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THE HIDDEN SIDE

OF THINGS

BY

C W LEADBEATER

 

 

 

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The Secret Doctrine by H P Blavatsky

 

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1948

THE THEOSOPHICAL PUBLISHING HOUSE

A DYAR, MADRAS 20, INDIA

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. Liberty of Action. 29



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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 Ireland. Fairy Life and Death. Their Pleasures. The

Romances of Fairyland. Their Attitude towards Man. Glamour. Instances of

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. Temples. Sites and Relics. Ruins. Modern Cities. Public

Buildings. Cemeteries. Universities and Schools. Libraries, Museums and

Galleries. The Stock-yards of Chicago. Special Places. Sacred Mountains. Sacred

Rivers 125



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CHAPTER VIII

BY CEREMONIES

The Hierarchy. The Three Paths. Christian Magic. The Mass. Ordination. 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 Better Way 333

 

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. Reading and Study. System and

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 Bond Street where for a guinea fee the veil of

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 Niagara.

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.

LIBERTY OF ACTION

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 midnight is worth two after it.” The work of this physical

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-------
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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.



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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-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL




http://www.theosophywales.org.uk      http://www.theosophycardiff.org

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



-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL




http://www.theosophywales.org.uk      http://www.theosophycardiff.org

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.



-------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL




http://www.theosophywales.org.uk      http://www.theosophycardiff.org

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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THEOSOPHY

CARDIFF

Searchable Theosophical Texts

 

Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales

Theosophy House

206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24 -1DL

 

 

Instant Guide to Theosophy

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)

 

Ocean of Theosophy

William Quan Judge

 

Glossaries of Theosophical Terms

 

Worldwide Theosophical Links

 

 

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

Alvin Boyd Kuhn

 

Studies in Occultism

(Selection of Articles by H P Blavatsky)

 

The Conquest of Illusion

J J van der Leeuw

 

The Secret Doctrine – Volume 3

A compilation of H P Blavatsky’s

writings published after her death

 

Esoteric Christianity or the Lesser Mysteries

Annie Besant

 

The Ancient Wisdom

Annie Besant

 

Reincarnation

Annie Besant

 

The Early Teachings of The Masters

1881-1883

Edited by

C. Jinarajadasa

 

Study in Consciousness

Annie Besant

 

 

A Textbook of Theosophy

C W Leadbeater

 

A Modern Panarion

A Collection of Fugitive Fragments

From the Pen of

H P Blavatsky

 

The Perfect Way or,

The Finding of Christ

Anna Bonus Kingsford

& Edward Maitland

Part1

 

The Perfect Way or,

The Finding of Christ

Anna Bonus Kingsford

& Edward Maitland

Part2

 

Pistis Sophia

A Gnostic Gospel

Foreword by G R S Mead

 

The Devachanic Plane.

Its Characteristics

and Inhabitants

C. W. Leadbeater

 

Theosophy

Annie Besant

 

The

Bhagavad Gita

Translated from the Sanskrit

By

William Quan Judge

 

Psychic Glossary

 

Sanskrit Dictionary

 

Fundamentals of the Esoteric Philosophy

G de Purucker

 

In The Outer Court

Annie Besant

 

Dreams and

Dream-Stories

Anna Kingsford

 

My Path to Atheism

Annie Besant

 

From the Caves and

Jungles of Hindostan

H P Blavatsky

 

The Hidden Side

Of Things

C W Leadbeater

 

Obras Teosoficas En Espanol

 

La Sabiduria Antigua

Annie Besant

 

Glosario Teosofico

1892

H P Blavatsky

 

 

Theosophische Schriften Auf Deutsch

 

Die Geheimlehre

Von

H P Blavatsky