and
bear him unconscious and uncontaminated through many a scene of peril. A
multitude
of words is not necessary; even a humble postcard may bear its message
of
love and strength, and may be a real shield against evil thought, or an
impulse
in the direction of good.
It
may occur to some readers that a letter is handled by so many persons before
it
reaches its destination that any magnetism that it might bring with it would
necessarily
be of mixed character. There is much truth in this; but the postmen,
the
sorters and the servants who handle it have no special interest in it, and
consequently
such influence as their thoughts may exercise upon it is of the
most
superficial character; whereas the writer has intentionally thrown into it
a
wealth of feeling which has thoroughly permeated it and is strong enough to
overpower
all casual connections of this sort.
Incidentally
this helps us to understand that there is always a responsibility
attached
to this action of writing a letter. We may charge our writing
voluntarily
with a great force for good, and that needs a special effort of the
will;
but even without any special effort, our mood when writing undoubtedly
impresses
itself upon the paper, though naturally not so strongly. If therefore
a
man be in a condition of irritation or depression when inditing a letter,
these
emotions of his will be faithfully mirrored in his work, and the letter
will
bear these vibrations with it and radiate them to the recipient, even
though
they are not at all intended for him, and the original annoyance or
depression
was in no way connected with him. If on the other hand the writer is
serene
and happy, a letter for him, even though it be nothing but a curt
business
communication, will contain within itself something of these qualities,
and
will spread a good influence around it.
It
is therefore exceedingly necessary that a person among whose duties it comes
to
write many letters should cultivate serenity and kindliness, and should
endeavour
to hold himself in a sympathetic and helpful frame of mind, in order
that
his letters should carry with them this good influence. One who is captious
and
critical, dictatorial and ill-tempered, is entirely unfit to hold any
secretarial
position, as he will inevitably distribute discomfort and dissension
to
all those who are so unfortunate as to have to correspond with him.
The
preference which many sentimental people feel for a letter written in
manuscript,
rather than for one produced by means of a typewriter, is due to the
fact
that in passing the hand again and again over the paper a much greater
amount
of personal magnetism is stored in the letter than when the hand does not
come
directly into contact with it; though a student of occultism who writes a
letter
in type charges it with magnetism by a single effort of his will far more
effectually
than it is unconsciously charged when written by the hand of one who
has
not learnt these truths.
The
occultist extends this idea in many other directions. Every present which he
gives
to a friend is made to produce a far more permanent result than the mere
pleasure
that is caused by its arrival. If he gives or lends a book to some one,
he
does not forget to add to the arguments of the author his own earnest desire
that
the reader' s thoughts may be widened and liberalised. Let us all try to
spread
help and blessing in this way; assuredly our efforts will not fail to
bring
about their due effect. Every object about us must be a centre of
influence,
and we may make its action strong or weak, useful or detrimental. It
is
for us therefore to see that whenever we make a present to a friend its
influence
shall be powerful and definite, and always for good. These matters are
little
studied yet in the outer world, but they represent great truths for all
that.
Wise men will pay attention to them and govern their lives accordingly,
and
thereby make themselves both far happier and far more useful than those who
are
content to remain ignorant of the higher science.
WORK
DURING SLEEP
One
of the most pleasing of the subsidiary points revealed to us by Theosophical
study
is that of the possibility of usefully employing the hours during which
the
body is sleeping. I well remember in my younger days how fiercely I resented
the
necessity of spending time in sleep when there was such an overwhelming
amount
of work to be done, and how I consequently tried to minimise the time
devoted
to this. Being healthy and hardy, for some years I managed to exist on
only
four hours of sleep each night, and thought that I was thereby gaining time
for
the work which I had to do. Now that I know more about it, I realise that I
was
in error, how that I could actually have increased my usefulness if I had
allowed
myself to take an ordinary amount of rest, besides providing myself with
a
still stronger body for the work of my later years. But it was indeed a
comfort
to me when I found from the Theosophical literature that only the body
is
insensible during sleep, and that the real man can continue his work and
indeed
do all the more of it, and do it better, because he is untrammelled by
his
physical vehicle.
Yet
even Theosophical students, who are quite accustomed to think about the
higher
worlds and the possibility of activity in them, often do not realise how
entirely
that is the real life, and this in the physical world only an interlude
in
it. In our waking consciousness most of us always consider the diurnal life
as
real, and the nocturnal or dream life as unreal; but in truth the very
reverse
is the case, as may easily be seen if we remember that in this life most
of
us know nothing whatever of that , whereas in that life we remember the whole
of
this. This life, therefore, has long daily breaks in its continuity; that is
continuous
from the cradle to the grave and beyond it. Furthermore, because
during
that life the physical body is for the time laid aside, the ego can
manifest
much more of himself. The man in his astral body is much more nearly
himself
than this fettered representation of him which is all that we can see
down
here. When, later on in our evolution, further development takes place and
the
man can function in his mental body, we are another whole stage nearer to
the
reality; indeed, beyond that it is only one stage to the manifestation of
the
ego in his causal body, having a unified consciousness which extends through
all
the ages, from the time when long ago he rose from the animal kingdom to the
infinity
which lies before him.
Let
us see then what we can do with this life at night, while we leave our
physical
body to its rest. Many forms of activity open before us, and as I have
written
fully about them in the book called Invisible Helpers I will not repeat
myself
here. I may summarise by saying that during our waking hours we can help
anyone
whom we know to be in sorrow or suffering, by sitting down and forming a
clear
strong thought-image of the sufferer, and then pouring out a stream of
compassion,
affection and strength; but during the night we can do more than
this--
we can carry this treatment further, because we can ourselves go in the
astral
body and stand by the bedside of the sufferer, so as to see exactly what
is
needed, and give whatever may be specially required by the particular case,
instead
of offering merely general comfort and consolation.
Help
and encouragement, can be given not only to the living but also to the vast
host
of the dead, and they often seriously need it, owing partly to the false
and
wicked religious teaching which is so often given, and partly to the blank
ignorance
of other-world conditions which obtains among the general public on
this
side of the veil. In such work as this there is infinite variety, yet even
this
by no means exhausts the possibilities which open before us. In the astral
world
we can both give and receive instruction. From the anonymity of the astral
world
we can assist, inspire and advise all sorts of people who would be
unlikely
to listen to us physically. We can suggest good and liberal ideas to
ministers
and statesmen, to poets and preachers, and to all the many varieties
of
writers in books, magazines and newspapers. We can suggest alike plots to
novelists
and good ideas to philanthropists. We are free to range wherever we
will
and to do whatever work presents itself to us. Incidentally we can visit
all
the interesting spots of the world, and see all its most magnificent
buildings
and its most lovely scenery; its finest art and its grandest music are
entirely
at our disposal, without money and without price, to say nothing, of
the
far grander music and the far more splendid colouring of the astral world
itself.
What
can a man do down here to prepare himself to take part in that higher work?
Well,
the life is a continuous life, and whatever characteristics a man shows
here
in his physical body he will assuredly also show in his astral body. If
here
he is full of cheerfulness and always anxious for an opportunity to do
service--
then, even though he may remember nothing of it, he may be quite
confident
that he is employing himself usefully to the utmost of his capacity in
the
astral realm also. Any limitations of character which show themselves down
here,
such as irritability, for example, are certainly contracting the sphere of
his
usefulness in the astral world. And so, if a man who does not bring through
any
recollection from that life wishes to make quite sure that he is well
employed
there and is doing his full duty, he can easily be certain of it by
carefully
making his life here such as he knows to be necessary for that
purpose.
There is no mystery as to the requirements. Single-mindedness,
calmness,
courage, knowledge and love will make a thoroughly useful astral
worker,
and all these qualifications are within reach of any man who will take
the
trouble to develop them in himself.
It
is not difficult to see why all these are necessary. A man cannot throw all
his
energy into such work as this unless the higher life is for him the one
object.
Knowledge of the astral world, its habitants and its characteristics he
must
have; otherwise he will constantly blunder, and will find himself helpless
before
every emergency which arises. Courage he obviously needs, just as does
the
man who plunges into unexplored jungles or trusts himself on the surface of
the
mighty deep. Calmness also he must have, for though it is a sufficiently
serious
matter for a man to loose his temper in the physical world, it is
something
infinitely more serious when there is no physical matter to prevent
the
full swing of the vibrations of anger. Any manifestations of irritability,
excitement
or impatience in the astral world at once make him a fearsome object,
so
that those whom he wishes to help fly from him in terror. Love of humanity,
and
the consequent earnest desire to help, he must possess in the fullest
degree,
for without that he can never have the patience to deal gently with the
panic
fear and the unreasoning stupidity which we so often find among the dead.
For
many of the cases with which we have to deal such exceeding gentleness and
long-suffering
are required that no man, however energetic and earnest he may
be,
is of use in dealing with them unless he is full of real affection and has
his
vehicles perfectly under control.
Much
work is done in the astral world besides that in which we are most
specially
interested. Many physicians visit, during the sleep of the body, cases
in
which they are keenly interested or about which they feel anxious. In most
cases
the man in the physical body is not conscious of this, but any new
information
that he gains from his astral investigations, often comes through as
a
kind of intuition into the waking consciousness. I have known doctors who are
able
to do this intentionally and in full consciousness, and naturally this
capacity
gives them a great advantage over their colleagues. A doctor who dies,
often
continues after death to take an interest in his patients, and sometimes
endeavours
to cure them from the other side, or to suggest (to his successor in
charge
of the case) treatment which, with his newly acquired astral faculty, he
sees
would be useful. I knew one doctor (a member of our Society) who
immediately
after his death went round to collect all his patients who had
passed
over before him, and regularly preached Theosophy to them, so that he now
goes
about in the astral world with a large band of attendant disciples.
I
have known many cases also of friendships formed in the astral world. It often
happens,
for example, that members of our Society who live at opposite sides of
the
world and have no opportunity of meeting physically, yet know one another
well
in their astral life. When they are actually on opposite sides of the world
the
day of one is the night of the other, but there is generally sufficient
overlapping
to make acquaintance possible. Those who are ready and effective
lecturers
in the physical world usually continue their activities in that line
during
sleep. Groups of students continue their meetings and, with the
additional
facilities which the astral world gives to them, are frequently able
to
solve problems which have presented difficulties down here.
Not
only dead friends but living friends from the other side of the world are
round
us all day long, although with our physical eyes we do not see them. We
are
never alone, and as in the astral world most thoughts are visible, it
behoves
us to bear that fact in mind, lest we should carelessly send out astral
or
mental vibrations which would cause pain to those whom we love.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XXI
BY
COLLECTIVE THOUGHT
CHURCH
HYMNS AND RITUALS
IN
an earlier chapter I have explained how the congregation and the parishioners
are
affected by the ceremonies of the Church, and from what was then said it is
not
difficult to see how the priest from his side can influence those about him.
He
has chosen a position the responsibilities of which are great, and in order
to
discharge them properly it is important that he should know something of the
hidden
side of things, that he may understand the real meaning of the services
of
the Church to which he belongs, and how to order them aright.
Much
exception has been taken by the ignorant to the statement always made by
the
Church that the celebration of the Eucharist is a daily repetition of the
sacrifice
of the Christ. But when we understand from the occult point of view
that
that sacrifice of the Christ means the descent into matter of the
outpouring
of the Second Aspect of Deity, we see that the symbolism is an
accurate
one, since the outflow of force evoked by the consecration has a
special
and intimate connection with that department of nature which is the
expression
of that divine Aspect.
The
priest who comprehends this will not fail to assign to that service its due
position,
and will take care to surround its culminating point with whatever in
the
way of ritual and music will add to its effect and prepare the people to
take
part in it more receptively. Realising also of how tremendous a mystery he
is
here the custodian, he will approach its celebration with the utmost
reverence
and awe, for though his attitude towards it makes no difference to the
central
fact and to its effects, there is no doubt that his deep devotion, his
comprehension
and co-operation can bring down an additional influence which will
be
of the greatest help to his congregation and his parish. A priest who has the
advantage
of being also an occultist has a magnificent opportunity of widespread
usefulness.
As
a student of magic, he appreciates to the full, the effect produced by music,
and
knows how to utilise it so as to produce harmonious and powerful forms. A
great
deal may be done by inducing the congregation as far as possible to join
in
the music of the church. It is impossible that they should do so in the
production
of the more elaborate and magnificent forms, which produce
far-reaching
effects at higher levels, but they themselves may be helped to an
almost
incalculable extent if they can be induced to join heartily in stirring
and
well-chosen hymns and chants.
This
has been more fully recognised by the English branch of the Catholic Church
than
by the Roman, and a corresponding advantage has been reaped. The powerful
influence
of the corresponding advantage has been reaped. The powerful influence
of
the processional hymn must not be neglected, for this operates usefully in
all
directions; first, by bringing the choir down among the congregation and
moving
them slowly through the different sections of it, the people are greatly
encouraged
and helped to throw themselves with vigour into the singing.
Secondly,
the splendid appearance of a well-organised procession, the colour and
light,
the rich banners and splendid vestments, all combine to fire the
imagination,
to raise the people' s thoughts above the prosaic level of ordinary
life,
and to help their devotion and enthusiasm.
CONGREGATIONS
Many
of these considerations apply also to ministers of other denominations.
Though
they have not the power of the priest which brings them into touch with
the
reservoir of force arranged by the Christ for his Church, they may do a
great
deal for their congregations, first by their own devotion and secondly by
evoking
that of their people. The resources of congregational music are at their
disposal,
and if they can work their followers up to the required level, they
also
may produce the wonderful results which flow from the combined devotion of
a
large number of people.
A
grand outpouring of force, and a magnificent and effective collective
thought-form
can thus be made by a gathering of men who join heartily in a
service;
but there is generally great difficulty in obtaining this result,
because
the members of the average congregation are entirely untrained in
concentration,
and consequently the collective thought-form is usually a broken
and
chaotic mass, instead of a splendid and organised whole. When it happens
that
a number of occult students belong to such an assembly, they can be of
great
use to their fellow-worshippers by consciously gathering together the
scattered
streams of devotion and welding them into one harmonious and mighty
current.
It is evident at once that every member of congregation has here a
definite
duty.
MONASTERIES
Better
results than those produced by an ordinary congregation are frequently
obtained
from the united devotions of a body of monks, because they have
gradually
trained themselves into something approaching to concentration, and
are
also well used to working together. The influence flowing from a monastery
or
nunnery of the contemplative order is often beautiful and most helpful to the
whole
country-side-- a fact which shows clearly how foolish and short-sighted is
the
objection sometimes made by the Protestant that, while the active orders of
monks
are at least doing good work among the poor and the sick, those who adopt
a
contemplative line are merely dreaming away their lives in selfish isolation
from
the rest of the world.
In
most of such monasteries the hours of prayer are strictly observed, and the
effect
of this is a regular out-flow of force over the neighbourhood many times
each
day. There are some such institutions in which the scheme of perpetual
adoration
is carried out before the consecrated Host in the chapel of the
monastery,
and in such a case there is a steady and powerful stream always
pouring
out, both night and day, bringing to the surrounding country a benefit
which
can hardly be overestimated.
EFFECT
UPON THE DEAD
The
effect produced in all these cases is far wider than the ordinary thinker
realises.
The young student of occultism, if he does not happen to be
clairvoyant,
sometimes finds it difficult to remember that the host of the
unseen
is so much greater than the number of the seen, and that therefore the
people
who benefit by church services or by outpourings of collective thought
and
feeling are not only the living but also the dead-- not only human beings
even,
but great hosts of nature-spirits and of the lower orders of the angels.
Naturally,
whatever feeling may be aroused in them reacts upon us in turn, so
that
many different factors combine to strengthen us when we make any effort for
good.
The
Christian Church directs some of her efforts intentionally towards her
departed
members, and prayers and masses for the dead are a great feature of the
life
in Catholic countries. A most useful feature certainly; for not only do the
good
wishes and the outpourings of force reach and help those at whom they are
aimed,
but also the formation of such prayers and wishes is a good and
charitable
undertaking for the living, besides providing them with a
satisfactory
and consolatory outlet for their feelings in the shape of doing
something
to help the departed instead of merely mourning for them.
SAVING
SOULS
Hundreds
of good and earnest people are putting a great deal of strength and
devotion
into efforts (as they put it) to “save souls”-- which to them generally
means
imprisoning people within the limits of some particularly narrow and
uncharitable
sect. Fortunately, their endeavours in this particular direction
are
not often successful. But we must not suppose that all their energy and
thought
for others is therefore necessarily wasted. It does not do half the good
that
it would if it were intelligently directed; but such as it is, it is
unselfish
and kindly meant, and so it brings down a certain amount of response
from
higher levels, which is poured upon both the petitioner and the object of
his
prayers. If the suppliant be earnest and free from conceit, Nature answers
the
spirit rather than the letter of such a request, and brings general good and
advancement
to its object without also inflicting upon him the curse of a narrow
theology.
PEOPLE
WHO DISLIKE CEREMONIES
There
are in the world many people so constituted that ceremonies of any sort do
not
appeal to them. It may be asked what kind of provision Nature makes for
them,
and how they are compensated for their inability to appreciate or to share
in
the benefits of these various lines of ecclesiastical influence of which I
have
written. First to a considerable extent they do share in the benefit of
them,
though they would probably be the last people to admit it. Perhaps they
never
enter churches; but I have already described how these influences radiate
far
beyond the mere buildings, and how the vibrations are sent out on all
levels,
and consequently have something which affects all varieties of people.
Still,
it is clear that such men miss a good deal which the others may gain if
they
will; what sources then are open to them from which they may obtain
corresponding
advance? They cannot well gain the same uplifting-- nor, I
suppose,
would they desire it; but they may gain a mental stimulus. Just as the
thought
of the great saint, radiating out all round him, arouses devotion in
those
who are capable of feeling it, so does the thought of the great man of
science,
or of anyone who is highly developed intellectually, radiate out upon
the
mental level and affect the minds of others, so far as they are capable of
responding
to it. Its action stimulates mental development, though it does not
necessarily
act so directly upon the character and disposition of the man as
does
the other influence.
Perfect
knowledge must make for goodness of life as much as perfect devotion;
but
we are as yet so far from perfection that in practical life we have to deal
rather
with the intermediate or even elementary stages, and it seems clear that
elementary
knowledge is less likely on the whole to affect the character than
elementary
devotion. Both are necessary, and before Adeptship is reached both
must
be acquired in their entirety; but at present we are so partially developed
that
the vast majority of men are aiming at one and to some extent neglecting
the
other-- I mean, of course, the majority of those men who are trying at all,
for
the greater part of the world has not arrived as yet at recognising the
necessity
for either knowledge or devotion. The only organisation, in western
countries
at least, which fully meets and satisfies man' s requirements along
both
these lines appears to me to be the Theosophical Society, and its meetings,
small
and unimportant though they may seem to an outsider, are capable when
properly
managed of radiating a powerful influence which will be exceedingly
useful
to the community.
THEOSOPHICAL
MEETINGS
A
meeting may produce most important results, not only for those who take part
in
it, but for their unconscious neighbours. But in order that it may do this,
the
members must understand the hidden side of their meeting, and must work with
a
view to produce the highest possible effects. Many members utterly overlook
this
most important part of their work, and have in consequence quite an
unworthy
idea of what the work of a Lodge is.
I
have sometimes heard a member frankly confess that the Lodge meetings are
often
rather dull, and so he does not always attend them. A member who makes
such
a remark has not grasped the most rudimentary facts about the work of the
Lodge;
he evidently supposes that it exists for the purpose of amusing him, and
if
its meetings are not interesting to him he thinks that he is better off at
home.
The excuse for such an attitude (if there is an excuse) is that through
many
lives, and probably through the earlier part of this life, such a man has
been
looking at everything entirely from the outside and from the selfish point
of
view, and he is only now gradually accustoming himself to the true and higher
standpoint--
the common-sense attitude which takes account of all the factors,
the
higher as well as the lower and less important.
The
person who attends a meeting for the sake of what he can get, or to be
entertained
there, is thinking of himself only and not of his Lodge or of the
Society.
We should join the Society not for anything that we get from it, but
because,
having satisfied ourselves of the truth of what it proclaims, we are
anxious
to spread that truth to others as far as possible. If we are merely
selfish
in regard to this matter, we can buy the Theosophical books and study
them
without belonging to the Society at all. We join it for the sake of
spreading
the teaching, and for the sake of understanding it better by
discussing
it with those who have spent years in trying to live it. We who
belong
to it do get a good deal from it, in the way of instruction and of help
in
understanding difficult points, of brotherly feeling and of kindly thought.
I
know that I have received much of all these things during my thirty years of
membership,
but I am quite sure that if I had joined the Society with the idea
of
getting something out of it, I should not have gained half of what I have. In
my
experience of the Society I have seen over and over again that the person who
comes
in with the idea “What shall I get?” gains little, because so far as the
flowing
of higher forces goes he is a cul-de-sac ; he is what plumbers call a
“dead
end,” out of which nothing is running. What can there be in the dead end
of
a pipe but a little stagnant water? But if the pipe be open and the water
flows
freely, then a vast amount may pass through.
In
the same way, if members come to a meeting, thinking all the time about
themselves,
and how they like what is said or done, they assuredly gain but
little
good from it, compared to what they might gain if their attitude were
more
rational. No doubt such people have spasms of unselfishness; but that is
insufficient.
The whole life of a member ought to be devoted to trying to fill
his
place well, and to do his duty to the utmost of his power. Therefore, being
a
member of the Society and of a Lodge, he has his duty to do from that point of
view
also. If a member says that Lodge meetings are dull, one always feels
inclined
to begin by asking him: “What are you doing to allow them to be dull?
You
are there also and it is your business to see that things are kept going as
far
as may be.” If each individual member feels resting upon him the duty of
trying
to make each meeting a success, it will be much more likely to succeed
than
if he goes there just to be amused or even merely to be instructed.
Let
us consider then the hidden side of the meeting of a Theosophical Lodge.
For
the purposes of our illustration I will take the ordinary weekly meetings,
at
which the Lodge is prosecuting its definite line of study. I am referring to
the
meetings of members of the Lodge only, for the occult effect which I wish to
describe
is impossible in connection with any meetings to which non-members are
admitted.
Naturally
the work of every Lodge has its public side. There are lectures given
to
the public, and opportunities offered for their questions; all this is good
and
necessary. But every Lodge which is worthy of the name is also doing
something
far higher than any work in the physical world, and this higher work
can
only be done by virtue of its own private meetings. Furthermore, it can be
done
only if these private meetings are properly conducted and entirely
harmonious.
If the members are thinking of themselves in any way-- if they have
personal
vanity, such as might show itself in the desire to shine or to take a
prominent
part in the proceeding; if they have other personal feelings, so that
they
would be capable of taking offence or of being affected by envy or
jealousy--
no useful occult effect can possibly be produced. But if they have
forgotten
themselves in the earnest endeavour to comprehend the subject
appointed
for study, a considerable and beneficial result, of which they usually
have
no conception, may readily be produced. Let me explain the reason of this.
We
will assume a series of meetings at which a certain book is being used for
study.
Every member knows beforehand what paragraph or page will be taken at the
approaching
meeting, and it is expected that he shall take the trouble to
prepare
himself to bear his part in it intelligently. He must not be in the
attitude
of the young nestling, waiting with open mouth and expecting that
someone
else will feed him; on the contrary, every member should have an
intelligent
comprehension of the subject which is to be considered, and should
be
prepared to contribute his share of information with regard to it.
A
good plan is for each member of the circle to make himself responsible for the
examination
of certain of our Theosophical books-- one taking the first volume
of
The Secret Doctrine, let us say, another the second, another the third,
another
The Ancient Wisdom, another Esoteric Buddhism, and so on. Some of the
members
could easily take two or three of the smaller books, and on the other
hand,
if the Lodge be large enough, a volume of The Secret Doctrine might very
well
be divided among several members, each taking up a hundred or a hundred and
fifty
pages. The exact subject to be considered at the next meeting is announced
at
the previous one, and each member makes himself responsible for looking
carefully
through the book or books committed to his charge for any reference to
it,
so that when he comes to the meeting he is already possessed of any
information
about it which is contained in that particular book, and is prepared
to
contribute this when called upon. In this way every member has his work to
do,
and each is greatly helped to a full and clear comprehension of the matter
under
consideration, because all present are thus earnestly fixing their thought
upon
it. When the meeting opens, the chairman will first appoint some one to
read
the passage chosen for study, and will then ask each member in turn what,
if
anything, his book has to say which bears upon it. After all have thus borne
their
part, questions may be asked and any points which are not quite clear may
be
discussed. If any question arises which the older members present do not feel
themselves
fully competent to answer, it should be written out and sent to the
Headquarters
of the Society.
If
some such plan as that be adopted, no one will have reason to complain of the
dullness
of the meetings, for every member will exert himself to bear his own
part
in each of them. Each must go to the meeting in a spirit of helpfulness,
thinking
of what he can contribute and in what way he can be useful, for upon
the
attitude of mind much depends.
Let
us consider what effect such a meeting will produce upon the neighbourhood
in
which it is held. We have already noted that a Church service is a powerful
centre
of influence; how does a Theosophical meeting act in this respect?
To
understand that, recall for a moment what has been said as to the action of
thought.
The thought-wave may be generated at various levels of the mental body.
A
selfish thought uses the lowest kind of mental matter, while an unselfish
thought,
or an attempt to comprehend some elevated idea, uses the higher kinds
only.
An intense effort at the realisation of the abstract-- an attempt to
comprehend
what is meant by the fourth dimension or by the tabularity of a
table--
means, if successful, a dawning activity of the causal body; while if
the
thought is mingled with unselfish affection, with high aspiration or
devotion,
it is even possible that a vibration of the intuitional world may
enter
into it and multiply its power a hundredfold.
The
distance to which a thought-wave can radiate effectively, depends partly
upon
its nature and partly upon the opposition with which it meets. Waves in the
lower
types of astral matter are usually soon deflected or overwhelmed by a
multitude
of other vibrations at the same level, just as in the midst of the
roar
of a great city a soft sound is entirely drowned.
For
this reason the ordinary self-centred thought of the average man, which
begins
on the lowest of the mental levels, and instantly plunges down to
correspondingly
low levels of the astral, is comparatively ineffective. Its
power
in both the worlds is limited, because, however violent it may be, there
is
such an immense and turbulent sea of similar thought surging all around that
its
waves are inevitably soon lost and overpowered in that confusion. A thought
generated
at a higher level, however, has a much clearer field for its action,
because
at present the number of thoughts producing such waves is very small--
indeed,
Theosophical thought is almost a class by itself from this point of
view.
There are religious people whose thought is quite as elevated as ours, but
never
so precise and definite; there are large numbers of people whose thoughts
on
matters of business and money-making are as precise as could be desired, but
they
are not elevated or altruistic. Even scientific thought is scarcely ever in
the
same class as that of the true Theosophist, so that our students have
practically
a field to themselves in the mental world.
The
result of this is that when a man thinks on Theosophical subjects, he is
sending
out all round him a wave which is powerful because it is practically
unopposed,
like a sound in the midst of a vast silence, or a light shining forth
on
the darkest night. It sets in motion a level of mental matter which is as yet
but
rarely used, and the radiations which are caused by it impinge upon the
mental
body of the average man at a point where it is quite dormant. This gives
to
such thought its peculiar value, not only to the thinker but to others round
him;
for its tendency is to awaken and to bring into use an entirely new part of
the
thinking apparatus. Such a wave does not necessarily convey Theosophical
thought
to those who are ignorant of it; but in awakening this higher portion of
the
mental body, it tends to elevate and liberalise the man' s thought as a
whole,
along whatever lines it may be in the habit of moving, and in this way
produces
an incalculable benefit.
If
the thought of a single man produces these results, the thought of twenty or
thirty
people directed to the same subject will achieve an effect enormously
greater.
The power of the united thought of a number of men is always far more
than
the sum of their separate thoughts; it would be much more nearly
represented
by their product. So it will be seen that, even from this point of
view
alone, it is an exceedingly good thing for any city or community that a
Theosophical
Lodge should be constantly meeting in its midst, for its
proceedings,
if they are conducted in a proper spirit, cannot but have a
distinctly
elevating and ennobling effect upon the thought of the surrounding
population.
Naturally there are many people whose minds cannot yet be awakened
at
all upon those higher levels; but even for them the constant beating of the
waves
of this more advanced thought at least brings nearer the time of their
awakening.
Nor
must we forget the result produced by the formation of definite
thought-forms.
These also are radiated from the centre of activity, but they can
affect
only such minds as are already to some extent responsive to ideas of this
nature.
In these days, however, there are many such minds, and our members can
attest
the fact that after they have been discussing such a question as
reincarnation
it not infrequently happens that they are themselves asked for
information
upon that subject by persons whom they had not previously supposed
to
be interested in it. The thought-form is capable of conveying the exact
nature
of the thought to those who are somewhat prepared to receive it, whereas
the
thought-vibration, though it reaches a far wider circle, is much less
definite
in its action.
Here
is already a momentous effect upon the mental level, produced quite
unintentionally
by our members in the ordinary course of their study-- something
far
greater in reality than their intentional efforts in the way of propaganda
are
ever likely to produce. But this is not all, for by far the most important
part
is yet to come. Every Lodge of this Society is a centre of interest to the
Great
Masters of the Wisdom, and when it works well and loyally Their thoughts
and
those of Their pupils are frequently turned towards it. In this way a force
more
exalted than our own may often shine out from our gatherings, and an
influence
of inestimable value may be focused where, so far as we know, it would
not
otherwise specially rest. This may indeed seem the ultimate limit which our
work
can attain; yet there is something beyond even this.
All
students of the occult are aware that the Life and Light of the Deity flood
the
whole of His system-- that in every world, at every level, is outpoured from
Him
that especial manifestation of His strength which is appropriate to it.
Naturally,
the higher the world, the less veiled is His glory, because as we
ascend
we are drawing nearer to its Source. Normally the force outpoured in each
world
is strictly limited to it; but it can descend into and illuminate a lower
level
if a special channel be prepared for it.
Such
a channel is always provided whenever any thought or feeling has an
entirely
unselfish aspect. The selfish emotion moves in a closed curve, and so
brings
its own response on its own level; the utterly unselfish emotion is an
outrush
of energy which does not return, but in its upward movement provides a
channel
for a downpouring of divine Power from the level next above, which is
the
reality lying at the back of the old idea of the answer to prayer.
To
a clairvoyant this channel is visible as a great vortex, a kind of gigantic
cylinder
or funnel. This is the nearest we can come to explaining it in the
physical
world, but it does not really give at all an adequate idea of its
appearance,
for as the force flows down through the channel it somehow makes
itself
one with the vortex, and issues from it coloured by it, and bearing with
it
distinctive characteristics which show through what channel it has come.
Such
a channel can be made only if all the thought is earnest and harmonious. I
do
not mean that there must be no discussion at the meetings, but that all such
discussion
must invariably be of the most friendly character, and conducted with
the
fullest brotherly feeling. We must never suppose that a man differs from us
is
necessarily weak in thought or uncomprehending. There are always at least two
sides
to every question, so that the man who disagrees may often simply be
seeing
another side. If that is so, we may gather something from him and he
something
from us, and in that way we may do each other good; but if we become
angry
over a discussion we do each other harm and the harmony of the
thought-waves
is lost. One such thought as that so often spoils a beautiful
effect.
I have seen that happen many times-- a number of people working along
quite
happily and building up a beautiful channel; suddenly some one of them
will
say something unkind or personal, and then in a moment the thing breaks up,
and
the opportunity to help is lost.
Whenever
anyone is speaking, or reading a paragraph, or trying to do anything
helpful,
try for the time to help him, and do not be everlastingly thinking how
much
better you could do it yourself. Do not criticise, but give him the aid of
your
thought. You may afterwards enquire as to any points that are not clear,
but
do not at the time send a hostile or critical thought against him, because
if
you do you may interfere with the sequence of his thought and spoil his
lecture.
Make a mental note of any point about which you wish to ask, but for
the
time try to see what good there is in what he says, as in that way you will
strengthen
him.
A
clairvoyant sees the current of thought flowing out from the lecturer, and
other
currents of comprehension and appreciation rising from the audience and
joining
with it; but critical thought meets it with an opposing rate of
vibration,
breaks up the stream, and throws it all into confusion. One who sees
this
influence in action will find these considerations so forcibly impressed
upon
him that he is little likely to forget them and act contrary to them. The
helpful
thoughts of members of his audience tend to make a lecturer' s
presentation
clearer, and to impress it upon those to whom it is not familiar.
For
this reason members should be present even at public lectures upon the most
elementary
subjects delivered by their fellows, in order that they, who
understand
thoroughly, may help the lecturer by making clear thought-forms
connected
with his subject, which will impress themselves upon the minds of the
public
who are trying to understand.
The
man who is occupied in the earnest study of higher things is for the time
lifted
entirely out of himself, and generates a powerful thought-form in the
mental
world, which is immediately employed as a channel by the force hovering
in
the world next above. When a body of men join together in a thought of this
nature,
the channel which they make is out of all proportion larger in its
capacity
than the sum of their separate channels; and such a body of men is
therefore
an inestimable blessing to the community amidst which it works, for
through
them (even in their most ordinary meetings for study, when they are
considering
such subjects as rounds and races and planetary chains) there may
come
an outpouring into the lower mental world of that force which is normally
peculiar
to the higher mental; while if they turn their attention to the higher
side
of the Theosophical teaching, and study such questions of ethics and of
soul-development
as we find in At the Feet of the Master, Light on the Path, The
Voice
of the Silence and our other devotional books, they may make a channel of
more
elevated thought through which the force of the intuitional world itself
may
descend into the mental, and thus radiate out an influence for good upon
many
a soul who would not be in the least open to the action of that force if it
had
remained on its original level.
This
is the real and the greatest function of a Lodge of the Theosophical
Society--
to furnish a channel for the distribution of the Divine Life; and thus
we
have another illustration to show us how far greater is the unseen than the
seen.
To the dim physical eye all that is visible is a small band of humble
students
meeting weekly in the earnest endeavour to learn and to qualify
themselves
to be of use to their fellow-men; but to those who can see more of
the
world, from this tiny root there springs a glorious flower, for no less than
four
mighty streams of influence are radiating from that seemingly insignificant
centre--
the stream of thought-waves, the cluster of thought-forms, the
magnetism
of the Masters of the Wisdom, and the mighty torrent of the Divine
Energy.
Here
also is an instance of the eminently practical importance of a knowledge of
the
unseen side of life. For lack of such knowledge many a member has been lax
in
the performance of his duty, careless as to his attendance at Lodge meetings;
and
thus he has lost the inestimable privilege of being part of a channel for
the
Divine Life. Such a man has not yet grasped the elementary fact that he
joined
not to receive but to give, not to be interested and amused, but to take
his
share in a mighty work for the good of mankind.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XXII
BY
OUR RELATION TO CHILDREN
FROM
the Theosophic standpoint the subject of our relation to children is an
exceedingly
important and practical one. If we realise the purpose for which the
ego
descends into incarnation, and if we know to how great an extent its
attainment
of that purpose depends upon the training given to its various
vehicles
during their childhood and growth, we cannot but feel that a tremendous
responsibility
attaches to all who are in any way connected with children,
whether
as parents, elder relatives, or teachers. It is well, therefore, that we
should
consider what hints Theosophy can give us as to the way in which we can
best
discharge this responsibility.
What
is the present condition of our relation to children-- to boys, at any
rate--
here in the midst of our European civilisation? The practical result of
nineteen
centuries of ostensibly Christian teaching is that our boys live among
us
as an alien race, with laws and rules of life of their own, entirely
different
from ours, and with a code of morals of their own, also entirely
different
from that by which we consider ourselves bound. They regard grown-up
people
(in the mass) with scarcely veiled hostility, or, at the best, with a
kind
of armed neutrality, and always with deep distrust, as foreigners whose
motives
are incomprehensible to them, and whose actions are perpetually
interfering
in the most unwarrantable and apparently malicious manner with their
right
to enjoy themselves in their own way.
This
may sound rather a startling statement to those who have never considered
the
matter, but any parent who has boys at one of our large schools will
appreciate
the truth of it; and if he can look back to his own school-days, and
in
thought realise once more the feelings and conditions of that period (which
most
of us have so entirely forgotten), he will recognise, perhaps with a start
of
surprise, that it is not an inaccurate description of what his own attitude
once
was.
Whenever
the laws and customs of this race (living among us, yet not us) differ
from
ours, they are invariably a reversion to an earlier type, and tend in the
direction
of primitive savagery-- a fact which might be cited in support of the
Theosophical
theory that in each incarnation, before the ego has acquired
control
of his vehicles, the earlier stages of our evolution are hurriedly run
through
once more. The only right recognised among them is the right of the
strongest;
the boy who rules their little State is not the best boy, nor the
cleverest
boy, but the one who can fight best; and their leadership is usually
decided
by combat, just as it is to this day among many a savage tribe.
Their
code of morals is distinctly their own, and though it cannot be so
directly
paralleled among primitive races as some of their other customs, it is
decidedly
on a lower level than even our own. To oppress and ill-treat the weak,
and
even torture them to the utmost limit of endurance, seems to be thought a
comparatively
innocent form of recreation, and it would be only an unusually
severe
case which would arouse even a passing manifestation of public opinion
against
the offender. The theft of money is, happily, regarded as contemptible,
but
the theft of fruit or jam is not; nor, indeed, would the stealing of
anything
eatable be considered criminal. Falsehood of the most outrageous kind
is
considered as not only allowable but amusing, when practised upon some
too-credulous
youngster; if restored to in order to conceal from an adult the
misdeeds
of a fellow-criminal, it is often looked upon as heroic and noble. But
the
most heinous crime of all-- the very lowest abyss of turpitude-- is to call
in
the intervention of a grown-up person to right even the most flagrant wrongs;
and
many a weak and nervous child endures agonies both physically and mentally
from
the barbarity of bullies without breathing a word of his sufferings either
to
parent or teacher-- so deep is the distrust with which public opinion amongst
boys
regards the hostile race of adults.
In
spite of the terrible suffering which it frequently entails upon the weak and
sensitive
boy, I am in no way blind to the good side of public-school life-- to
the
courage and self-reliance, which it gives to the strong and hardy lad, and
the
training in the command of the others with which it provides the members of
its
higher forms. I suppose that England is the only country on earth where the
maintenance
of order in the small world of school life can be (and is) left
practically
in the hands of the boys themselves, and there is much in this to be
highly
commended; but I am at present concerned with the relations between boys
as
a class and adults as a class, and it can hardly be denied that on the whole
these
are somewhat strained, the distrust of which I have spoken on the one side
being
frequently met by dislike and entire want of comprehension on the other.
Many
a man (or woman) thinks of boys only as noisy, dirty, greedy, clumsy,
selfish
and generally objectionable; and he never realises that there may be a
good
deal of selfishness in this point of view of his, and that if any part of
his
indictment is true, the fault is not so much in the boys themselves as in
the
unreasonable way in which they have been brought up; furthermore, that in
any
case his duty is not to widen the chasm between them and himself by adopting
an
attitude of dislike and distrust, but rather to endeavour to improve the
position
of affairs by judicious kindness and hearty, patient friendliness and
sympathy.
Surely
there is something wrong about such unsatisfactory relations; surely some
improvement
might be brought about in this unfortunate condition of mutual
hostility
and mistrust. There are honourable exceptions; there are boys who
trust
their masters, and masters who trust their boys, and I myself have never
found
any difficulty in winning the confidence of the juveniles by treating them
properly;
but in a sadly large number of instances the case is as I have
described
it.
That
it need not be so is shown, not only by the exceptions mentioned above, but
by
the condition of affairs which we find existing in some Oriental lands. I
have
not yet had the pleasure of visiting the Empire of Japan, but I hear from
those
who have been there and have made some study of this question, that there
is
no country in the world where children are so well and so sensibly treated--
where
their relations with their elders are so completely satisfactory.
Harshness,
it is said, is entirely unknown, yet the children in no way presume
upon
the gentleness of the older people.
Indeed,
no properly treated child ever does or ever would so presume in any
country.
If he could do so, it would be a clear indication that the adult had
failed
in his management. All harshness in the treatment of children is a relic
of
savagery; it may be that when we were at the level of the stone-age we knew
no
better, but in these days of supposed enlightenment it is simply criminal.
The
intentional infliction of pain upon any living creature is one of the most
serious
of sins, and the karma which follows upon it is of the most appalling
character.
The suggestion that it is intended to produce a good result is no
excuse
whatever; in this case, as in all others, it can never be right to do
evil
that good may come. And that quite apart from the fact that good never does
come.
Nothing but the most horrible evil results from the common delusion on
this
subject.
The
whole thing is an abomination which cries to heaven for a remedy, just as is
the
ghastly, ceaseless slaughter of animals in order that men may degrade
themselves
by putting into their bodies a peculiarly unsuitable and
objectionable
form of food. In both these case-- the ill-treatment of children
and
the slaughter of animals-- we, in England, are in a condition of absolute
barbarism;
and the men of the future, looking back upon this time, will find it
impossible
to understand how such utterly horrible practices could co-exist with
the
knowledge of philosophy, ethics and religion which we possess. Our eyes are
blinded
to the wickedness of these things by the glamour of custom; but anyone
who
studies the hidden side of things soon learns that custom is an entirely
unreliable
guide and that he must face the facts of nature as they are, and not
as
ignorant people suppose them to be.
This
almost universal cruelty to children is the reason for the lack of
confidence
between them and adults; if we treat them as savages we are doing our
best
to induce them to act as savages. The incompetent parent or teacher
pretends
that he intentionally injures a child with a view to correcting his
faults;
if he knew anything of the real facts of life he would be aware that the
effect
of such injury is in every case far worse than that of the fault which he
imagines
himself to be trying to correct. His method is so entirely irrational
that
it seems to the occultist like the crazy inconsequence of a nightmare-- all
the
more so when we think of the vast mass of hatred, hostility and
misunderstanding
for which it is responsible.
But
how, it may be asked, is it proposed that this position of mutual mistrust
and
misunderstanding should be improved ? Well, it is evident that in cases
where
this breach already exists, it can only be bridged over by unwearying
kindness,
and by gradual, patient, but constant efforts to promote a better
understanding
by steadily showing unselfish affection and sympathy; in fact, by
habitually
putting ourselves in the child' s place and trying to realise exactly
how
all these matters appear to him. If we, who are adults, had not so entirely
forgotten
our own childish days, we should make far greater allowances for the
children
of to-day, and should understand and get on with them much better.
This
is, however, emphatically one of the cases in which the old proverb holds
good,
which tells us that prevention is better than cure. If we will but take a
little
trouble to begin in the right way with our children from the first, we
shall
easily be able to avoid the undesirable state of affairs which we have
been
describing. And this is exactly where Theosophy has many a valuable hint to
offer
to those who are in earnest in wishing to do their duty by the young ones
committed
to their charge.
THE
DUTY OF PARENTS
The
absolute nature of this duty of parents and teachers towards children must
first
be recognised. It cannot be too strongly or too repeatedly insisted upon
that
parentage is an exceedingly heavy responsibility of a religious nature,
however
lightly and thoughtlessly it may often be undertaken. Those who bring a
child
into the world make themselves directly responsible to the law of karma
for
the opportunities of evolution which they ought to give to that ego, and
heavy
indeed will be their penalty if by their carelessness or selfishness they
put
hindrances in his path, or fail to render him all the help and guidance
which
he has a right to expect from them. Yet how often the modern parent
entirely
ignores this obvious responsibility; how often a child is to him
nothing
but a cause of fatuous vanity or an object of thoughtless neglect!
If
we want to understand our duty towards the child we must first consider how
he
came to be what he is; we must trace him back in thought to his previous
incarnation.
Whatever may have been his outward circumstances at that time, he
had
a definite disposition of his own-- a character containing various more or
less
developed qualities, some good and some bad.
In
due course of time that life of his came to an end; but whether that end came
slowly
by disease or old age, or swiftly by some accident or violence, its
advent
made no sudden change of any sort in his character. A curious delusion
seems
to prevail in many quarters that the mere fact of death at once turns a
demon
into a saint-- that, whatever a man' s life may have been, the moment he
dies
he becomes practically an angel of goodness. No idea could possibly be
further
from the truth, as those whose work lies in trying to help the departed
know
full well. The casting off of a man' s physical body no more alters his
disposition
than does the casting off of his overcoat; he is precisely the same
man
the day after his death as he was the day before, with the same vices and
the
same virtues.
True,
now that he is functioning only in the astral world he has not the same
opportunities
of displaying them; but though they may manifest themselves in the
astral
life in a different manner, they are none the less still there, and the
conditions
and duration of that life are their result. In that world he must
stay
until the energy poured forth by his lower desires and emotions during
physical
life has worn itself out-- until the astral body which he has made for
himself,
disintegrates; for only then can he leave it for the higher and more
peaceful
realm of the heaven-world. But though those particular passions are the
time
worn out and done with for him, the germs of the qualities in him, which
made
it possible for them to exist in his nature, are still there. They are
latent
and ineffective, certainly, because desire of that type requires astral
matter
for its manifestation; they are what Madame Blavatsky once called
“privations
of matter,” but they are quite ready to come into renewed activity,
if
stimulated, when the man again finds himself under conditions where they can
act.
An
analogy may perhaps, if not pushed too far, be of use in helping us to grasp
this
idea. If a small bell be made to ring continuously in an air-tight vessel,
and
the air be then gradually withdrawn, the sound will grow fainter and
fainter,
until it becomes inaudible. The bell is still ringing as vigorously as
ever,
yet its vibration is no longer manifest to our ears, because the medium by
means
of which alone it can produce any effect upon them is absent. Admit the
air
to the vessel, and immediately you hear the sound of the bell once more just
as
before.
Similarly,
there are certain qualities in man' s nature which need astral matter
for
their manifestation, just as sound needs either air or some denser matter
for
its vehicle; and when, in the process of his withdrawal into himself after
what
we call death, he leaves the astral world for the mental, those qualities
can
no longer find expression, and must therefore perforce remain latent. But
when,
centuries later, on his downward course into reincarnation he re-enters
the
astral realm, these qualities which have remained latent for so long
manifest
themselves once more, and become the tendencies of the next
personality.
In
the same way there are qualities of the mind which need for their expression
the
matter of the lower mental levels; and when, after his long rest in the
heaven-world,
the consciousness of the man withdraws into the true ego upon the
higher
mental levels, these qualities also pass into latency.
But
when the ego is about to reincarnate, he has to reverse this process of
withdrawal--
to pass downward through the very same worlds through which he came
on
his upward journey. When the time of his outflow comes, he puts himself down
first
on to the lower levels of his own world, and seeks to express himself
there,
as far as is possible in that less perfect and less plastic matter. In
order
that he may so express himself and function in that world, he must clothe
himself
in its matter.
Thus
the ego aggregates around himself matter of the lower mental levels-- the
matter
which will afterwards become his mind-body. But this matter is not
selected
at random; out of all the varied and inexhaustible store around him he
attracts
to himself just such a combination as is perfectly fitted to give
expression
to his latent mental qualities. In precisely the same way, when he
makes
the further descent to the astral world, the matter of that world which is
by
natural law attracted to him to serve as his vehicle is exactly that which
will
give expression to the desires which were his at the conclusion of his
astral
life. In point of fact, he resumes his life in each world just where he
left
it last time.
His
qualities are not as yet in any way in action; they are simply the germs of
qualities,
and for the moment their only influence is to secure for themselves a
possible
field of manifestation by providing suitable matter for their
expression
in the various vehicles of the child. Whether they develop once more
in
this life into the same definite tendencies as in the last one, will depend
largely
upon the encouragement or otherwise given to them by the surroundings of
the
child during his early years. Any one of them, good or bad, may be readily
stimulated
into activity by encouragement, or, on the other hand, may be starved
out
for lack of that encouragement. If stimulated, it becomes a more powerful
factor
in the man' s life this time than it was in his previous existence; if
starved
out, it remains merely as an unfructified germ, which presently
atrophies
and dies out, and does not make its appearance in the succeeding
incarnation
at all.
This,
then, is the condition of the child when first he comes under his parents'
care.
He cannot be said to have as yet a definite mind-body or a definite astral
body,
but he has around and within him the matter out of which these are to be
builded.
He
possesses tendencies of all sorts, some of them good and some of them evil,
and
it is in accordance with the development of these tendencies that this
building
will be regulated. And this development in turn depends almost entirely
upon
the influences brought to bear upon him from outside during the first few
years
of his existence. During these years the ego has as yet but little hold
over
his vehicles, and he looks to the parents to help him to obtain a firmer
grasp,
and to provide him with suitable conditions; hence their responsibility.
THE
PLASTICITY OF CHILDHOOD
It
is impossible to exaggerate the plasticity of these unformed vehicles. We
know
that the physical body of a child, if only its training be begun at a
sufficiently
early age, may be modified to a considerable extent. An acrobat,
for
example, will take a boy of five or six years old, whose bones and muscles
are
not yet as hardened and firmly set as ours are, and will gradually accustom
his
limbs and body to take readily and with comfort all sorts of positions which
would
be absolutely impossible for most of us now, even with any amount of
training.
Yet our own bodies at the same age differed in no essential respect
from
that boy' s, and if they had been put through the same exercises they would
have
become as supple and elastic as his.
If
the physical body of a child is thus plastic and readily impressible, his
astral
and mental vehicles are far more so. They thrill in response to every
vibration
which they encounter, and are eagerly receptive with regard to all
influences,
whether good or evil, which emanate from those around them. They
resemble
the physical body also in this other characteristic-- that though in
early
youth they are so susceptible and so easily moulded, they soon set and
stiffen
and acquire definite habits which, when once firmly established, can be
altered
only with great difficulty.
When
we realise this, we see at once the extreme importance of the surroundings
in
which a child passes his earliest years, and the heavy responsibility which
rests
upon every parent to see that the conditions of the child' s development
are
as good as they can be made. The little creature is as clay in our hands to
mould
almost as we will; moment by moment the germs of good or evil quality
brought
over from the last birth are awakening into activity; moment by moment
are
being built up those vehicles which will condition the whole of his
after-life;
and it rests with us to awaken the germ of good, to starve out the
germ
of evil. To a far larger extent than is ever realised by even the fondest
parents,
the child' s future is under their control.
Think
of all the friends whom you know so well, and try to imagine what splendid
specimens
of humanity they would be if all their good qualities were enormously
intensified,
and all the less estimable features absolutely weeded out of their
characters.
That
is the result which it is in your power to produce in your child, if you do
your
full duty by him; such a specimen of humanity you may make him if you will
but
take the trouble.
THE
INFLUENCE OF PARENTS
But
how? you will say; by precept? by education? Yes, truly, much may be done in
that
way when the time comes; but another and far greater power than that is in
your
hands-- a power which you may begin to wield from the very moment of the
child'
s birth, and even before that; and that is the power of the influence of
your
own life.
To
some extent this is recognised, for most civilised people are careful of
their
words and actions in the presence of a child, and it would be an unusually
depraved
parent who would allow his children to hear him use violent language,
or
to see him give away to a fit of passion; but what a man does not realise is
that
if he wishes to avoid doing the most serious harm to his little ones, he
must
learn to control not only his words and deeds, but also his thoughts. It is
true
that you cannot immediately see the pernicious effect of your evil thought
or
desire upon the mind of your child, but none the less it is there, and it is
more
real and more terrible, more insidious and more far-reaching than the harm
which
is obvious to the physical eye.
If
a parent allows himself to cherish feelings of anger or jealousy, of envy or
avarice,
of selfishness or pride, even though he may never give them outward
expression,
the waves of emotion which he thereby causes in his own desire-body
are
assuredly acting all the while upon the plastic astral body of his child,
tuning
its undulations to the same key, awakening into activity any germs of
those
sins that may have been brought over from his past life, and setting up in
him
also the same set of evil habits, which when they have once become
definitely
formed will be exceedingly difficult to correct. And this is exactly
what
is being done in the case of most of the children whom we see around us.
THE
AURA OF A CHILD
As
it presents itself to a clairvoyant, the subtle body of a child is often a
most
beautiful object-- pure and bright in its colour, free, as yet, from the
stains
of sensuality and avarice, and from the dull cloud of ill-will and
selfishness
which so frequently darkens all the life of the adult. In it are to
be
seen lying latent all the germs and tendencies of which we have spoken-- some
of
them evil, some of them good; and thus the possibilities of the child' s
future
life lie plain before the eye of the watcher.
But
how sad it is to see the change which almost invariably comes over that
lovely
child-aura as the years pass on-- to note how persistently the evil
tendencies
are fostered and strengthened by his environment, and how entirely
the
good ones are neglected! And so incarnation after incarnation is almost
wasted,
and a life which, with just a little more care and self-restraint on the
part
of parents and teachers, might have borne rich fruit of spiritual
development,
comes practically to nothing, and at its close leaves scarce any
harvest
to be garnered into the ego of which it has been so one-sided an
expression.
CARELESSNESS
OF PARENTS
When
one watches the criminal carelessness with which those who are responsible
for
the bringing-up of children allow them to be perpetually surrounded by all
kinds
of evil and worldly thoughts, one ceases to marvel at the extraordinary
slowness
of human evolution, and the almost imperceptible progress which is all
that
the ego has to show for life after life spent in the toil and struggle of
this
lower world. Yet with so little more trouble so vast an improvement might
be
introduced!
It
needs no astral vision to see what a change would come over this weary old
world
if the majority, or even any large proportion of the next generation, were
subjected
to the process suggested above-- if all their evil qualities were
steadily
repressed and atrophied for lack of nourishment, while all the good in
them
was assiduously cultivated and developed to the fullest possible extent.
One
has only to think what they in turn would do for their children, to realise
that
in two or three generations all the conditions of life would be different,
and
a true golden age would have begun. For the world at large age may still be
distant,
but surely we who are members of the Theosophical Society ought to be
doing
our best to hasten its advent: and though the influence of our example may
not
extend far, it is at least within our power to see that our own children
have
for their development every advantage which we can give them.
The
greatest care, then, ought to be taken as to the surroundings of children,
and
people who will persist in thinking coarse and unloving thoughts should at
least
learn that while they are doing so, they are unfit to come near the young,
lest
they infect them with a contagion more virulent than fever.
Much
care is needed, for example, in the selection of the nurses to whom
children
must sometimes be committed; though it is surely obvious that the less
they
are left in the hands of servants the better. Nurses often develop the
strongest
affection for their charges, and treat them as though they were of
their
own flesh and blood; yet this is not invariably the case, and, even if it
be,
the servants are almost inevitably less educated and less refined than their
mistresses.
A child who is left too much to their companionship is therefore
constantly
subjected to the impact of thought which is likely to be of a less
elevated
order than even the average level of that of his parents. So that the
mother
who wishes her child to grow up into a refined and delicate-minded man
should
entrust him to the care of others as little as possible, and should,
above
all things, take good heed to her own thoughts while watching over him.
Her
great and cardinal rule should be to allow herself to harbour no thought and
no
desire which she does not wish to see reproduced in her son. Nor is this
merely
negative conquest over herself sufficient, for, happily, all that has
been
said about the influence and power of thought is true of good thoughts just
as
much as of evil ones, and so the parents' duty has a positive as well as a
negative
side. Not only must they abstain most carefully from fostering, by
unworthy
or selfish thoughts of their own, any evil tendency which may exist in
their
child, but it is also their duty to cultivate in themselves strong,
unselfish
affection, pure thoughts, high and noble aspirations, in order that
all
these may react upon their charge, quicken whatever of good is already
latent
in him, and create a tendency towards any good quality which is as yet
unrepresented
in his character.
Nor
need they have any fear that such effort on their part will fail in its
effect,
because they are unable to follow its action for lack of astral vision.
To
the sight of a clairvoyant the whole transaction is obvious; he distinguishes
the
waves set up in the mind-body of the parent by the inception of the thought,
sees
it radiating forth, and notes the sympathetic undulations created by its
impingement
upon the mind-body of the child; and if he renews his observation at
intervals
during some considerable period, he discerns the gradual but permanent
change
produced in that mind-body by the constant repetition of the same
stimulus
to progress. If the parents themselves possess astral sight, it will,
no
doubt, be of great assistance to them in showing exactly what are the
capabilities
of their child, and in what directions he most needs development;
but
if they have not yet that advantage, there need not therefore be the
slightest
doubt or question about the result, for that must with mathematical
certainty
follow sustained effort, whether the process of its working be visible
to
them or not.
With
whatever care the parents may surround the child, it cannot but be (if he
lives
in the world at all) that he will some day encounter influences which will
stimulate
the germs of evil in his composition. But it makes all the difference
in
the world which germs are stimulated first. Usually the evil is thoroughly
awakened
into activity before the ego has any hold upon the vehicles, and so
when
he does grasp them he finds that he has to combat a strong predisposition
to
various evils. When the germs of good are tardily aroused they have to
struggle
to assert themselves against a set of inharmonious thought-wave which
are
already firmly established; and often they do not succeed. If, however, by
exceeding
care before birth and for several years after it the parents are
fortunate
enough to be able to excite only the good undulations, as the ego
gains
control he finds it naturally easy to express himself along those lines,
and
a decided habit is set up in that direction. Then when the evil excitation
comes,
as come it surely will some time or other, it finds a strong momentum in
the
direction of good, which it strives in vain to overcome.
The
command of the ego over this lower vehicles is often but small, unless he is
unusually
advanced; but his will is always for good, because his desire in
connection
with these vehicles is to evolve himself by their means, and such
power
as he is able to throw into the balance is therefore always on the right
side.
But with his at present somewhat uncertain grasp upon his astral and
mental
bodies, he is frequently unable to overcome a strong tendency in the
direction
of evil when that has been already established. If, however, he finds
the
strong tendency set up in the opposite direction, he is enable thereby to
get
hold of his vehicles more effectually; and after he has done that, the evil
suggestion
which comes later can only with difficulty succeed in obtaining an
entrance.
In the one case there is in the personality a taste for evil, a
readiness
to receive it and indulge in it; in the other there is a strong
natural
distaste for evil which makes the work of the ego much easier.
Not
only should a parent watch his thoughts, but his moods also. A child is
quick
to notice and to resent injustice; and if he finds himself scolded at one
time
for an action which on another occasion caused only amusement, what wonder
that
his sense of the invariability of Nature' s laws is outraged! Again, when
trouble
or sorrow comes upon the parent, as in this world it sometimes must, it
is
surely his duty to try, as far as possible, to prevent his load of grief from
weighing
upon his children as well as upon himself; at least when in their
presence
he should make a special effort to be cheerful and resigned, lest the
dull,
leaden hue of depression should extend itself from his astral body to
theirs.
Many
a well-meaning parent has an anxious and fussy nature-- is always fidgeting
about
trifles, and worrying his children and himself about matters which are
really
quite unimportant. If he could but observe clairvoyantly the utter unrest
and
disquiet which he thus produces in his own higher bodies, and could further
see
how these disturbed waves introduce quite unnecessary agitation and
irritation
into the susceptible vehicles of his children, he would no longer be
surprised
at their occasional outbursts of petulance or nervous excitability,
and
would realise that in such a case he is often far more to blame than they.
What
he should contemplate and set before him as his object, is a restful,
unruffled
spirit-- the peace which passeth all understanding-- the perfect calm
which
comes from the confidence that all will at last be well.
Above
all things must he strive to become an embodiment of the Divine Love, so
that
he may fully realise it in his own life, in order that he may flood with it
the
life of his child. The body must live in an atmosphere of love; he ought
never
to meet with a jarring vibration, never even to know in his young days
that
there is anything but love in this world. And when the time comes, as come
it
unhappily must, when he learns that in the outside world love is often sadly
lacking--
all the more let him feel that his home will never fail him, that
there,
at least, he may always count upon the uttermost love, the fullest
comprehension.
It
is obvious that the training of the parents' character which is necessitated
by
these considerations is in every respect a splendid one, and that in thus
helping
on the evolution of their children they also benefit themselves to an
extent
which is absolutely incalculable, for the thoughts which at first have
been
summoned by conscious effort for the sake of the child will soon become
natural
and habitual, and will, in time, form the background of the parents'
entire
life.
It
must not be supposed that these precautions may be relaxed as the child grows
older,
for though this extraordinary sensitiveness to the influence of his
surroundings
commences as soon as the ego descends upon the embryo, long before
birth
takes place, it continues, in most cases, up to about the period of
maturity.
If such influences as are above suggested have been brought to bear
upon
him during infancy and childhood, the body of twelve or fourteen will be
far
better equipped for the efforts which lie before him than his less fortunate
companions,
with whom no special trouble has been taken. But he is still far
more
impressionable than an adult; he still needs to be surrounded by the same
boundless
sea of never-failing love; the same strong help and guidance upon the
mental
level must still be continued, in order that the good habits both of
thought
and of action may not yield before the newer temptations which are
likely
to assail him.
Although
in his earlier years it was naturally chiefly to his parents that he
had
to look for such assistance, all that has been said of their duties applies
equally
to anyone who comes into contact with children in any capacity, and most
especially
to those who undertake the tremendous responsibilities of the
teacher.
This influence of a master for good or for evil over his pupils is one
that
cannot readily be measured, and (exactly as before) it depends not only
upon
what he says or what he does, but even more upon what he thinks. Many a
master
repeatedly reproves in his boys the exhibition of tendencies for the
creation
of which he is himself directly responsible; if his thought is selfish
or
impure, then he will find selfishness and impurity reflected all around him,
nor
does the evil caused by such a thought end with those whom it immediately
affects.
The
young minds upon which it is reflected take it up and magnify and strengthen
it,
and thus it reacts upon others in turn and becomes an unholy tradition
handed
down from one generation of boys to another, and so stamps its peculiar
character
upon a particular school or a particular class. Happily, a good
tradition
may be set up almost as easily as a bad one-- not quite as easily,
because
there are always undesirable external influences to be taken into
account;
but still a teacher who realises his responsibilities and manages his
school
upon the principles that have been suggested will soon find that his
self-control
and self-devotion have not been fruitless.
THE
NECESSITY FOR LOVE
There
is only one way in which either parent or teacher can really obtain
effective
influence over a child and draw out all the best that is in him-- and
that
is by enfolding him in the pure fire of a warm, constant, personal love,
and
thereby winning his love and confidence in return. More than any other
qualification
is this insisted upon in Alcyone' s wonderful book Education as
Service
-- a book which every parent and teacher should read, for the sake of
the
sweet spirit which it breathes, and the valuable hints which it contains.
It
is true that obedience may be extorted and discipline preserved by inspiring
fear,
but rules enforced by such a method are kept only so long as he who
imposes
them (or some one representing him) is present, and are invariably
broken
when there is no fear of detection; the child keeps them because he must,
and
not because he wishes to do so; and meantime the effect upon his character
is
of the most disastrous description.
If,
on the other hand, his affection has been invoked, his will at once ranges
itself
on the side of the rule; he wishes to keep it, because he knows that in
breaking
it he would cause sorrow to one whom he loves; and if only this feeling
be
strong enough, it will enable him to rise superior to all temptation, and the
rule
will be binding, no matter who may be present or absent. Thus the object is
attained
not only much more thoroughly, but also much more easily and pleasantly
both
for teacher and pupil, and all the best side of the child' s nature is
called
into activity, instead of all the worst. Instead of rousing the child' s
will
into sullen and persistent opposition, the teacher arrays it on his own
side
in the contest against distractions or temptations; the danger of deceit
and
secretiveness is avoided, and thus results are achieved which could never be
approached
on the other system.
It
is of the utmost importance always to try to understand the child, and to
make
him feel certain that he has one' s friendliness and sympathy. All
appearance
of harshness must be carefully avoided, and the reason of all
instructions
given to him should always be fully explained. It must indeed be
made
clear to him that sometimes sudden emergencies arise in which the older
person
has no time to explain his instructions, and he should understand that in
such
a case he should obey, even though he may not fully comprehend; but even
then
the explanation should be always given afterwards.
Unwise
parents or teachers often make the mistake of habitually exacting
obedience
without understanding-- a most unreasonable demand; indeed, they
expect
from the child at all times and under all conditions an angelic patience
and
saintliness which they are far indeed from possessing themselves. They have
not
yet realised that harshness towards a child is always not only wicked, but
absolutely
unreasonable and foolish as well, since it can never be the most
effective
way of obtaining from him what is desired.
A
child' s faults are often the direct results of the unnatural way in which he
is
treated. Sensitive and nervous to a degree, he constantly finds himself
misunderstood
and scolded or ill-treated for offences whose turpitude he does
not
in the least comprehend; is it wonderful that, when the whole atmosphere
about
him reeks with the deceit and falsehood of his elders, his fears should
sometimes
drive him into untruthfulness also? In such a case the karma of the
sin
will fall most heavily upon those who by their criminal harshness have
placed
a weak and undeveloped being in a position where it was almost impossible
for
him to avoid it.
If
we expect truth from our children, we must first of all practise it
ourselves;
we must think truth as well as speak truth and act truth, before we
can
hope to be strong enough to save them from the sea of falsehood and deceit
which
surrounds us on every side. But if we treat them as reasonable beings-- if
we
explain fully and patiently what we want from them, and show them that they
have
nothing to fear from us, because “perfect love casteth out fear”-- then we
shall
find no difficulty about truthfulness.
A
curious but not uncommon delusion-- a relic, perhaps, of the terrible days
when,
for its sins, this unhappy country of England groaned under the ghastly
tyranny
of puritanism-- is, that children can never be good unless they are
unhappy,
that they must be thwarted at every turn, and never by any chance
allowed
to have their own way in anything, because when they are enjoying
themselves
they must necessarily be in a condition of desperate wickedness!
Absurd
and atrocious as this doctrine is, various modifications of it are still
widely
prevalent, and it is responsible for a vast amount of cruelty and
unnecessary
misery, wantonly inflicted upon little creatures whose only crime is
that
they are natural and happy. Undoubtedly Nature intends that childhood shall
be
a happy time, and we ought to spare no efforts to make it so, for in that
respect,
as in all others, if we thwart Nature we do so at our peril. A hymn
tells
us:
God
would have us happy, happy all the day,
and
in this case as in all others it is our duty and our privilege to be
fellow-workers
together with Him.
It
will help us much in our dealings with children if we remember that they also
are
egos, that their small and feeble physical bodies are but the accident of
the
moment, and that in reality we are all about the same age; so that we owe
them
respect as well as affection, and we must not expect to impose our will or
individuality
upon theirs. Our business in training them is to develop only that
in
their lower vehicles which will co-operate with the ego-- which will make
them
better channels for the ego to work through. Long ago, in the golden age of
the
old Atlantean civilisation, the importance of the office of the teacher of
the
children was so fully recognised that none was permitted to hold it except a
trained
clairvoyant, who could see all the latent qualities and capabilities of
his
charges, and could, therefore, work intelligently with each, so as to
develop
what was good in him and to amend what was evil.
In
the distant future of the sixth root-race that will be so once more; but that
time
is, as yet, far away, and we have to do our best under less favourable
conditions.
Yet unselfish affection is a wonderful quickener of the intuition,
and
those who really love their children will rarely be at a loss to comprehend
their
needs; and keen and persistent observation will give them, though at the
cost
of much more trouble, some approach to the clearer insight of their
Atlantean
predecessors. At any rate, it is well worth the trying, for when once
we
realise our true responsibility in relation to children we shall assuredly
think
no labour too great which enables us to discharge it better. Love is not
always
wise, we know; but at least it is wiser than carelessness, and parents
and
teachers who truly love will be thereby spurred on to gain wisdom for the
sake
of the children.
RELIGIOUS
TRAINING
Many
members of our Society, while feeling that their children need something to
take
the place filled in ordinary education by the religious training, have yet
found
it almost impossible so to put Theosophy before them as to make it in any
way
intelligible to them. Some have even permitted their children to go through
the
ordinary routine of bible lessons, saying that they did not know what else
to
do, and that though much of the teaching was obviously untrue it could be
corrected
afterwards. This course is entirely indefensible; no child should ever
waste
his time in learning what he will have to unlearn afterwards. If the true
inner
meaning of Christianity can be taught to our children, that indeed is
well,
because that is pure Theosophy; but unfortunately that is not the form
which
religious instruction takes in ordinary schools.
There
is no real difficulty in putting the grand truths of Theosophy
intelligibly
before the minds of our children. It is useless to trouble them
with
rounds and races, with mulaprakriti and planetary chains; but then, however
interesting
and valuable all this information may be, it is of little importance
in
the practical regulation of conduct, whereas the great ethical truths upon
which
the whole system rests can, happily, be made clear even to the childish
understanding.
What could be simpler in essence than the three great truths
which
are given to Sensa in The Idyll of the White Lotus?
The
soul of man is immortal, and its future is the future of a thing whose
growth
and splendour have no limit.
The
principle which gives life dwells in us and without us, is undying and
eternally
beneficent, is not heard, nor seen, nor smelt, but is perceived by the
man
who desires perception.
Each
man is his own absolute lawgiver, the dispenser of glory or gloom to
himself--
the decreer of his life, his reward, his punishment.
These
truths, which are as great as is life, itself, are as simple as the
simplest
mind of man. Feed the hungry with them.
We
might express these more tersely by saying: “Man is immortal; God is good; as
we
sow, so shall we reap.” Surely none of our children can fail to grasp these
simple
ideas in their broad outline, though as they grow older they may spend
many
a year in learning more and more of the immensity of their full meaning.
Teach
them the grand old formula that “death is the gate of life”-- not a
terrible
fate to be feared, but simply a stage of progress to be welcomed with
interest.
Teach them to live, not for themselves, but for others-- to go through
the
world as friends and helpers, earnest in loving reverence and care for all
living
things. Teach them to delight in seeing and in causing happiness in
others,
in animals and birds as well as in human beings; teach them that to
cause
pain to any living thing is always a wicked action, and can never have
aught
of interest or amusement for any right-thinking or civilised man. A child'
s
sympathies are so easily roused, and his delight in doing something is so
great,
that he responds at once to the idea that he should try to help, and
should
never harm, all the creatures around him. He should be taught to be
observant,
that he may see where help is needed, whether by man or by animal,
and
promptly to supply the want so far as lies in his power.
A
child likes to be loved, and he likes to protect, and both these feelings may
be
utilised in training him to be a friend of all creatures. He will readily
learn
to admire flowers as they grow, and not wish to pluck them heedlessly,
casting
them aside a few minutes later to wither on the roadside; those which he
plucks
he will pick carefully, avoiding injury to the plant; he will preserve
and
tend them, and his way through wood and field will never be traceable by
fading
blossoms and uprooted plants.
PHYSICAL
TRAINING
The
physical training of the child is a matter of the greatest importance, for a
strong,
pure, healthy body is necessary for the full expression of the
developing
soul within. Teach him from the first the exceeding importance of
physical
purity, so that he may regard his daily bath as just as much an
integral
part of his life as his daily food. See to it that his body is never
befouled
with such filthy abominations of modern savagery as meat, alcohol or
tobacco;
see to it that he has always plenty of sunlight, of fresh air and of
exercise.
We
have seen in an earlier chapter how horrible are the surroundings in a great
town;
and if these are evil in their influence on adults, they are ten times
worse
for the more sensitive children. The truth is that no children ought ever
to
be brought up in a town at all; and those whose evil karma compels them to
work
in such places should at least try if possible to live a little way outside
of
them for the sake of their children. It is far better for the children to be
brought
up in the country, even though it be in comparative poverty, than that,
in
order to amass money for them, the parents should allow them to grow up
amidst
all the noxious influences of a large town. Where the urban life is
unfortunately
unavoidable, they should at least be taken out of the city as
often
as possible, and kept out as long as possible.
So
shall your child grow up pure, healthy and happy; so shall you provide, for
the
soul entrusted to your care, a casket of which it need not be ashamed, a
vehicle
through which it shall receive only the highest and best that the
physical
world can give-- which it can use as a fitting instrument for the
noblest
and the holiest work.
As
the parent teaches the child, he will also be obliged to set the example in
this
as in other things, and so the child will thus again civilise his elders as
well
as improve himself. Birds and butterflies, cats and dogs, all will be his
friends,
and he will delight in their beauty instead of longing to chase or
destroy
them. Children thus trained will grow up into men and women who
recognise
their place in evolution and their work in the world, and each will
serve
as a fresh centre of humanising force, gradually changing the direction of
human
influence on all lower things.
If
thus we train our children, if we are thus careful in our relations with
them,
we shall bear nobly our great responsibility, and in so doing we shall
help
on the grand work of evolution; we shall be doing our duty, not only to our
children,
but to the human race-- not only to these particular egos, but to the
many
millions yet to come.
-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
http://www.theosophywales.org.uk http://www.theosophycardiff.org
CHAPTER XXIII
BY
OUR RELATION TO LOWER KINGDOMS
DOMESTIC
ANIMALS
WE
have a responsibility which must not be forgotten towards the animals which
we
draw around us. This may be of two kinds, or rather of two degrees. A farmer
in
the course of his business has to deal with a large number of animals which
may
be described as semi-domesticated. His duty towards them is clearly to feed
them
well and to take all possible care to keep them in perfect health. He may
sometimes
attach to himself some one of these, but on the whole his relation
towards
them is in the mass only, and as they are yet far from the possibility
of
individualisation, it is not likely that his influence over them can go far,
or
be more than a general one. His relation with them is, in fact, a business
relation,
though he should look after them as carefully as though they were
human.
The
case is quite different with the really domestic animals which live in the
house
with us, and come into intimate personal relations with us. No one is
obliged
to keep a dog or a cat, but if he does so he incurs a much greater
responsibility
towards that animal than the farmer has towards any member of his
flock.
It would be unpardonable selfishness for anyone who keeps such an animal
to
think only of his own pleasure in connection with it, and not of the animal'
s
development.
The
domestic animal is in fact a kind of younger child-- with this difference,
that
whereas the child is already an ego and has to be helped to control his new
vehicles,
the animal is not yet a separate ego and has to be helped to become
one.
The process of the individualisation of an animal has been often described;
notes
upon it may be found in A Text-book of Theosophy, The Inner Life, Man
Visible
and Invisible and The Christian Creed. A perusal of what is there
written
will show at once along what line our duties to the animals lie. We must
endeavour
to develop their affection and their intellect, and the principal
factor
in both those developments is the affection which we feel for them.
I
have written at considerable length, in The Inner Life , Vol. ii, upon
mistakes
which are frequently made by men in their relation to domestic animals.
All
those mistakes are due to a selfish attitude with regard to the animal, an
endeavour
to employ him for the gratification of our own evil passions-- as, for
example,
when a dog is trained to hunt, and made in that way to do vastly more
harm
than his forefathers ever did as wild beasts in the jungle. For the wild
beast
kills only for food, when impelled to do so by hunger; but the dog is
trained
to kill for the pleasure of killing, and is thereby degraded in the
scale
of evolution instead of being raised.
Between
the two categories, of really domestic animals and farm animals, we may
place
the horse, for it comes into more individual relation with the rider than
does
the farm animal, and yet at the same time it is far from possessing the
intelligence
of the dog or the cat. It also must be treated intelligently, and
above
all with unvarying kindness. The rider should remember always that the
horse
does not exist solely to serve him, but has an evolution of its own which
it
is his duty to forward. There is no wrong in his utilising it to help him,
because
the association with him may develop its affection and intelligence; but
he
must treat it always as he would treat a human servant, and never forget its
interest
while he is making it serve his own.
BIRDS
A
student of the hidden side of life cannot but deprecate the practice of
keeping
birds in cages. Perfect liberty and the sense of great open spaces are
of
the very essence of the life of a bird, and his misery at being imprisoned is
often
intense and most pathetic. This is always especially marked in the case of
those
birds which are natives of the country, and all such ought certainly at
once
to be set free.
Foreign
birds, which can live happily only in other climates, come under a
different
category. They also spend most of the time in memories of splendid
tropical
scenes, and in longing for the home from which they have been taken--
to
which they ought to be sent back at the earliest possible moment. The sin
there
lies with those who originally caught them; and those who keep them now
share
in it only so far as that their action makes it profitable. A student who
has
already thoughtlessly acquired such birds as these, can hardly do other than
keep
them, unless he is in a position to return them to their native country;
but
he should provide them with the largest cages, and let them out of them to
fly
about the room as often as possible, while he certainly should not encourage
a
nefarious traffic by buying any more of such creatures.
The
only rational and useful relation that we can establish with birds is that
which
occasionally exists in country places-- that food is regularly put out for
the
birds in a certain place and they come and take it, while remaining
otherwise
perfectly free. If a man wants to keep a bird, he should keep it
precisely
as he would keep a cat-- provide it with plenty of food and an abiding
place
whenever it chooses to accept it, but leave it otherwise free to go where
it
will. The difficulty in the way is that the bird' s intelligence is so much
less
developed than the cat' s that it would be more difficult to get it to
understand
the conditions of the arrangement. By far the best plan is to have
nothing
to do with foreign birds, but to try to make friends of the wild birds
of
the neighbourhood.
Individualisation
is not a possibility, as the bird is not developing along our
line;
when it transcends the bird evolution is passes directly into one of the
higher
orders of nature-spirits. Nevertheless, kindness shown to birds arouses
gratitude
and affection in them, and helps them forward in their evolution.
PLANTS
Another
direction in which we may exercise a good deal of influence if we will,
is
upon the plants in our gardens. Plants, like animals, are quick to respond to
wise
and loving care, and are distinctly affected not only by what we do for
them
physically, but also by our feelings towards them. Anyone who possesses
astral
sight will be aware that flowers delight in and respond to a feeling of
admiration.
The feelings of the vegetable differ rather in degree than in kind
from
those of the animal or of the human being, and they bear somewhat the same
relation
to those of the animal as do those of the animal to those of the human
being.
The
animal is less complex in his emotions than the human being, but he is
capable
of affection and hatred, of fear and pride, of jealousy or of shame.
Some
animals, too, seem to have a sense of humour; at any rate, they keenly
enjoy
playing tricks on one another, and they object greatly to being made to
appear
ridiculous or to being laughed at. There is nothing to show that these
emotions
are less in proportion in the animal than they are in us; but we may
say
that the animal has fewer emotions and that they are less complex, and his
methods
of expressing them are more limited.
If
we descend to the vegetable kingdom we find that the vegetable has scarcely
any
power of expression; but we shall be making a grave mistake if we therefore
assume
that there are no feelings to express. Emotion in the vegetable kingdom
is
again far less complex even than that of the animal, and it is altogether
vaguer--
a sort of blind instinctual feeling. The chief physical manifestation
of
it is the well-known fact that some people are always fortunate with plants,
while
others are always unfortunate, even when the physical measures adopted are
precisely
the same. This difference exists everywhere, but in India it has been
specially
noted, and certain people are described as having the lucky hand, and
it
is recognised that almost anything which those people plant will grow; even
under
quite unfavourable conditions, and that anything which they cultivate is
sure
to turn out well. When this influence is universal over the vegetable
kingdom
it is not a question of individual liking, but of certain
characteristics
in the person, and certain qualities in his astral and etheric
vehicles
which prove generally attractive, just as there are some people with
whom
all dogs will at once make friends, and others who without effort can
manage
the most recalcitrant horses.
But
plants are also capable of individual attachment, and when they get to know
people
well, they are pleased to see (or rather to feel) them near. A person who
pours
upon his flowers a stream of admiration and affection evokes in them a
feeling
of pleasure-- first of a general pleasure in receiving admiration, which
might
be thought of as a sort of germ of pride, and then, secondly, a feeling of
pleasure
at the presence of the person who admires, which in the same way is the
germ
of love and gratitude. Plants are also capable of anger and dislike, though
outwardly
they have hardly any means of showing them.
An
occultist who has a garden will make a point of seeing that it is in every
way
perfectly and carefully looked after, and more than this, he will himself
make
friends with the flowers and trees and shrubs, and will go sometimes to
visit
them and give each its due meed of admiration, and so in giving pleasure
to
these lowly organisms he will himself be surrounded by a vague feeling of
affection.
It
may be said that the feeling of a vegetable can hardly be strong enough to be
worth
taking into account. It is true that the influence exerted by it upon a
human
being is less than would be produced by the feeling of an animal; but
these
influences do exist, and though the feeling of one plant may not seem
important,
the feeling of hundreds begins to be a recognisable factor, and if we
wish
to make the best possible conditions, we must not ignore our less developed
brethren
of the lower kingdoms. That much even from the purely selfish point of
view;
but the occultist naturally thinks first of the effect upon the plant.
When
we form a garden we are drawing round us a number of members of the
vegetable
kingdom for our own pleasure; but at the same time this affords us an
opportunity
of helping them in their evolution, an opportunity which should not
be
neglected. Plants differ much in their power to receive and respond to human
influences.
A large tree, for example, with its slow growth and its long life,
is
capable of forming a far stronger a attachment than anything which is merely
annual.
Such a tree comes to have a decided personality of its own, and is even
sometimes
able temporarily to externalise that personality, so that it can be
seen
by the clairvoyant. In such a case it usually takes upon itself human form
for
the time, as I have mentioned in The Inner Life, Vol. ii. Those who wish to
understand
how much more intelligence there is in the vegetable kingdom than we
usually
think, should read a delightful book called The Sagacity and Morality of
Plants
by J.E. Taylor.
NATURE-SPIRITS
This
wonderful evolution has been described in an earlier chapter, but from the
point
of view of its effect upon us, rather than of ours upon it. Here we must
consider
the outer side of that relation-- the influence which we may exercise
upon
the nature-spirits of our neighbourhood, and the friendship which we may
make
with them. Many of their tribes are so beautiful and so interesting that
their
acquaintance would repay cultivation, and we may help to develop their
intellect
and affection, and so do them much good. Those of them who possess
etheric
bodies have the power to make themselves physically visible if they
choose,
so men who are happy enough to gain their friendship may occasionally be
rewarded
by a view of them even with ordinary sight. There is also a probability
that
such friends may be helped by these elves to attain flashes of temporary
clairvoyance,
in order that in that way they may see them.
A
fairy has many points of resemblance to a wild animal, and the method of
making
friends with him is much what we should have to adopt if we were trying
to
tame birds or deer. He is shy and distrustful towards man; how is this
distrust
to be overcome? One who wishes to study at first-hand the habits of a
bird
usually goes to the haunt of the creature, conceals himself, and remains
perfectly
quiet, in the hope that the bird will not see him, or if it does, will
be
reassured by his absolute stillness. The etheric sight of a nature-spirit
pierces
through walls or bushes, so it is hopeless to attempt to evade his
observation;
and for him the stillness which is important is not that of the
physical
body, but of the astral. He objects to the filthy physical emanations
of
the average man-- of meat, of tobacco, of alcohol, and of general
uncleanliness;
obviously one who wishes to make friends with him must be free
from
all these. He objects, too, to storms of passion and impurity; so the man
who
seeks him must also be free from all low and selfish feelings, such as lust,
anger,
envy, jealousy, avarice or depression.
These
negative qualifications being in order, can anything positive be done to
invite
the approach of so coy a visitor? Animals can often be attracted by the
offer
of food, but as a fairy does not eat, that particular allurement is not
available
in his case. The student can provide for him conditions which he is
known
to enjoy. Strong unselfish affection or devotion, or indeed any high
feeling
which burns steadily and without wild surgings, creates an atmosphere in
which
the nature-spirit delights to bathe.
The
man-- the right sort of man-- who rests for a while in some lovely, lonely
spot--
in a wood perhaps, or by a stream or a waterfall-- and revels in such
thoughts
as have been suggested, is quite likely to become aware of an
unfamiliar
presence, of something fascinating, yet strange and non-human; and
perchance,
if fortune greatly favours him, he may even see as well as feel, when
the
shy, wild creature becomes a little more accustomed to him, and gradually
learns
to trust and like him. But if the student remembers that to the
nature-spirit
this is an adventure such as it would be for a mouse to make
friends
with a cat, or for a man to endeavour to establish fraternal relations
with
a tiger in the jungle, he will learn to exercise unlimited patience, and
not
to expect immediate results.
Almost
all nature-spirits delight in music, and some are specially attracted by
certain
melodies; so if the experimenter happens to be a performer upon some
portable
instrument, such as the flute, it may increase his chances of success
if
he plays upon it. I knew an elf in Italy who was so fascinated by a
particular
piece of music that when it was played on the piano, he would
actually
leave the wood in which he dwelt and come into the drawing-room to
enjoy
it and dance to it-- or rather to bathe in its sound-waves, to pulsate and
sway
in harmony with them. But I never knew him to do this if there were more
than
two or three people in the room-- and even those must be friends whom he
had
learned to trust.
More
than once I have seen a shepherd-boy in Sicily, sitting in some lonely spot
on
the hillside, playing on his home-made double Pan-pipe like an ancient Greek,
with
an appreciative audience of fairies frisking round him of which he was
probably
blissfully unconscious, though no doubt their delight reacted upon him
and
added zest to his playing. Sometimes the peasants do see the nature-spirits,
however;
plenty of instances may be found in Mr. Wentz' Fairy Faith in Celtic
Countries.
INANIMATE
SURROUNDINGS
We
are all the while exerting an influence even on what we commonly consider our
inanimate
surroundings. Some of these, by the way, are not quite so inanimate as
we
are apt to think. We all know that the Divine Life exists in the mineral
kingdom
as well as in those which are higher, and in that sense rocks, stones,
and
minerals may rightly be thought of as alive. But certain objects have a more
vivid
and special kind of life, the study of which is of great interest.
To
explain it we must revert for a moment to a familiar analogy. We know how the
life
of the elemental essence of the astral body gathers itself up into a kind
of
personality (which we call the desire elemental) and exists for the time as a
separate
being with definite desires and dislikes of its own, and with
sufficient
power to exercise a great effect in the course of its life on the man
whose
vehicle it informs. We know that the similar consciousness animating the
cells
of the physical body (including of course its etheric part) manifests
itself
in certain instinctive movements. In a way analagous to this, the
consciousness
which animates the molecules of certain minerals will combine into
a
temporary whole when those molecules are welded together into a definite form;
and
especially is this the case when that form demands the presence and
attention
of man, as machinery does.
A
SHIP
The
most perfect example of what I mean is to be found in a ship, for there we
have
a structure built of an enormous number of component parts, and usually of
different
substances. Kipling' s story of The Ship that Found Herself is not
mere
fiction, but has a real and important truth behind it. When a ship is first
built
she is not thus conscious of herself as a unit, but is a mere aggregation
of
a number of separate sentiences. But the whole fabric does become in time a
unit
of consciousness or awareness-- being to a certain extent aware of itself
as
a whole-- however dim and vague its percipience may be as compared with our
own.
And
that consciousness has what we can hardly describe as otherwise than
feelings,
indistinct though they are as compared with anything to which we
usually
give that name. Such an obscure semi-entity certainly may (and often
does)
like one person better than another, so that one person can do with it
what
another cannot. This in no way modifies the other fact that some men are
better
seaman than others, and with a little practice can get out of any ship
the
best that is to be got. Just so, some men are splendid riders, and can
almost
immediately establish a friendly understanding with any horse; but quite
apart
from that, a horse may become attached to a certain man, and learn to
understand
his wishes far more readily than a stranger' s. The same thing is
true
of the vaguer consciousness of the ship. I do not wish to be understood as
suggesting
by this term anything comparable, in definiteness or responsiveness,
to
the consciousness in man; but there certainly is a something, however loose
and
uncertain, which we cannot define by any other word.
MACHINES
The
same thing is true of a railway engine, of a motor-car or a bicycle. Just as
the
driver or rider becomes accustomed to his machine and learns to know exactly
what
it will do, and to humour its various little tricks, so the machine in its
turn
becomes used to the driver and will do more for him in various ways than
for
a stranger. The same must be true of many other sorts of machinery, though
for
that I have not had the benefit of personal observation.
Apart
from the influence acquired by an individual over the blended
consciousness
of a machine, the mere blending itself produces an effect upon the
molecules
of the substance of which it is made. Iron which has formed part of a
machine,
and so has experienced what is for it this exaltation of consciousness,
may
be thought of as somewhat more developed than iron which has not been used
in
the building of a self-contained system. It has become capable of responding
to
additional and more complicated vibrations, and that for a mineral is
evolution.
It is more awake than other iron. This condition of greater vitality
would
be easily visible to a clairvoyant who had learnt its indications, but I
do
not know of any method by which it could be observed physically.
The
additional power of response is not always of the same kind, and variants of
it
may be aroused in different ways. Wrought iron, for example, is much more
alive
than cast iron, and this result is produced by the frequent blows which it
receives
in the process of its working. The same thing may be observed to a
greater
degree with a horse-shoe, for not only has that been wrought in the
first
place, but it has been subjected to constant striking upon the road when
it
was worn by the horse. This long-continued process has awakened it in a
certain
way which makes it exceedingly repulsive to some of the lowest and most
malignant
types of the astral and etheric entities; and that is the reason for
the
old superstition, that when hung over the door it kept away evil and brought
good
fortune to its possessor.
Another
interesting point with regard to this curious composite consciousness is
that
after a certain time it gets tired-- a fact which has frequently been
observed
by those who have much to do with machinery. After a certain time a
machine,
though perfectly in order, gets into a condition in which it will not
work
properly, but becomes slack in its action. It often seems impossible to do
anything
to cure it, but if it is left alone for a time it presently recovers
its
tone and will go on working as before.
Metals
show plainly that they are subject to fatigue. A steel pen will sometimes
scratch
and write badly when it has been used continually for several hours, but
the
clerk who understands nature so far, will put the pen aside, instead of
throwing
it away, and maybe the next day will find it even better than it was at
first.
A barber often finds his razor refusing to take a keen edge, and it is
quite
customary for him to say that it is “getting tired” and to put it aside to
rest.
Some days later that same razor will be in perfect order, keen and sharp
as
ever.
Railway
engines are known to want regular rest, and after a certain amount of
work
are put into the shed, and allowed to cool; and so the engine has its rest
just
as regularly a human being. So we see that fatigue is one of the conditions
possible
to the mineral kingdom and may be felt by metals as well as by men in
their
physical bodies. (See Response in the Living and Non-living, by Professor
J.C.
Bose.) As a matter of fact fatigue is not felt anywhere except in the
physical
world.
There
are men, but so far I know only few, who are unusually charged with
electricity,
and thus produce a special effect upon any metal with which they
habitually
come into contact. It is said, for example, that such people cause
quite
considerable deflections of a ship' s compass when they come near it; but
this
is physical, and hardly occult.
UNLUCKY
SHIPS
A
curious instance of the intervention of the hidden side in the ordinary
affairs
of life is furnished by the experience of practical men connected with
such
matters, that certain ships or engines are what is called unlucky-- that
accident
after accident occurs in connection with them, without any obvious
negligence
to account for it. Naturally some machines are better made than
others;
some men are more careful than others; but I am not referring to cases
into
which either of these factors enters. In some cases where two ships or two
engines
are precisely similar, and the men who manage them are of equal
capacity,
one proves always fortunate, or meets with only an average proportion
of
accidents, while the other is perpetually in trouble for no obvious reason.
There
is no question at all that this is so, and it offers an interesting
problem
to the occult student. I am inclined to think that various reasons may
sometimes
comes into play in producing the results. In one such case at least it
appeared
to be due to feelings of intense hatred nourished by all the men
against
the first captain of the vessel, who seems to have been a petty tyrant
of
the most objectionable description. A large number of men continually cursed
the
captain, the ship, and all that belonged to her, with all the will-power at
their
command; and the state of their feeling produced this evil result, that
disaster
after disaster overtook her. By the time that that captain was removed,
the
ship had acquired a definite reputation of being unlucky, and so her
successive
crews have surrounded her with thought-forms to that effect , which
naturally
enough justify themselves by continuing the series of misfortunes.
In
other cases I think that ill-feeling directed towards the builder of the
vessel
has produced similar results. I doubt whether any such directions of evil
force
would in themselves be sufficient actually to cause serious misfortune.
But
in the life of every ship there are a great many occasions on which an
accident
is only just averted by vigilance and promptitude-- in which a single
moment'
s delay or slackness would be sufficient to precipitate a catastrophe.
Such
a mass of thought-forms as I have described would be amply sufficient to
cause
that momentary lack of vigilance or that momentary hesitation; and that
would
be the easiest line along which its malignity could work.
STONE
USED IN BUILDING
In
speaking of our houses I have already mentioned the effect which we are
constantly
producing upon the walls which surround us and the articles of
furniture
in our rooms. It obviously follows that stone which has been used for
a
building is never afterwards in the same condition as the stone which is as
yet
unquarried. It has been permeated, probably for many years in succession,
with
influences of a certain kind, and that means that for ever after it is
capable
of responding to such influences more readily than is the unused stone.
We
are therefore actually assisting in the evolution of the mineral kingdom when
we
use these various materials for our buildings. I have already explained how
the
different influences which we put into them react upon us; so that just as a
church
radiates devotion, and a prison radiates gloom, so each house in the
business
part of a city radiates anxiety and effort, too often coupled also with
weariness
and despair. There are instances in which a knowledge of these facts
may
prove useful in the prosaic matters of physical life.
SEA-SICKNESS
We
know, for example, that many sensitive ladies are often seized with the pangs
of
sickness as soon as they go on board a vessel, even though the sea may be
perfectly
smooth and there may be no physical excuse for the sensation. No doubt
this
is partially auto-suggestion, but most of it comes from outside. Many a
cabin
is so thoroughly loaded with this suggestion that it requires considerable
mental
force for a newcomer to resist it; so it is not only the physical
consideration
of fresh air which makes it desirable for anyone who is likely to
suffer
in this way to be on deck as much as possible.
FIFTH
SECTION
CONCLUSION
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CHAPTER XXIV
THE
RESULTS OF THE KNOWLEDGE
A
SUMMARY
TO
know something of the hidden side of nature makes life far more interesting
for
us; interesting most of all, naturally, to the clairvoyant who can see it,
or
to the sensitive who can feel it, but interesting in a less degree even to
those
who cannot directly see or feel, and equally important to all, because all
are
influencing and being influenced, even though it be unconsciously to
themselves
so far as their physical brain is concerned.
In
each case, as we have considered it, I have tries to indicate the lesson to
be
learnt from it, but I will summarise the results here. First and foremost we
learn
the duty of happiness, the necessity of casting away from us depression
and
sorrow, even under the circumstances which most readily produce it in those
who
do not know. Yet at the same time we learn that life must be taken
seriously,
and must be lived not for selfish enjoyment but for the helping of
our
fellow-men. We see that we must be on our guard against unsuspected
influences,
such, for example, as the prejudices connected with race, religion,
or
class, and the weight of public opinion, never allowing these to bias our
judgment,
but trying always to arrive at the truth and to weigh the facts for
ourselves;
that we must not yield ourselves unquestioningly even to presumed
spiritual
inspiration, but in that case also must “try the spirits” and use our
common
sense.
We
learn desirability of systematic work or training; the futility of taking
offence,
of becoming angry, or of allowing our serenity to be disturbed in any
way
whatever, and the necessity of maintaining a ceaseless watch over our
thoughts
as well as our words and actions, lest they should draw round us
unpleasant
influences and act as temptations to our neighbours. And we see that
from
those influences which we have mentioned above and from all others which
are
undesirable, we can readily protect ourselves by the formation of shells,
though
a better protection still is to be so full of the divine Love, that it is
always
pouring itself out from us in the shape of love to our fellow-men.
We
learn the danger of becoming slaves to the alcohol, corpse-eating or tobacco
habits;
we learn to keep ourselves free from participation in the cruelties
so-called
sport; we realise that we must be careful of the situation and the
decoration
of our houses or rooms, avoiding harmful influences and taking care
always
to flood them with sunlight and fresh air; that our clothing should be
dictated
by considerations of health and common sense, and not merely by
fashion;
that those who have the good fortune to be specially in contact with
children,
should treat them with the uttermost love, gentleness and patience;
that
we should recognise the brotherhood of all forms of the Divine Life in our
treatment
of animals and plants; that we should never work unnecessary
destruction
upon anything, whether it be what we call animate or inanimate,
since
the occultist knows the Divine Life in everything, and respects it; that
what
we are, what we think and what we do are even more important in relation to
their
action upon others than upon ourselves; that we must preserve the
uttermost
truth in thought and speech, and utter no word that is not true, kind,
pleasant
and helpful; that every man possesses a certain amount of force and is
responsible
for making the best use of it. We learn that ignorance of the law is
not
accepted by Nature as an excuse, because it does not alter the effect of
what
we do; that evil is but the dark shadow of good, and is always temporary,
while
good is eternal; and that while, in everything human, good and evil are
mixed,
yet the powers behind always use to the utmost the good in everything and
everybody.
These
points on which I have written are but specimens of a vast host, for to
everything
there is an unseen side, and to live the life of the occultist is to
study
this higher, hidden side of Nature, and then intelligently to adapt
oneself
to it. The occultist looks at the whole of each subject which is brought
before
him, instead of only at the lowest and least important part of it, and
then
orders his action according to what he sees, in obedience to the dictates
of
plain common sense, and to the Law of Love which guides the Universe. Those
therefore
who would study and practise occultism must develop within themselves
these
three priceless possessions-- knowledge, common sense and love.
Such
if the course of action suggested to us by a study of the hidden side of
things.
But remember that this hidden side will not always remain hidden, for
every
day more and more of our fellow-men learning to understand, because one by
one,
scattered here and there, more and more are learning to see it. Since it is
obvious
that this is the line of evolution and that the few who see now are only
precursors
of the many who will see hereafter, what in the light of these
considerations
may be predicted as the probable future of humanity?
THE
FUTURE
Ingenious
speculation upon this subject is a prominent feature of our modern
fiction.
It was attempted by Edward Bellamy in Looking Backward, and more
recently
by Mr. H. G. Wells in a number of quaintly interesting works. The line
most
usually taken is to pursue to a logical conclusion some of the many
socialistic
theories which are at present in the air, and to endeavour to
calculate
how these will work in practice among men as we know them. In one of
the
pleasantest of these books, In the Days of the Comet, Mr. Wells boldly
introduces
an entirely new factor-- a change in the constitution of our
atmosphere
which suddenly inoculates mankind with common sense and fraternal
feeling.
When that is achieved, naturally many other obvious changes immediately
follow:
war becomes a ridiculous impossibility, our present social system is
regarded
with horror and amazement, our business methods are thrown aside as
unworthy
of human beings, and so on. For this much of common sense we may surely
presently
hope in real life, though it will probably come much more slowly than
in
Mr. Wells' story.
It
may be of interest to see what light is thrown upon the problem of the future
by
the higher extensions of human consciousness of which we have spoken
elsewhere.
We find that from this point of view the future divides itself into
three
parts-- the immediate, the remote, and the ultimate; and, oddly enough, it
is
of that which is furthest from us that we are able to speak with the greatest
certainty,
because the plan of evolution is visible to the higher sight, and its
goal
is clear. Nothing can interfere with the attainment of that goal, but the
stages
that lead up to it may be largely modified by the free-will of the
individuals
concerned, and can, therefore, be foreseen only in their general
outline.
The
end, so far as this cycle is concerned, is the accomplishment of the
perfection
of man. Each individual is to become something much more than what we
now
mean by a great and good man, for he is to be perfect in intellect and
capacity
as well as spirituality. All the intellect of the greatest philosopher
or
man of science, and far more; all the devotion and spirituality of the
greatest
of saints, and far more; these are to be the possessions of every unit
of
humanity before our cycle ends.
To
understand how such a stupendous result can be possible, we must grasp the
plan
by which evolution works. Obviously, on the ordinary theory of one poor
little
life of seventy years, followed by an eternity of purposeless joy or
suffering,
nothing of this sort could ever be achieved; but when once we realise
that
what we commonly call our life is only one day in the real life, and that
we
may have just as many of such days as are necessary for our development, we
see
that the command of Christ: “Be ye perfect even as your Father in heaven is
perfect,”
is no vain hyperbole, but a plain direction which we may reasonably
expect
to be able in due time to obey.
The
ultimate future, then, is perfection for every human being, no matter how
low
or undeveloped he may now be. Man will become more than man. This is what
was
meant in the early Church by the doctrine of ` deification' to which many of
the
Fathers refer. It is a matter not of pious opinion but of utter certainty to
those
who see the working of the scheme.
Obviously,
however, we are yet very far from this attainment; a long upward path
lies
before us before we can reach that far-distant summit, and though on the
whole
it rises steadily, there must necessarily be many minor ups and downs in
the
future as there have been in the past. History shows us that hitherto the
advancement
mankind has been cyclic in its character.
Each
unit lives his long series of progressive lives, not in one race but in
many
successive races, in order that he may learn the special lessons which each
has
to teach. One can image a soul incarnating in ancient India to develop
religious
fervour, in classical Greece to gain artistic capacity, in the Rome of
the
Caesars to learn the immense power of discipline and order, among ourselves
at
the present day to acquire the scientific habit of mind, and so on.
The
same great host of souls sweeps on through all ages, animating all the these
races
in turn, and learning from all; but the races themselves arise, grow,
decay
and fall as they are needed. So when a nation loses its former glory and
falls
behind in the race (as, for example, modern Greece seems to have done in
comparison
with ancient Greece), it does not mean that a certain group of men is
decadent,
but that there are at the moment no souls who need precisely the type
of
training which that race at its best used to give, or that that training is
now
being given elsewhere.
Consequently,
the physical bodies of the descendants of those great men of old
are
now animated by souls of a lower type, while the great men themselves are
now
(as ever) in the forefront of evolution, but incarnated in some other race
in
order to grow still greater by developing in new directions. A race dies
precisely
as a class at a university might die if there were no longer any
students
taking up that particular subject.
Clairvoyance
enables us to examine a much larger section of the earth' s past
history
than can be reached along ordinary lines; and this fuller study of the
past
makes it possible, to some extent, to forecast by analogy some of the steps
in
the more immediate future. From such a study of the records it appears fairly
certain
that we are at the moment passing through a transition period, and that
instead
of representing, as we often fondly imagine, the highest development yet
seen
on earth, we are in reality in the trough between two waves of progress.
The
democratic tendency of which some of us are so proud does not represent, as
is
generally supposed, the ultimate achievement of human wisdom, but is an
experiment
which was tried thoroughly and carried out to its logical conclusion
thousands
of years ago, and then abandoned in universal disgust as irrational,
unworkable,
and leading to endless confusion. If we are to repeat the course of
that
experiment, it seems unpleasantly certain that we shall have to pass
through
a good deal of this confusion and suffering once again, before we arrive
at
the stage of common sense which Mr. Wells so happily describes in the story
previously
mentioned.
But
when that madness is over and reason begins to reassert itself, it is
manifest
that there will be before us a period of far more rapid progress, in
which
we shall be able to avail ourselves of many aids which are not now at our
disposal.
The mere fact that the use of the higher faculties is slowly spreading
among
humanity, will presently make an almost incalculable difference in many
directions.
Imagine
a condition in which all deception or fraud will be impossible, in which
misunderstandings
can no longer occur, because each man can read the thought of
the
other-- in which no one will ever again be set to do work for which he is
unfitted,
because from the first, parents and tutors will be able to see exactly
the
capacities of those committed to their care-- in which a doctor cannot make
mistakes,
because he will see for himself exactly what is the matter with his
patient,
and can watch in detail the action of his remedies. Think what a
difference
it will make in our lives when death no longer separates us from
those
whom we love, because the astral world lies open to us just as does the
physical;
when it will be impossible for men any longer to doubt the reality of
the
Divine scheme, because its lower stages are visibly before their eyes. Art
and
music will be far grander then, for astral colours and harmonies will be at
our
command as well as those which we now know.
The
problems of science will be solved, for the vast additions to human
knowledge
will blend all its branches into one perfect scheme. Geometry and
mathematics
will be far more satisfactory, because we shall then see what they
really
mean and what part they play in the splendid system of the worlds.
Geometry
as we have it now is but a fragment; it is an exoteric preparation for
the
esoteric reality. Because we have lost the true sense of space, the first
step
towards that knowledge is the cognition of the fourth dimension. For
example,
there are five, and only five, possible regular solids-- those which
are
sometimes called the Platonic Solids; to us, that is an interesting fact and
no
more, but the student who has been initiated into the Mysteries knows that,
with
a point at one end of the series and a sphere at the other, they make a set
of
seven which bears a mystic meaning, explaining the relations one to the other
of
the different types of matter in the seven planes of our Solar System, and
the
power of the forces that play through them. Treated only from the physical
plane,
studied as ends in themselves, instead of as means to an end, geometry
and
mathematics must always remain incomplete, like beautiful avenues that lead
nowhere.
Every
feature of life will be wider and fuller, because we shall see much more
than
we do now of the beautiful and wonderful world in which our lot is cast;
understanding
more, we cannot but admire and love more, so we shall be
infinitely
happier, as we draw steadily nearer to that ultimate perfection which
is
absolute happiness, because it is union with the Eternal Love.
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CHAPTER XXV
THE
WAY TO SEERSHIP
I
HAVE no doubt that many people will find it difficult to believe much of what
I
have written. I sympathise with them, because I realise quite well how
fantastic
much of it would have appeared to me before I had studied these
matters
or was able to see them for myself. I know also that, without throwing
the
slightest imputation upon my good faith, many people will inevitably doubt
whether
I have seen all these things clearly and reported them exactly. One
quaint
criticism was offered by a friend, who said:
“It
seems as though you had written this to justify your own peculiarities, for
the
things that you recommend here are just those in which you differ from many
others.”
The
friend was confusing cause and effect; if I do, or try to do, these various
things
which I have prescribed, it is just because I have seen with regard to
them
what I have described in the book. If, however, there are those, as there
well
may be, who find these things hard to believe, I can only say to them that
the
best way to get corroboration of any of the Theosophical ideas is to take
them
for granted and work with them, for then it will soon be found that they
prove
themselves.
It
is within the power of every man to develop the faculties by which all this
has
been seen, nor is there any mystery as to the method by which such
development
is achieved. These faculties will inevitably come to every one in
the
course of his evolution, but most men still stand a long way from the point
at
which they are likely to unfold, though sporadic flashes of clairvoyance are
by
no means uncommon, and many people have at least a certain amount of
sensitiveness.
Let
me not be misunderstood when I say that the ordinary man is still far from
the
probability of possessing these senses. I do not mean because he is not good
enough,
for it is not a question of goodness at all-- although it is certainly
true
that if a man of impure or cruel tendency should acquire such faculties he
would
do far more harm than good with them, to himself and to every one else. I
mean
that the whole trend of modern life and thought is unfavourable to such
unfolding,
and that the man who wishes to undertake it must to a great extent
abstract
himself from the life of the world and get himself into an entirely
different
atmosphere.
Such
a life as I have prescribed on this book is precisely that which would put
a
man into a favourable position for the growth of these faculties; and it is
not
difficult to see how far from this is the ordinary life of the present day.
That
is why it seems unhopeful to suggest to the average person that he should
undertake
the task of opening out these powers. They are unquestionably within
his
reach; but to get himself into a position from which he could begin a real
effort
towards them means already much radical alteration in the life which he
has
been accustomed to live. And then, even when he has gradually eradicated
from
his body all the poisonous products of flesh, alcohol and tobacco, when he
has
raised his aspirations from the lower to the higher, when he has cast out
from
himself all traces of self-consciousness or impurity-- even then the effort
required
is greater then many men could make.
The
eventual result is as certain as the working out of a problem in Euclid, but
the
time occupied may be long, and iron determination and an indomitable will
are
required for the work; and these are faculties which at present are the
possession
of but few. Nevertheless “what man has done man can do” if he will; I
who
write have succeeded in this thing, and I have known others who have
succeeded;
and all who have gained that prize feel it to be far more than worth
all
the efforts put forth in the course of its attainment. Let me then conclude
my
book by a plain statement, made as simply as possible, of what these powers
are,
by means of which it has been written, why they are desirable, and how they
may
be acquired.
A
fish is a denizen of our world, just as a man is; but it is obvious that his
conception
of that world must be exceedingly imperfect. Confined as he is to his
one
element, what can he know of the beauty of landscapes, of the glory of
sunsets,
of the far-reaching interests of our varied and complex human life? He
lives
on a globe of which he knows almost nothing; yet no doubt he is perfectly
satisfied,
and thinks that what he knows is all there is to know.
It
is not flattering to our self-conceit, yet it is an absolute fact, that the
majority
of mankind are precisely in the position of the fish. They are living
in
a world, only one small department of which is within their ken; yet they are
quite
content with that, and are usually blankly ignorant or fiercely
incredulous
as to the wider and grander life which surrounds them on every side.
How
do we know of this wider life? Not only by religious revelation, but because
there
are men who have learnt how to see, not indeed the whole of our world, but
at
least much more of it than is seen by most people. These are the men whom we
call
seers, or clairvoyants.
How
do they see more than others? By the opening of latent faculties-- faculties
which
every one possesses, but which few as yet know how to use. Every man has
other
vehicles of matter finer than the physical-- what St. Paul calls a
“spiritual
body” as well as a “natural body”. Just as through the senses of the
physical
body we become aware of physical things, so through what may be called
the
senses of these finer bodies do we become aware of higher things.
The
advantages of such sight are manifold. For its possessor most of the
problems
of life are solved; for him it is not a matter of belief but of
knowledge
that man survives what is called death, that eternal Justice rules the
world,
that there is no possibility of final failure for anyone, and that,
however
deceptive appearances may be, in reality all things are working together
for
good. The man who is a seer can not only learn much more than others; he can
also
be much more helpful to his fellows than others.
Since
this seership is so desirable, since it lies latent in every one of us, is
it
possible for us to develop it ? Certainly it is possible, if we are willing
to
take the trouble; but for most men it is no light task, for it means
self-control
and self-denial, perseverance and single-mindedness. Other men have
done
it, so you can do it; but you cannot do it unless you are prepared to throw
all
your strength into the effort, with an iron determination to succeed.
The
motive too, must be pure and good. The man whose enquiry is prompted merely
by
curiosity, or by an ignoble desire to obtain advantage or wealth for himself,
will
do well to take warning in time, and leave any sort of occult training
severely
alone until mental and moral growth are further advanced. For added
power
and knowledge mean added responsibility, and the higher sight may be a
curse
instead of a blessing to a man who is not ready for it.
There
are many ways by which the inner sight may be opened, and most of them are
full
of danger, and decidedly to be avoided. It may be done by the use of
certain
drugs, by self-hypnotisation, or by mesmerism; but all these methods may
bring
with them evil results which far outweigh the gain. There is, however, one
process
which can by no possibility do harm, and that is the way of
thought-control
and meditation. I do not say that the undertaking is easy; on
the
contrary, it is excessively difficult; but I do say that it can be done by
determined
effort, because it has been done.
The
man who wishes to attempt this must begin by acquiring control over his
mind--
a herculean task in itself. He must learn to concentrate himself upon
whatever
he may be doing, so that it shall be as well done as is possible for
him
to do it. He must learn to wield his mind as a skilful fencer wields his
weapon,
turning it at will in this direction or that, and able to hold it as
firmly
as he wishes. Try to keep your mind fixed on one definite subject for
five
minutes; before half the time has passed you will find that wandering
thoughts
have slipped in unawares, and that the mind has soared far away beyond
the
limits which you set for it. That means that it is not perfectly under your
control,
and to remedy this condition of affairs is our first step-- by no means
an
easy one.
Nothing
but steady practice will give you this power; but fortunately that
practice
can be had all day long, in business as well as during hours of
leisure.
If you are writing a letter, keep your mind on that letter, so that it
may
be written perfectly, clearly, quickly. If you are reading a book, keep your
mind
on that book, so that you may fully grasp the author' s meaning, and gain
from
it all that he intended you to gain.
In
addition to thus practising concentration in the ordinary course of life, it
will
help you greatly if you set apart a certain time each day for special
effort
along these lines. Early morning is the most suitable; but, at any rate,
it
should be at time when you can be sure of being undisturbed, and it should
always
be at the same hour, for regularity is of the essence of the
prescription.
Sit down quietly and get your mind perfectly calm; agitation or
worry
of any sort is absolutely fatal to success. Then turn the mind upon some
subject
selected beforehand, and consider it attentively and exhaustively, never
allowing
your thoughts to stray aside from it in the slightest degree, even for
a
moment. Of course at first they will stray; but each time you must drag them
back
again and start afresh. You will find it best to take concrete subjects at
first;
it is only after much practice that the more abstract can profitably be
considered.
When
through long habitude all this has become thoroughly familiar to you, when
you
have attained the power of concentration, and when the mind is well under
your
control, another step may be taken. Begin now to choose for the subject of
your
morning meditation the highest ideal that you know. What the ideal is does
not
matter in the least, for we are dealing now with basic facts and not with
outer
forms. The Hindu may take Shri Krishna, the Muhammadan, Allah, the Parsi,
Zoroaster,
the Buddhist, the Lord BUDDHA, and the Christian, the Lord Christ, or
if
he be a Catholic, perhaps the Blessed Virgin or one of the Saints. It matters
not
at all, so long as the contemplation of that ideal arouses within the man
all
the ardour, devotion and reverence of which he is capable. Let him
contemplate
it with ecstasy, till his soul is filled with its glory and its
beauty;
and then, putting forth all the strength which his long practice of
concentration
had given him, let him make a determined effort to raise his
consciousness
to that ideal, to merge himself in it, to become one with it.
He
may make that endeavour many times, and yet fail; but if he perseveres, and
if
his attempt is made in all truth and unselfishness, there will come a time
when
suddenly he knows that he has succeeded, when the blinding light of the
higher
life bursts upon him, and he realises that ideal a thousandfold more than
ever
before. Then he sinks back again into the light of common day; yet that one
momentary
glimpse can never be forgotten, and even if he goes no further, life
will
never look the same to him as it did before he saw.
But
if he persists in his endeavour, that splendid flash of glory will come to
him
again and yet again, each time staying with him longer and longer, until at
last
he will find himself able to raise his consciousness to that higher level
whenever
he wishes-- to observe, to examine and explore that phase of life just
as
he now does this; and thus he joins the ranks of those who know, instead of
guessing
or vaguely hoping, and he becomes a power for good in the world.
END
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Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales
Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24 – 1DL
Searchable Full Text of
The Hidden Side of Things by C
Quick Explanations with Links to More Detailed Info
What is Theosophy ? Theosophy Defined (More Detail)
Three Fundamental Propositions Key Concepts of Theosophy
Cosmogenesis Anthropogenesis Root Races
Ascended Masters After Death States
The Seven Principles of Man Karma
Reincarnation Helena Petrovna Blavatsky
Colonel Henry Steel Olcott William Quan Judge
The Start of the Theosophical Society
History of the Theosophical Society
Theosophical Society Presidents
History of the Theosophical Society in Wales
The Three Objectives of the Theosophical
Society
Explanation of the Theosophical Society
Emblem
The Theosophical Order of Service (TOS)
Glossaries of Theosophical Terms
Index of Searchable
Full Text Versions of
Definitive
Theosophical Works
H P Blavatsky’s Secret Doctrine
Isis Unveiled by H P Blavatsky
H P Blavatsky’s Esoteric Glossary
Mahatma Letters to A P Sinnett 1 - 25
A Modern Revival of Ancient Wisdom
(Selection of Articles by H P Blavatsky)
The Secret Doctrine – Volume 3
A compilation of H P Blavatsky’s
writings published after her death
Esoteric Christianity or the Lesser Mysteries
The Early Teachings of The Masters
A Collection of Fugitive Fragments
Fundamentals of the Esoteric Philosophy
Obras Teosoficas En Espanol
Theosophische Schriften Auf Deutsch