II.

I can now, after these preliminaries, give an example of the transformation which, thanks to the Mahatmas, will soon take place in the teaching of the Christian Church. I will take particularly the dogma of the _Creation_, informing my readers that they will find in a book I am preparing, _The New Heavens and the New Earth_, an analogous work on all the dogmas of the Catholic faith.

Matter exists in states of infinite variety, and, sometimes, even of opposite appearance. The world is constituted in two poles, the North or Spiritual, and the South or Material pole: these two poles correspond perfectly and differ only in form, that is, in appearance.

Regarded from above, as the Easterns regard it, the universal substance presents the aspect of a spiritual or divine _emanation_; looked at from below, as the Westerns are in the habit of viewing it, it offers, on the contrary, the aspect of a material creation.

One sees at once the difference which must exist between the two intellectualities and, consequently, between the two civilisations of the East and the West. Yet there is no more error in the Genesis of Moses, which is that of the Christian teaching, than there is in the Genesis of the Mahatmas, which is that of the Buddhist doctrine. The one and the other of these Geneses are absolutely founded on one and the same reality. Whether one descends or ascends the scale of being, one only traverses, in the East from above downwards, in the West from below upwards, the same ladder of essences, more or less spiritualised, more or less materialised, according as one approaches to, or recedes from, _Pure Spirit_, which is God.

It was, therefore, not worth while to fulminate so much on one side or the other, here, against the theory of _emanation_, there, against the theory of _Creation_. One always comes back to the principle of Hermes Trismegistus: the universe is dual, though formed of a single substance. The Kabbalists knew it well, and it was taught long ago in the Egyptian sanctuaries, as the occultists have never ceased to repeat it in the temples of India.

It will soon be demonstrated, I hope, by scientific experiments such as those of Mr. William Crookes, the Academician, that everywhere, throughout all nature, _spirit_ and _matter_ are not _two_ but _one_, and that they nowhere offer a real division in life. Under every physical force there is a spiritual or a psychic force: in the heart of the minutest atom is hidden a vital soul, the presence of which has been perfectly determined by Claude Bernard in germs imperceptible to the naked eye. “This soul, human, animal, vegetal or mineral, is but a ray lent by the universal soul to every object manifested in the Kosmos.”

“Corporeal man and the sensible universe, says the theosophical doctrine, are but the appearance imparted to them by the cohesion of the interatomic or inter-astral forces which constitute both exteriorly. The visible side of a being is an ever-changing Maya.” The language of St. Paul is in no way different: “The aspect of the world,” he says, “is a passing vision, an image which passes and renews itself continually—_transit figura hujus mundi_.”

“The real man, or the _microcosm_—and one can say as much of the _macrocosm_—is an astral force which reveals itself through this physical appearance, and which, having existed before the birth of this form, does not share its fate at the hour of death: surviving its destruction. The material form cannot subsist without the spiritual force which sustains it; but the latter is independent of the former, for form is created by spirit, and not spirit by form.”

This theory is word for word that of the “Brothers” and the Adepts, at the same time it is that of the Kabbalists and the Christians of the School of Origen, and the Johannine Church.

There could not be a more perfect agreement. Transfer this teaching to the genesis of the Kosmos and you have the secret of the formation of the World; at the same time you discover the profound meaning of the saying of St. Paul: “The invisible things of God are made visible to the eye of man through the visible things of the creation,” a saying so well translated by Joseph de Maistre by the following: “The world is a vast system of invisible things, visibly organised.”

The whole of the Kosmos is like a two-faced medal of which both faces are alike. The materialists know only the lower side, while the occultists see it from both sides at once; from the front and from the back. It is always nature, and the same nature, but _natura naturata_ from below, _natura naturans_ from above; here, intelligent cause; there, brute effect; spiritual above, corporeal below, etherealised at the North, concreted at the South Pole.

The distinction accepted everywhere in the West down to our own day, as essential and radical, between spirit on the one hand and matter on the other, is no longer sustainable. The progress of science, spurred on as it will be by Hindu ideas, will soon force the last followers of this infantile belief to abandon it as ridiculous....

Yes, all, absolutely all in the world is life, but life differently organised and variously manifested through phenomena which vary infinitely from the most spiritualised beings, such as the Angels, as well known to Buddhists as to Christians, though called by other names, down to the most solidified of beings, such as stones and metals. In the bosom of the latter, sleep, in a cataleptic condition, milliards of vital elementary spirits. These latter only await, to thrill into activity, the stroke of the pick or hammer to which they will owe their deliverance and their escape from the _limbus_, of which the Hindu doctrine speaks as well as the Catholic. Here lies, for these souls of life, the starting point of the _Resurrection_ and of the _Ascension_, taught equally by both the Eastern and the Western traditions, but not understood among us.

[_The Abbé sketches in eloquent words the development of these “spirits of the elements,” and then continues_:—TR.]

But as they ascend, so the spirits can also descend, for they are always free to transfigure themselves in the divine light, or to bury themselves in the satanic shadow of error and evil. Hence, while time is time, “these ceaseless tears and gnashings of teeth” of which the gospel Parables speak metaphorically, and which will last as long as shall last the elaboration of the social atoms destined for the collective composition of the beatific Nirvana.

Nature is ever placing under our eyes examples of organic transformations, analagous to those I am speaking of, as if to aid us in comprehending our own destiny. But it seems that many men “have eyes in order not to see,” as Jesus said. See how in order to remove these cataracts, science, even in the West, constantly approaching more and more that of the East, is at work producing in its turn phenomena, which corroborate at once the Parables of the Gospels and the teachings of nature. I will not speak of the Salpêtrière and the marvels of hypnotism in the hands of M. Charcot and his numerous disciples throughout the whole world. There are things which strike me even more.

M. Pictet, at Geneva, is creating diamonds with air and light. This should not astonish those who know that our coal mines are nothing but “stored-up sunlight.” With an even more marvellous industry, do not the flowers extract from the atmosphere the luminous substance of which they weave their fine and joyous garments? And “all that is sown in the earth under a material form, does it not rise under a spiritual form,” as St. Paul says?

The glorious entities, which we call celestial spirits, have themselves an organic form. It is defined in the canons of our dogma, whatever the ignorance-mongers of ultramontanism may pretend. God alone has no body, God alone is _pure Spirit_—and even to speak thus we must consider the Deity apart from the person of Jesus Christ, for in the “_Word made flesh_” God dwells _corporeally_, according to the true and beautiful saying of St. Paul.

And it is because God has no body that he is present everywhere in the infinite, under the veils of cosmic light and ether, which serve as his garment and under the electric, magnetic, interatomic, interplanetary, interstellar and sound fluids, which serve him as vehicles....

And it is also because God has no created form that the Kabbala could, without error, call him _Non-Being_. Hegel probably felt this esoteric truth when he spoke, in his heavy and cumbrous language, of the equivalence of Being and Non-Being.

All visible forms are thus the product, at the same time as they are the garment and the manifestation, of spiritual forces. All sensible order is, in reality, an _organic concretion_, a sort of living _crystallisation_ of intelligent powers fallen from the state of _spirituality_ into the state of materiality; in other words, fallen from the North to the South pole of nature, in consequence of a catastrophe called by Holy Scripture the _Fall from Eden_. This cataclysm was the punishment of a frightful crime, of an audacious revolt spoken of in the traditions of all Temples and called in our dogma _original sin_. The primary priesthood of the Christian church has hitherto lacked the light needed to explain this biological phenomenon, which is an ascertained fact of physiology and sociology, as I hope to prove. Questioned on this point, the priests have always replied: It is a mystery. Now there are no mysteries save for ignorance, and the Christ announced that “every hidden thing should be brought to light, and proclaimed on the house-tops.”

This is why so many new lights, coming from the East and elsewhere, enter scientifically, in our day, into the Christian mind. Glory to the Theosophists, glory to the Adepts, glory to the Kabbalists, glory above all to the Hermetists everywhere, glory to those new missionaries whose coming M. de Maistre foresaw, and whom M. de Saint-Ives d’Alveydre lately hailed as the elect of God, charged by him to establish a communion of knowledge and of love between all the religious centres of the earth!

Priests of the Roman Catholic Church, we shall enter in our turn this wise communion of saints, on the day when we shall consent to read anew our sacred texts, no longer in “the dead letter” of their exotericism, but in the “living spirit” of their esotericism, and in the threefold sense which Christian tradition has always canonically recognised in them.

L’ABBE ROCA (_Chanoine_).

Chateau de Pallestres, France.

[This is a very optimistic way of putting it, and if realized would be like pouring the elixir of life into the decrepit body of the Latin Church. But what will his Holiness the Pope say to it?—ED.]

THE GREAT QUEST.

CONTINUED from the December (1887) number.

The Religionist, of course, denies that man can become a god or ever realise in himself the attributes of Deity. He may recognise the necessity of re-incarnation for ordinary worldly men, and even for those who are not constant in their detachment and devotion, but he denies the necessity for that series of trials and initiations which must cover, at all events, more than one life-time—probably many. It would appear as if the theory of evolution might be called in, to aid this latter view. If it is acknowledged that we, as individuals, have been for ever whirling on the wheel of conditioned existence; if at the beginning of each manwantara the divine monad which through the beginningless past has inhabited in succession the vegetable, animal, and human forms, takes to itself a house of flesh in exact accordance with previous Karma, it will be seen that (while inhabiting a human body) during no moment in the past eternity have we been nearer the attainment of Nirvana than at any other. If then there is no thinkable connection between evolution and Nirvana, to imagine that evolution, through stages of Adeptship, conducts to Nirvana, is a delusion. “It is purely a question of divine grace”—says the Religionist. If in answer to this view, it is contended that the light of the Logos is bound, eventually, to reach and enlighten every individual, and that the steady progress to perfection through Chelaship and Adeptship would, therefore, be a logical conclusion, it is objected that to assert that the light of the Logos must eventually reach and enlighten all, would involve the ultimate extinction of the objective Universe, which is admitted to be without beginning or end, although it passes through alternate periods of manifestation and non-manifestation. If to escape from this untenable position we postulate fresh emanations of Deity into the lowest organisms at the beginning of each manwantara, to take the place of those who pass away into Nirvana, we are met by other difficulties. Firstly, putting out of consideration the fact that such a supposition is expressly denied by what is acknowledged as revelation, the projection into the evolutionary process of a monad free from all Karma, makes the law of Karma inoperative, for the monad’s first association with Karma remains unexplained; and also it becomes impossible to say what the monad was, and what was the mode of its being prior to the projection into evolution. It must be noted that although the law of Karma does not explain _why_ we are, yet it satisfactorily shows _how_ we are what we are; and this is the _raison d’être_ of the law. But the above theory takes away its occupation. It makes Karma and the monad independent realities, joined together by the creative energy of the Deity, while Karma ought to be regarded as a mode of existence of the monad—which mode ceases to be when another mode, called liberation, takes its place. Secondly, if the monad in attaining liberation only attains to what it was before its association with Karma, _à quoi bon_ the whole process; while, if it is stated that the monad was altogether non-existent before its projection, the Deity becomes responsible for all our sufferings and sins, and we fall into either the Calvinist doctrine of predestination as popularly conceived, or into the still more blasphemous doctrine of the worshippers of Ahriman, besides incurring many logical difficulties. The teaching of our eastern philosophers is that the real interior nature of the monad is the same as the real interior essence of the Godhead, but from beginningless past time it has a transitory nature, considered illusive, and the mode in which this illusion works is known by the name of Karma.

But were we not led astray in the first instance? Ought we not to have acquiesced in the first above given definition of the theory of evolution? The premiss was satisfactory enough—the mistake was in allowing the religionist’s deduction as a logical necessity. When the religionist states that there is no thinkable connection between evolution and Nirvana, he merely postulates for the word evolution a more limited scope than that which the Occultist attaches to it, viz., the development of soul as well as that of mere form. He is indeed right in stating that the natural man, while he remains such, will never attain the ultimate goal of Being. True it is, for the Occultist as for the religionist, that, to free himself from the fatal circle of rebirths, he must “burst the shell which holds him in darkness—tear the veil that hides him from the eternal.” The religionist may call this the act of divine grace; but it may be quite as correctly described as the “awakening of the slumbering God within.” But the error of the religionist is surely in mistaking the first glimmer of the divine consciousness for a guarantee of final emancipation, at, say, the next death of the body, instead of merely the first step of a probationary stage in the long vista of work for Humanity on the higher planes of Being!

To provide ourselves with an analogy from the very theory of Evolution which we have been discussing, is it not more logical to imagine that, in the same way in which we see stretched at our feet the infinite gradations of existence, through the lower animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms—between which indeed, thanks to the recent investigations of scientific men—there is no longer recognised to be any distinct line of demarcation—so the heights (necessarily hidden from our view) which still remain to be scaled by us in our upward progress to Divinity, should be similarly filled with the gradations of the unseen hierarchy of Being? And that, as we have evolved during millions of centuries of earth-life through these lower forms up to the position we now occupy, so may we, if we choose, start on a new and better road of progress, apart from the ordinary evolution of Humanity, but in which there must also be innumerable grades?

That there will be progress for Humanity as a whole, in the direction of greater spirituality, there is no doubt, but that progress will be partaken of by continually decreasing numbers. Whether the weeding out takes place at the middle of the “great fifth round,” or whether it be continually taking place during the evolutionary process, a ray of light is here thrown on the statement met with in all the Bibles of Humanity as to the great difficulty of the attainment. “For straight is the gate, and narrow is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it; but wide is the gate, and broad is the way that leadeth unto destruction, and many there be that go in thereat.” This and parallel passages doubtless refer to the weeding out of those who are unfit to continue the progress, on which the more spiritualized Humanity will then have entered. The most vivid picture of the comparative handful of elect souls, who are fit to achieve the great quest, will be obtained by contemplating the fact already stated, that the objective universe, with its myriads of inhabitants, will never, in the vast abysses of the future, cease to be; and that the great majority of humanity—the millions of millions—will thus for ever whirl on the wheel of birth and death.

But though Nature may give us an almost infinite number of chances to attempt the great quest, it were madness to put by the chance offered now, and allow the old sense-attractions to regain their dominance, for it must be remembered that the barbarism and anarchy which every civilisation must eventually lapse into, are periods of spiritual deadness, and that it is when “the flower of civilisation has blown to its full, and when its petals are but slackly held together,” that the goad within men causes them to lift their eyes to the sunlit mountains, and “to recognise in the bewildering glitter the outlines of the Gates of Gold.”

There are no doubt realms in the Devaloka where the bliss of heaven may be realised by those who aspire to the selfish rewards of personal satisfaction, but these cease to exist with the end of the manwantara, and with the beginning of the next the devotee will again have to endure incarceration in flesh. The eighth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita does indeed state that there is a path to Nirvana through the Devaloka, and amongst the countless possibilities of the Infinite who shall assert that this is not so? but the context surely implies such a detachment and devotion through life as is difficult for us even to contemplate, much less to realize.

However distant, therefore, may appear to us the achievement of the great quest, when we consider how much more closely we are allied to the animal than to the God, it must necessarily seem an infinitely far-off goal, but though we may have to pass through many life-times before we reach it, our most earnest prayer should be, that we may never lose sight of that celestial goal, for surely it is the one thing worthy of achievement!

To many the foregoing may appear as mere speculations, and the firmest faith indeed can scarcely call itself knowledge, but, however necessary the complete knowledge may be, we may at least hope that its partial possession is adequate to the requirements of the occasion. To us whose feet tread, often wearily, towards the path of the great quest, and whose eyes strain blindly through the mists that wrap us round, steady perseverance and omnipotent hope must be the watch-words—perseverance to struggle on, though the fiends of the lower self may make every step a battle, and hope that at any moment the entrance to the path may be found.

As an example of these two qualities, and also because all words that strike a high key are bound to awaken responsive echoes in noble hearts, let us conclude with the following extract from the Ramayana:—

“Thus spoke Rama. Virtue is a service man owes himself, and though there were no heaven nor any God to rule the world, it were not less the binding law of life. It is man’s privilege to know the right and follow it. Betray and persecute me brother men! Pour out your rage on me O malignant devils! Smile, or watch my agony in cold disdain ye blissful Gods! Earth, hell, heaven combine your might to crush me—I will still hold fast by this inheritance! My strength is nothing—time can shake and cripple it; my youth is transient—already grief has withered up my days; my heart—alas! it is well-nigh broken now. Anguish may crush it utterly, and life may fail; but even so my soul that has not tripped shall triumph, and dying, give the lie to soulless destiny that dares to boast itself man’s master.”

“PILGRIM.”

[Illustration: decorative description]

WHISPER OF A ROSE.

Behold me! an offspring of Darkness and Light. With soft, tender petals of radiant white, With golden heart mystery, full of perfume That is Soul of my Breath—the Secret of Bloom.

Infinity’s centre is heart of the rose, And th’ breath of Creation its perfume that flows Through ages and eons and time yet untold— But the _Soul_ of the _Breath_ I may not unfold.

MORA.

THE SECLUSION OF THE ADEPT.

[CONTINUATION OF “COMMENTS ON LIGHT ON THE PATH,” BY THE AUTHOR.]

“Before the voice can speak in the presence of the Masters, it must have lost the power to wound.”

Those who give a merely passing and superficial attention to the subject of occultism—and their name is Legion—constantly inquire why, if adepts in life exist, they do not appear in the world and show their power. That the chief body of these wise ones should be understood to dwell beyond the fastnesses of the Himalayas, appears to be a sufficient proof that they are only figures of straw. Otherwise, why place them so far off?

Unfortunately, Nature has done this and not personal choice or arrangement. There are certain spots on the earth where the advance of “civilisation” is unfelt, and the nineteenth century fever is kept at bay. In these favoured places there is always time, always opportunity, for the realities of life; they are not crowded out by the doings of an inchoate, money-loving, pleasure seeking society. While there are adepts upon the earth, the earth must preserve to them places of seclusion. This is a fact in nature which is only an external expression of a profound fact in super-nature.

The demand of the neophyte remains unheard until the voice in which it is uttered has lost the power to wound. This is because the divine-astral life[128] is a place in which order reigns, just as it does in natural life. There is, of course, always the centre and the circumference as there is in nature. Close to the central heart of life, on any plane, there is knowledge, there order reigns completely; and chaos makes dim and confused the outer margin of the circle. In fact, life in every form bears a more or less strong resemblance to a philosophic school. There are always the devotees of knowledge who forget their own lives in their pursuit of it; there are always the flippant crowd who come and go——Of such, Epictetus said that it was as easy to teach them philosophy as to eat custard with a fork. The same state exists in the super-astral life; and the adept has an even deeper and more profound seclusion there in which to dwell. This place of retreat is so safe, so sheltered, that no sound which has discord in it can reach his ears. Why should this be, will be asked at once, if he is a being of such great powers as those say who believe in his existence? The answer seems very apparent. He serves humanity and identifies himself with the whole world; he is ready to make vicarious sacrifice for it at any moment—_by living not by dying for it_. Why should he not die for it? Because he is part of the great whole, and one of the most valuable parts of it. Because he lives under laws of order which he does not desire to break. His life is not his own, but that of the forces which work behind him. He is the flower of humanity, the bloom which contains the divine seed. He is, in his own person, a treasure of the universal nature, which is guarded and made safe in order that the fruition shall be perfected. It is only at definite periods of the world’s history that he is allowed to go among the herd of men as their redeemer. But for those who have the power to separate themselves from this herd he is always at hand. And for those who are strong enough to conquer the vices of the personal human nature, as set forth in these four rules, he is consciously at hand, easily recognised, ready to answer.

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Footnote 128:

Of course every occultist knows by reading Eliphas Levi and other authors that the “astral” plane is a plane of unequalised forces, and that a state of confusion necessarily prevails. But this does not apply to the “divine astral” plane, which is a plane where wisdom, and therefore order, prevails.

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But this conquering of self implies a destruction of qualities which most men regard as not only indestructible but desirable. The “power to wound” includes much that men value, not only in themselves, but in others. The instinct of self-defence and of self-preservation is part of it; the idea that one has any right or rights, either as citizen, or man, or individual, the pleasant consciousness of self-respect and of virtue. These are hard sayings to many; yet they are true. For these words that I am writing now, and those which I have written on this subject, are not in any sense my own. They are drawn from the traditions of the lodge of the Great Brotherhood, which was once the secret splendour of Egypt. The rules written in its ante-chamber were the same as those now written in the ante-chamber of existing schools. Through all time the wise men have lived apart from the mass. And even when some temporary purpose or object induces one of them to come into the midst of human life, his seclusion and safety is preserved as completely as ever. It is part of his inheritance, part of his position, he has an actual title to it, and can no more put it aside than the Duke of Westminster can say he does not choose to be the Duke of Westminster. In the various great cities of the world an adept lives for a while from time to time, or perhaps only passes through; but all are occasionally aided by the actual power and presence of one of these men. Here in London, as in Paris and St. Petersburgh, there are men high in development. But they are only known as mystics by those who have the power to recognise; the power given by the conquering of self. Otherwise how could they exist, even for an hour, in such a mental and psychic atmosphere as is created by the confusion and disorder of a city? Unless protected and made safe their own growth would be interfered with, their work injured. And the neophyte may meet an adept in the flesh, may live in the same house with him, and yet be unable to recognise him, and unable to make his own voice heard by him. For no nearness in space, no closeness of relations, no daily intimacy, can do away with the inexorable laws which give the adept his seclusion. No voice penetrates to his inner hearing till it has become a divine voice, a voice which gives no utterance to the cries of self. Any lesser appeal would be as useless, as much a waste of energy and power, as for mere children who are learning their alphabet to be taught it by a professor of philology. Until a man has become, in heart and spirit, a disciple, he has no existence for those who are teachers of disciples. And he becomes this by one method only—the surrender of his personal humanity.

For the voice to have lost the power to wound, a man must have reached that point where he sees himself only as one of the vast multitudes that live; one of the sands washed hither and thither by the sea of vibratory existence. It is said that every grain of sand in the ocean bed does, in its turn, get washed up on to the shore and lie for a moment in the sunshine. So with human beings, they are driven hither and thither by a great force, and each, in his turn, finds the sunrays on him. When a man is able to regard his own life as part of a whole like this he will no longer struggle in order to obtain anything for himself. This is the surrender of personal rights. The ordinary man expects, not to take equal fortunes with the rest of the world, but in some points, about which he cares, to fare better than the others. The disciple does not expect this. Therefore, though he be, like Epictetus, a chained slave, he has no word to say about it. He knows that the wheel of life turns ceaselessly. Burne Jones has shown it in his marvellous picture—the wheel turns, and on it are bound the rich and the poor, the great and the small—each has his moment of good fortune when the wheel brings him uppermost—the King rises and falls, the poet is _fêted_ and forgotten, the slave is happy and afterwards discarded. Each in his turn is crushed as the wheel turns on. The disciple knows that this is so, and though it is his duty to make the utmost of the life that is his, he neither complains of it nor is elated by it, nor does he complain against the better fortune of others. All alike, as he well knows, are but learning a lesson; and he smiles at the socialist and the reformer who endeavour by sheer force to re-arrange circumstances which arise out of the forces of human nature itself. This is but kicking against the pricks; a waste of life and energy.

In realising this a man surrenders his imagined individual rights, of whatever sort. That takes away one keen sting which is common to all ordinary men.

When the disciple has fully recognised that the very thought of individual rights is only the outcome of the venomous quality in himself, that it is the hiss of the snake of self which poisons with its sting his own life and the lives of those about him, then he is ready to take part in a yearly ceremony which is open to all neophytes who are prepared for it. All weapons of defence and offence are given up; all weapons of mind and heart, and brain, and spirit. Never again can another man be regarded as a person who can be criticised or condemned; never again can the neophyte raise his voice in self-defence or excuse. From that ceremony he returns into the world as helpless, as unprotected, as a newborn child. That, indeed, is what he is. He has begun to be born again on to the higher plane of life, that breezy and well-lit plateau from whence the eyes see intelligently and regard the world with a new insight.

I have said, a little way back, that after parting with the sense of individual rights, the disciple must part also with the sense of self-respect and of virtue. This may sound a terrible doctrine, yet all occultists know well that it is not a doctrine, but a fact. He who thinks himself holier than another, he who has any pride in his own exemption from vice or folly, he who believes himself wise, or in any way superior to his fellow men, is incapable of discipleship. A man must become as a little child before he can enter into the kingdom of heaven.

Virtue and wisdom are sublime things; but if they create pride and a consciousness of separateness from the rest of humanity in the mind of a man, then they are only the snakes of self re-appearing in a finer form. At any moment he may put on his grosser shape and sting as fiercely as when he inspired the actions of a murderer who kills for gain or hatred, or a politician who sacrifices the mass for his own or his party’s interests.

In fact, to have lost the power to wound, implies that the snake is not only scotched, but killed. When it is merely stupefied or lulled to sleep it awakes again and the disciple uses his knowledge and his power for his own ends, and is a pupil of the many masters of the black art, for the road to destruction is very broad and easy, and the way can be found blindfold. That it is the way to destruction is evident, for when a man begins to live for self he narrows his horizon steadily till at last the fierce driving inwards leaves him but the space of a pin’s-head to dwell in. We have all seen this phenomenon occur in ordinary life. A man who becomes selfish isolates himself, grows less interesting and less agreeable to others. The sight is an awful one, and people shrink from a very selfish person at last, as from a beast of prey. How much more awful is it when it occurs on the more advanced plane of life, with the added powers of knowledge, and through the greater sweep of successive incarnations!

Therefore I say, pause and think well upon the threshold. For if the demand of the neophyte is made without the complete purification, it will not penetrate the seclusion of the divine adept, but will evoke the terrible forces which attend upon the black side of our human nature.

. . . . . .

“Before the soul can stand in the presence of the Masters its feet must be washed in the blood of the heart.”

The word soul, as used here, means the divine soul, or “starry spirit.”

“To be able to stand is to have confidence;” and to have confidence means that the disciple is sure of himself, that he has surrendered his emotions, his very self, even his humanity; that he is incapable of fear and unconscious of pain; that his whole consciousness is centred in the divine life, which is expressed symbolically by the term “the Masters;” that he has neither eyes, nor ears, nor speech, nor power, save in and for the divine ray on which his highest sense has touched. Then is he fearless, free from suffering, free from anxiety or dismay; his soul stands without shrinking or desire of postponement, in the full blaze of the divine light which penetrates through and through his being. Then he has come into his inheritance and can claim his kinship with the teachers of men; he is upright, he has raised his head, he breathes the same air that they do.

But before it is in any way possible for him to do this, the feet of the soul must be washed in the blood of the heart.

The sacrifice, or surrender of the heart of man, and its emotions, is the first of the rules; it involves the “attaining of an equilibrium which cannot be shaken by personal emotion.” This is done by the stoic philosopher; he, too, stands aside and looks equably upon his own sufferings, as well as on those of others.

In the same way that “tears” in the language of occultists expresses the soul of emotion, not its material appearance, so blood expresses, not that blood which is an essential of physical life, but the vital creative principle in man’s nature, which drives him into human life in order to experience pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow. When he has let the blood flow from the heart he stands before the Masters as a pure spirit which no longer wishes to incarnate for the sake of emotion and experience. Through great cycles of time successive incarnations in gross matter may yet be his lot; but he no longer desires them, the crude wish to live has departed from him. When he takes upon him man’s form in the flesh he does it in the pursuit of a divine object, to accomplish the work of “the Masters,” and for no other end. He looks neither for pleasure nor pain, asks for no heaven, and fears no hell; yet he has entered upon a great inheritance which is not so much a compensation for these things surrendered, as a state which simply blots out the memory of them. He lives now not in the world, but with it; his horizon has extended itself to the width of the whole universe.

Δ

THE WHITE MONK.

By the Author of the “Professor of Alchemy.”

## PART I.—RALPH’S STORY.

“It was after this manner, as they say,” began Ralph, swinging himself on to a bench and pouring out for himself a tankard of our good home-brewed, as I crouched in the hay opposite to him. “Two centuries agone and thirty years or so, there dwelt in this very house which I serve—and which one day, young master, you shall rule!—Sir Gilbert de Troyes, your ancestor, and his lady, and four fair sons, and a lovely daughter. Of these sons, twain were at the wars, one was in his nurse’s lap, and another was gone to Italy, to finish his studies at Parma. Thus did the old nobles use to ruin their sons!

“This young foregoer of yours (a goodly youth!) fell in with the usual temptations of Satan. He held, with the poets, that the world is the best book for men to read; and he studied it, I ween, with diligence. Now there was a certain damsel, winsome enough, I doubt not, in the Italian style, with black hair and the devil—save the mark!—in her wandering eyes. So it came to pass that Master Gilbert, younger, wooed her for his bride, like an honest gentleman, as the old tales say he was; and so great is the power of one upright soul amongst others, that the young witch—she was but young, poor soul! and teachable—was charmed herself from her Italian ways, and vowed to love and follow only him; and the day before their marriage, she was walking with him in the streets of Parma, by night—for Master Gilbert had a governor along with him in Italy, who must be hoodwinked—when there chanced to espy them one Pietro Rinucci, a clerkly fellow (with a curse upon him!) who was even studying also at Parma, and who loved the Italian witch himself.

“This Rinucci had been favoured of the girl, and only when she saw the Englishman, with his blue eyes and his honest ways, had she scorned her countryman and left him. Rinucci, after the manner of his race-fellows, then dogged her steps, tracked her to her early meetings with young Gilbert de Troyes, who was his unsuspecting friend, and listened to their innocent ravings of love conjoined to virtue.

“Afterward, had he gone to the damsel’s poor lodging and there, with Heaven knows what direful threats! conjured her to renounce her honest lover and return to himself. The signorina was not like an English girl—she neither stormed nor yielded—she cajoled and blinded him. ‘If he would go, she would consider; perchance she did not love the Briton truly; perchance it was a whim; she knew not. Might she but think? it was a whirl, and her heart, alas! was o’er susceptible; ’twould pass; he must leave her now, at least, and she would see. Meantime Pietruccino should wear this pretty crimson ribbon of hers till they met again.’ After even such words, and for a kiss, he left her. But the cunning villain was more than her match, and waited all the next day round the corners, whence he could see her goings out and comings in. He saw her glide to her trysting-place; he followed cautiously; he heard her give a signalling whispered call; he heard it answered by a short, low whistle; young Gilbert de Troyes swung merrily round the corner and fell into his Italian sweetheart’s arms.

“He met his death, poor, noble young fellow! ’Tis an old tale repeated. I need scarce have wasted all these words upon it—but that one’s heart must needs ache at these things. In the course of nature that Italian snake, Rinucci, was bound to finish his rival there and then. So he got behind the unwary schoolboy—for the lad was, indeed, little more—and stabbed him, all too deep, in the back of the neck.

“Folk say Rinucci triumphed as he set his foot on his dying college-mate, and wiped his dagger, with a laugh, before the horror-stricken girl. Myself can scarcely believe it; he was too young in murder then for that.

“Be this as it may, certain it is that he dragged away the mourning damsel from the corpse of the man who would have saved her soul, and took her back to himself.

“A sickening story, boy. Wilt thou have more, young master? Yea? Why, there is worse to come. For Mistress Italiana—no tradition tells her name—was spirited as any gipsy woman, and full of crafty lore, such as her race delight in. She broke her heart over her English lover’s corpse; but she had still the Southern amusement left her of revenge. She concocted an evil greenish powder, and coloured Signor Pietro’s sweetmeats with it.

“The fellow ate largely, praising the daintiness of the confection. It was deadly enough, I daresay, in all conscience, but it killed him not. These reptiles live on poison; morally, ’tis certain, belike, and also physically it agreed with him. Perchance he may have felt a qualm or two, though tradition says nought of it. Anyway, the next fytte of this story shows us the mysterious disappearance of the Italian girl, of whom no word hath ever since been told.

“She left behind her, whether willingly or no, a quantity of the false seasoning, which Master Pietro had caused to be analysed, and which he seems to have carefully preserved.

“Some time after these events, we find Signor Pietro Rinucci entered into the Monastery of Dominicans at Brescia, a repentant neophyte. He had turned remorseful, no doubt, and in good time! The fellow had ever strong imaginations. He was received in due time as a brother; wore the garb of the Order, and cast his eyes down. Tradition saith he was in great turmoil of soul at this time—judge for yourself, young master, by what followed.

“One fine morning Brother Petrus was missing from his small, damp cell, and none could tell what had become of him. None, that is, save the poverty-stricken ropemaker who had supplied him with cords to scale the monastery walls; and his discretion had been paid for. The fact being, I doubt not, that discipline being ever repugnant to our young bravo’s manners, he had fled it.

“In the meantime, the news of Gilbert de Troyes’ death had been brought to these very doors, and certainly the grooms who then tended the good horses of your ancestors must, even in this saddle-room, have spent their sorrow in each other’s company. But Ambrose de Troyes, newly back from the wars, and second-born of the family, rose in his wrath, and swore to avenge his brother. For all might know that the death blow had been dealt by one Pietro Rinucci, fellow-scholar of Gilbert’s, whose absence afterward from the University had puzzled the doctors and caused inquisition into the matter.

“So away went Ambrose, the soldier, to Parma. And mind ye, Ambrose was no careless school-boy, no mean foe to a man, but a great, staunch fellow who had seen service, and who was, moreover, by Nature something stern and hard of purpose.

“But at Parma they told him Rinucci was escaped into a monastery which they named, and showed a painted portrait of him, and did so minutely, point by point, describe the man, that Ambrose swore he should know him, should he meet him in Heaven. And that was a strong assertion, note ye.

“Well, Ambrose journeyed on towards the secluded spot where the Monastery of Dominicans lay, and was enforced to rest one night at the village of Santa Rosa on his road. Having stabled his steed, refreshed it and himself, and practised his arm some moments with the good sharp sword, he slung the weapon round him and went forth for a stroll to pass the time.

“He came to the equivalent of what would be to us in England an ale-house, but some way out of the village, meet for travellers to pause and rest a moment on their way. Ambrose went in to look about him and ordered drink for himself. He lacked a companion to pledge, but looking round the little room saw no one but a moody man who seemed lost in thought, though enjoying some passing sour wine. Ambrose himself could stomach neither the fare nor the company, so he quickly got him on his way a little further; when, meeting with a simple shrine to the Virgin, the God-fearing soldier took his rosary from under his baldrick, and knelt him down to pray. For something had sore perplexed him; he had seemed to see in the features of that morose comrade at the inn the most exact resemblance of Rinucci. But Rinucci was safe at the Monastery, waiting till his time should come, and the avenger should denounce him. But even as he rose from prayer did Ambrose see a mounted messenger speeding to him, who told him breathlessly the news had just reached Santa Rosa that the Monk Petrus was escaped and roaming at large somewhere in the country.

“Then Ambrose de Troyes knew he had his man; and natheless, like the large-hearted fellow he was, he would but meet him quite alone. So he rewarded the newsbringer and sent him away. Once more he fell on his knees before our Lady’s image, and besought that his cause might find Heaven’s favour, and his action in it be in every point just and serviceable. (For he looked upon himself as sent to do such things as might cause his brother’s soul to rest in peace.) Then he went rapidly retracing his steps towards the inn again, and, led by Destiny, out came Pietro Rinucci, unarmed, to meet him. Ambrose de Troyes looked into the assassin’s eyes and knew him. Stranger still, the piercing eyes of the cunning Italian saw, in the traits of this bronzed warrior, relationship to the Gilbert who had been his friend and victim.

“‘I arrest thee, Pietro Rinucci, for the murder of my brother, Gilbert de Troyes, and, though I may not draw upon a tonsured monk (yea, I know thee through all thy false disguises!), yet, before I hale thee to the ecclesiastical courts, I will show thee, snake, what I think of thee, and of all such!’

“And Ambrose de Troyes smote the villain a shameful blow upon the face.

“Even at that instant, the monk whips me Ambrose’s sword from its scabbard, and, with the fatal dexterity of his race, ran in upon the stately Englishman and laid him, bleeding quick to death, upon the hot white road.

“‘Oh Margaret, my sister Margaret!’ the dying man raved, as if he thirsted for help from the hand that had been kind to him.

“‘A right pestilent breed of Britons! but easy to kill—easy to kill,’ quoth the Monk, as he laid down the red sword by the dying man’s side and left him alone in his agony.

“This scene was witnessed by a terrified young country-girl, who crouched behind a heap of stones, meanwhile, until the murderer’s flight, and then ran to assist De Troyes, who thought she was his sister Margaret, and said marvellous tender words, of home and of her kindness, and of the little brother he had left in the nursery.

“After this, there comes a period of Rinucci’s life of which we know but little. He seems to have raced about the country, in hiding always, but doing little harm for him. Italy, however, is debateable ground for one of her own recreant monks, so we find Messer Pietro fleeing Justice and coming over here to England. Whether he had had some of his heart-searchings that he knew so often, I know not, but deem it very likely. Here is the flaw, to my mind, in the foreigners’ constitutions. They recognize their sins as such, not so we English! We say our evil deeds are fate, congenital infirmity, ignorance, negligence, or even virtues; they say their sins are sins, and yet they do them. Had I but half the talent of sinning that Messer Pietro seems to have owned, my faith, I would have gloried in it! So did not he, however; he went to a father confessor, fell on the earth, and implored absolution—for life was still sweet to him, he said, and he would not die yet awhile.

“The father sent him for penance to travel as a pilgrim, in a white penitential garb to England, there to walk to the shrine of St. Thomas à Becket, foully slain on earth by violence.

“The father did well for his mother-country, but evilly for us.

“The monk Petrus performed at all points the penalty enjoined him, and afterward, having no especial call to Italy again, he followed his roving instincts and wandered about England, even till chance brought him to this, our, town. In this country he knew no men well enough to desire to kill them; besides, at this period, one of his fits of penitence seems to have been on him. Certes, he wore the monkish habit, only different in its white colour from that of other fraternities, and the folk grew acquainted with his white figure as he roamed the land in deepest meditation, with his eyes bent upon the ground.

“Now, one day, say the chronicles (which are made up of village tales), the White Monk, as our townsfolk called him, was sitting in a thicket by a brook in which he was bathing his travelled feet, when there came by the sister of his victims, even Mistress Margaret de Troyes herself, and walked the pleasant fringes of the forest, very near to where the wanderer sat, on the further side the elders. She was accompanied by her mother and by another lady, both of whom were pressing the claims of some noble suitor upon her.

“The other ladies were in deepest mourning for Gilbert and for Ambrose, and Mistress Margaret herself, though she wore no such signs of grief, was most plainly clad in a pale, pure garb of lavender. She listened quietly to all they urged, then spoke and said:

“‘My mother, he is a light, false man. I care not for him.’

“It was protested to her, her high birth, the respect in which he would hold her for herself; above all, her fair beauty, would all ensure his faithfulness. But Margaret said:

“‘I beseech ye, press me no further. Heaven knows I wish the gentleman much good, and that he may aspire to higher things. I will pray for him, weep for him if need be; but, ladies, though I be but a simple English maiden, I hold myself all too good for such as he to marry and draw down, perchance, to like thoughts with himself. I hate all evil—not the doers, mother; but the evil. We are all weak and changeable, and I dare not come in contact of my free will with evil influence. God might punish me by weakness of resolve against infection.’

“They urged her yet once more; she might triumph and convert a soul.

“‘In truth,’ confessed fair Margaret de Troyes, ‘ye wound me sorely, dearest ladies mine! At such a time, when good Ambrose de Troyes is scarce cold in his grave, to bid his sister make her choice amongst his townsfolk; and celebrate the marriage feast with a breaking heart! My Ambrose—to think that thou, who, if I but spake of a moment’s weariness, would quickly place a cushion for my head, and sit by the hour on our window-seat chafing my feet, that thou should’st be bleeding in the death-struggles, on the hard, parched road, in a foreign land, and I be far away, not able so much as to raise thy dear head upon my knee! Oh, I loved him so tenderly, strong brother of mine! I gloried in my brown-maned soldier. We prayed together the night before he left on his sacred errand, and, at his entreaty, I laid my hand upon his head and blessed him in Our Lady’s name. He was a grave, good man; and you would have me turn my thoughts from him to that other! What though I know Ambrose to be now one of God’s angels; yet he hath left me behind him on the earth—the first unkindness he hath ever done me! And his mother and mine would have me think of wedlock!’

“The fair, pale Englishwoman bent her head, and Pietro heard her weeping.

“Well, it is but guesswork thenceforth. Folk say, in their coarse way of speaking, that the White Monk ‘loved’ the lady Margaret. Forfend! The love of such a man were an insult all too gross to offer to the memory of any Damoiselle de Troyes. Say, rather, he kindled to the worship of goodness in that form first of all.

“We know that from that hour when he first saw and heard her, Rinucci, the stained wretch, wandered ever where there was a chance to see her, even from afar. Once, indeed he even spoke with her. Under the favour of his sacred garment he dared to near her, and asked:

“‘Maiden, how say you? Is there mercy in Heaven for the worst sinners, or no?’

“‘Nay, holy father,” answered the damsel, smiling, ‘thou must be better seen in these high mysteries than I who dwell in the world, where we all need mercy. We can but hope that our God is more pitiful than are our fellow creatures to our faults.’

“‘Maiden,’ besought the White Monk further, ‘can such as thou look pityingly upon a vice-stained fellow man?’

“But Margaret wept, and answered him:

“‘Oh, father, search me not over this problem. I have lost the dearest to me in the world, two brothers, by an assassin’s hand. If that man stood before me, tell me, _could_ I look at him forgivingly? Oh, never, father! Human nature is too weak.’

“The rencounter was over, for Pietro dared speak no more. But, according to the custom of that day, Mistress Margaret bent her fair head to receive the blessing of the holy father.

“The monk started back in horror; even he was not too base to feel that. But as the maiden still stood humbly waiting, he was forced to stretch his hands forth from the distance, and murmur: ‘Benedicite!’

“The days went by and the townsfolk noted how the White Monk wasted, and how strange he was. He would mutter to himself like a madman. He never said a word of holy import to the cottagers with whom he lodged at small cost. He ate almost nothing and appeared to spend his days in solitary musing. His conduct smacked so oddly of mania that Giles Hughson, his landlord, took to watching whither he went and what he did. He saw him always following Margaret, but seeking to avoid her if she turned where she might see him. He seemed to dread her greatly, yet, to worship her, or, at least to follow her like a lost soul looking after the light from some vanishing angel’s wing.

“Once Margaret turned and saw him, but recognised him not as the man she had spoken withal. She, taking him for a _frère quetant_, silently, without looking upon him, pressed into his hand money, which he took, and which was found on him when he died, as you shall hear.”

PERCY ROSS.

(_To be continued._)

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The following remarkable passage was published some five years ago in the _Theosophist_, of Madras (1883); and it is needless to call attention in more detail to the fidelity with which it is being since then verified.

Protesting against the arbitrary chronology of the Sanskritists in the question of Indian antiquity who make it dependent on the Greeks and Chandragupta—whose date is represented as “the sheet-anchor of Indian chronology” that “nothing will ever shake” (Prof. Max Müller and Weber), the author of the prophecy remarks that “it is to be feared that as regards India, the chronological ship of the Sanskritists has already broken from her moorings and gone adrift with all her precious freight of conjectures and hypotheses.” And then adds:—

“We are at the end of a cycle—geological and other—and at the beginning of another. Cataclysm is to follow cataclysm. The pent-up forces are bursting out in many quarters; and not only will men be swallowed up or slain by thousands, “new” land appear and “old” subside, volcanic eruptions and tidal waves appal; but secrets of an unsuspected past will be uncovered to the dismay of Western theorists and the humiliation of an imperious science. This drifting ship, if watched, may be seen to ground upon the upheaved vestiges of ancient civilisations, and fall to pieces. We are not emulous of the prophet’s honours: but still, let this stand as a prophecy.” (See also “_Five Years of Theosophy_,” p. 388.)

LOVE WITH AN OBJECT.

Some distinguished contributors to theosophical literature have of late been describing what qualities are necessary to constitute a perfect man, _i.e._, an Adept. They said that among other things it was absolutely and indispensably necessary, that such a being should possess Love—and not merely Love in the abstract—but love regarding some object or objects. What can they possibly mean by speaking of “love with an object,” and could there possibly be love without any object at all? Can that feeling be called love, which is directed solely to the Eternal and Infinite, and takes no cognizance of earthly illusions? Can that be love which has no object or—in other words—is the love of forms or objects the true love at all? If a man loved all things in the universe alike, without giving any preference to any of them, would not such a love be practically without any object; would it not be equal to loving nothing at all; because in such a case the individuality of any single object would be lost to sight?

A love which is directed towards all things alike, an universal love, is beyond the conception of the mortal mind, and yet this kind of love, which bestows no favours upon any one thing, seems to be that eternal love, which is recommended by all the sacred books of the East and the West; because as soon as we begin to love one thing or one being more than another, we not only detract from the rest an amount of love which the rest may rightfully claim; but we also become attached to the object of our love, a fate against which we are seriously warned in various pages of these books.

The _Bhagavad Gita_ teaches that we should not love or hate any object of sense whatsoever, nor be attached to any object or thing, but renounce all projects and fix our thoughts solely on It, the Eternal, which is no-thing and no object of cognition for us, but whose presence can be only subjectively experienced by, and within ourselves. It says: “He is esteemed, who is equal-minded to companions, friends, enemies, strangers, neutrals, to aliens and kindred, yea to good and evil men” (Cap. vi., 14); and further on it says: “He whose soul is united by devotion, seeing the same in all around, sees the soul in everything and everything in the soul. He who sees Me (Brahmâ) everywhere and everything in Me, him I forsake not and he forsakes not me.... He who sees the same in everything—Arjuna!—whether it be pleasant or grievous, from the self-resemblance, is deemed to be a most excellent Yogin” (Cap. vi., 29, 32).

On almost every page of the _Bhagavad Gita_ we are instructed only to direct our love to that which is eternal in every form, and let the form itself be a matter of secondary consideration. “He must be regarded as a steadfast renouncer, who neither hates nor desires.”... “In a learned and modest Brahman, in a cow, in an elephant, in a dog, and a Swapāka; they who have knowledge see the same thing.”... “Let no man rejoice in attaining what is pleasant, nor grieve in attaining what is unpleasant; being fixed in mind, untroubled, knowing Brahma and abiding in Brahma.”... “He who is happy in himself, pleased with himself, who finds also light in himself, this Yogin, one with Brahmâ, finds _Nirvana_ in Him.”

The great _Hermes Trismegistus_ teaches the same identical doctrine; for he says: “Rise and embrace me with thy whole being, and I will teach thee whatsoever thou desirest to know.” The _Bible_ also tells us that “God is Love” (1. John iv., 8), and that we should love Him with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind (Math. xxii., 37), and while it teaches that we should love nothing else but God (Math. xx., 37), who is All in All (Ephes. i., 23), yet it affirms, that this God is omnipresent, eternal and incomprehensible to the finite understanding of mortals (1. Timoth. vi., 16). It teaches this love to be the most important of all possessions, without which all other possessions are useless (1. Corinth, xiii., 2), and yet this God, whom we are to love, is not an “object” (John i., 5), but everywhere. He is in us and we in Him (Rom. xii., 5). We are to leave all objects of sense and follow Him alone (Luc. v., 2), although we have no means of intellectually knowing or perceiving Him, the great Unknown, for whose sake we are to give up house and brethren, sisters, father, mother, wife, children and lands (Mark x., 29).

What can all this mean, but that love itself is the legitimate object of love? It is a divine, eternal, and infinite power, a light, which reflects itself in every object while it seeks not the object, but merely its own reflection therein. It is an indestructible fire and the brighter it burns, the stronger will be the light and the clearer will its own image appear. Love falls in love with nothing but its own self, it is free from all other attractions. A love which becomes attached to objects of sense, ceases to be free, ceases to be love, and becomes mere desire. Pure and eternal love asks for nothing, but gives freely to all who are willing to take. Earthly love is attracted to persons and things, but Divine spiritual love seeks only that which is divine in everything, and this can be nothing else but love, for love is the supreme power of all. It holds together the worlds in space, it clothes the earth in bright and beautiful colours, it guides the instincts of animals and links together the hearts of human beings.

## Acting upon the lower planes of existence it causes terrestrial

things to cling to each other with fond embrace; but love on the spiritual plane is free. Spiritual love is a goddess, who continually sacrifices herself for herself and who accepts no other sacrifice but her own self, giving for whatever she may receive, herself in return. Therefore the _Bhagavad Gita_ says: “Nourish ye the gods by this and let the gods nourish you. Thus nourishing each other ye shall obtain the highest good” (Cap. iii., ii.,); and the Bible says: “To him who has still more shall be given, and from him who has not, even what he has shall be taken away” (Luke xix., 26).

Love is an universal power and therefore immortal, it can never die. We cannot believe that even the smallest particle of love ever died, only the instruments through which it becomes manifest change their form; nor will it ever be born, for it exists from eternity, only the bodies into which it shines are born and die and are born again. A Love which is not manifest is non-existent for us, to come into existence means to become manifest. How then could we possibly imagine a human being possessed of a love which never becomes manifest; how can we possibly conceive of a light which never shines and of a fire which does not give any heat?

But “as the sun shines upon the lands of the just and the unjust, and as the rain descends upon the acres of the evil-minded as well as upon those of the good”; likewise divine love manifesting itself in a perfect man is distributed alike to every one without favour or

## partiality. Wherever a good and perfect human being exists, there is

divine love manifest; and the degree of man’s perfection will depend on the degree of his capacity to serve as an instrument for the manifestation of divine love. The more perfect he is, the more will his love descend upon and penetrate all who come within his divine influence. To ask favours of God is to conceive of Him as an imperfect being, whose love is not free, but subject to the guidance of, and preference to, mortals. To expect favours of a Mahatma is to conceive him as an _imperfect_ man.

True, “prayer,” _i.e._ the elevation and aspiration of the soul “in spirit and in truth” (John xiv., 14), is useful, not because it will persuade the light to come nearer to us, but because it will assist us to open our eyes for the purpose of seeing the light that was already there. Let those who desire to come into contact with the Adepts enter their sphere by following their doctrines; seeking for love, but not for an object of love, and when they have found the former, they will find a superabundance of the latter throughout the whole extent of the unlimited universe; they will find it in everything that exists, for love is the foundation of all existence and without love nothing can possibly continue to exist.

Love—divine love—is the source of life, of light, and happiness. It is the creative principle in the Macrocosm and in the Microcosm of man. It is _Venus_, the mother of all the gods, because from her alone originates Will and Imagination and all the other powers by which the universe was evolved. It is the germ of divinity which exists in the heart of man, and which may develop into a life-giving sun, illuminating the mind and sending its rays to the centre of the universe; for it originates from that centre and to that centre it will ultimately return. It is a divine messenger, who carries Light from Heaven down to the Earth and returns again to Heaven loaded with sacrificial gifts.

It is worshipped by all, some adore it in one form and some in another, but many perceive only the form and do not perceive the divine spirit. Nevertheless the spirit alone is real, the form is an illusion. Love can exist without form, but no form can exist without love. It is pure Spirit, but if its light is reflected in matter, it creates desire and desire is the producer of forms. Thus the visible world of perishable things is created. “But above this visible nature there exists another, unseen and eternal, which, when all created things perish, does not perish” (Bh. G. viii. 20), and “from which they who attain to it never return.” This is the supreme abode of Love without any object, unmanifested and imperishable, for there no object exists. There love is united to love, enjoying supreme and eternal happiness within her own self and that peace, of which the mortal mind, captivated by the illusion of form, cannot conceive. Non-existent for us, and yet existing in that Supreme _Be-ness_, in which all things dwell, by which the universe has been spread out, and which may be attained to by an exclusive devotion.

EMANUEL.

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SELF MASTERY.

(A SONNET.)

O! for the power to lay this burden low! This weight of self; to kill all vain desire To clasp to our outer selves the scorching fire, So that the God within shall live and grow! O! for the strength to face the hidden foe, To raise our being higher still and higher, To breathe the breath that Holy ones inspire, To break the bonds that bind to Earth below!

Great, Infinite Soul! that broodeth o’er us ever, Say, can the human will _unaided_ win The Victor’s crown (and earthly bondage sever), —A Heavenly flight, triumphant over sin? O Human and Divine, forsake us never, Thine is the power by which we enter in!

DUM SPIRO, SPERO.

=Reviews.=

A MODERN MAGICIAN. A ROMANCE, by J. Fitzgerald Molloy, in Three Volumes. Ward & Downey, 12, York Street, Covent Garden.

Opinions may be greatly divided as to the merits of this book; and to those who look for unexceptionable literary style as a primary element in fiction, it may not be satisfactory. But to all those who regard ideas as the first requisite, this work will probably prove of great interest. It has been somewhat curious to note the reception with which Mr. Molloy has met. The _Pall Mall Gazette_, for instance, devotes considerable length to him, and somewhat smartly calls him “a novelist born, but not made”; after which it proceeds, with more apparent animus than judiciousness, to criticise the pedantic style of conversation and narrative which the author occasionally makes use of. Curiously enough, the critic selects for his worst blows the phrases used by the chief inspector of the detectives. Now, if there is one thing more common than another, it is to find the half educated, but uncultured, men of the class from which police inspectors are drawn, using the longest words and phrases, not so much as a proof of their culture, as with the object of impressing their hearers. The reviewer was perhaps right to assail Mr. Molloy for sending his hero to Scotland Yard to hunt up news of his erring wife, who, as he was perfectly aware, had fled with another man. But this, and other trifling mistakes of similar character, are venial errors, and could only be so strongly animadverted upon in a paper which devotes itself to hunting plagiarisms in impossible places, through envy of successful authors; or by a reviewer who is a personal enemy of the author. As Macintosh well said: “The critic who is discerning in nothing but faults, may care little to be told that this is the mark of unenviable disposition, but he might not feel equally easy, were he convinced that he thus gives absolute proofs of ignorance and want of taste.” To make matters worse, and more interesting to LUCIFER, the reviewer is plainly a partisan of the Society for Psychical Research, to which Mr. Molloy somewhat unfeelingly alludes as the “Society of Scientific Cackle.” The review in the _Pall Mall Gazette_ starts with smartness and intelligence, but allows itself to run off into partisanship and prejudice. But all that is in strict keeping with the tone of a “Gazette” which generally starts useful work well, continues it badly, and ends by throwing mud out of the gutter at anybody or anything which happens to run counter to it. For instance, here is a specimen of the reviewer:

“As a story teller he (the author) is the Bobadil of fashionable mysticism: as a literary workman he is a pretentious bungler: his syntax is inconceivable, his dialogue impossible, his style a desperately careful expression of desperately slovenly thinking, his notions of practical affairs absurd, and his conception of science and philosophy a superstitious guess; yet he has an indescribable flourish, a dash of half-ridiculous poetry, a pathetic irresponsibility, a captivating gleam of Irish imagination, and, above all, an unsuspicious good nature, that compel a humane public to read his books rather than mortify him by a neglect which he has done nothing malicious to deserve.”

Such criticism can only be met from the point of view of the reviewer, by “Set a thief to catch a thief,” and from that of Mr. Molloy, by “Heaven save me from the penny-a-liners, actuated by personal animus!”

The reviewer may be allowed to have pointed out a few glaring errors in Mr. Molloy’s style and syntax, but we add that, in pointing these out, he has only exposed himself.

As regards the central figure of Benoni, the adept in the book, LUCIFER may, perhaps, say a few words. Slightly as the character is drawn, and startling as are the deeds of this personage, there is a majesty about him which commands respect, and we may congratulate Mr. Molloy on his effort. We do not entirely accord with the author in the deeds which he sets Benoni to do, but with regard to the words and precepts which he puts into the adept’s mouth, we do absolutely agree, and recommend our readers, and especially all the Theosophists, to read Mr. Molloy’s book. Here the _Pall Mall_ reviewer—being, as said, an admiring follower of the Society for Psychical Research—again falls foul of Mr. Molloy; but we may safely quote the impressive and truthful words of Benoni, and leave the rest to others.

Amerton, the hero of the book, reproaches the adept with having seen trouble approaching him, and with having neglected to warn him. Benoni replies:

“That is true. It was not permitted that I should serve you then; to test your strength it was necessary that you should bear the trial unaided. When, some years ago. you came to me in Africa, and asked me to solve experiences which perplexed you, and later besought Amuni, the faithful One, to show you the pathway leading towards light, you but obeyed a dictate of your nature impossible to resist. That within you urged you forward to seek the sacred mysteries of life and death. But these cannot be obtained by those who are not prepared to endure with patience, and grow strong in spirit. You have suffered, and thus taken the first step towards the attainment of your desires.”

“But, surely,” said Philip, “you might have warned me.”

“I should have but inflicted additional pain on you.”

“Was there no escape?”

“None, indeed,” replied the mystic.

“Then I was destined to meet humiliation and pain.”

Benoni looked at him with mingled pity and affection in his gaze.

“A child,” he said, in his low, sonorous voice, “is grieved for a broken toy, or is humiliated by correction.”

“But you don’t compare my wrongs to a child’s grievances?”

“His sorrows are as real and bitter to him as your afflictions are to you. It is only when time has passed, he reviews his distress with wonder, seeing the pettiness of its cause. So will it be with you. Ten years hence, you will regard this grief, desolating your life, with equanimity; forty years later, you will remember it with indifference, as an item in your fate. Then shall you look back upon the brightness and darkness of your existence as one regards the lights and shadows chequering his pathway through woods in spring. How futile seem woe and joy, weighed with the consideration that all men are as shadows that fade, and as vapours which flee away.... Think, my friend,” continued the mystic earnestly, “of your existence but as a journey towards a goal, on which hardships must be suffered by the way. You are now but working out the fulfillment of your fate. Remember, those who would ascend must suffer; affliction is the flame which purifies; pain teaches compassion.” (pp. 89, 90. Vol. III.)

When asked of himself, Benoni replies:

“Misfortune cannot compass, distress overwhelm, nor disappointments assail me, because the things of the world are as naught to my senses, and man’s life seems but a dream. Before this stage affliction must have crucified the senses; self must be conquered, slain, and entombed.” (p. 91, Vol. III.)

There are other passages equally true from the occult standpoint, and we trust their readers will benefit by them and appreciate them.

As regards Amerton’s character, we see the natural, born, mystic turning aside and voluntarily taking upon himself, though warned, the bonds of married life. These become intolerable to him, and the unhappiness of two persons results. Occultism is a jealous mistress, and, once launched on that path, it is necessary to resolutely refuse to recognise any attempt to draw one back from it. Amerton wanted to crush out his natural tendencies to occultism, and failed. It is as hard to draw back from them, and turn attention solely to the things of the world, as it is, when studying occultism, to turn our attention solely to the invisible regions, and neglect absolutely the physical world.

The other characters in the novel make it light, graceful and pleasant reading. The interest is ever preserved from the first to the last scene, and certainly no one could find, in all the three volumes, one dull page in them. Moreover, Mr. Fitzgerald Molloy seems an acute observer. Some of his secondary heroes, such as the wealthy widow, Mrs. Henry Netley, a plebeian enamoured of rank and title, and Lord Pompey Rokeway, “a gay, though ancient, personage,” who uses rouge, wig, and corsets, and imagines every woman in love with him—are portraits from nature, to one who knows anything of modern society. In short, “The Modern Magician,” as a work of fiction, can fearlessly bear comparison with any of the modern productions written lately upon occult subjects, with the solitary exception of Rider Haggard’s “She,” and surpasses some in unabated interest. We might be more exacting and severe, perhaps, were it a purely theosophical work. As it stands, however, we must congratulate Mr. Molloy in having clothed the subject of mysticism in such graceful robes; had he been as good a literary workman as he is an excellent constructor of plots, the book should have met with unqualified approval. Meanwhile, we wish it the greatest success.

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“THE TWIN SOUL: A PSYCHOLOGICAL AND REALISTIC ROMANCE,” in two volumes, by an Anonymous Author. Ward & Downey, 12, York Street, Covent Garden.

This is quite another kind of literary production than the “Modern Magician,” just reviewed. It aspires to more serious and philosophical mysticism, but fails rather ungloriously. There are passages in it which, taken out of the work, especially at the beginning of Volume I., might be made the subjects of short and rather useful little treatises upon mystic theories; but, as a whole, the book is one of the most disappointing novels published for some time. It begins well, goes on from bad to worse, promises much, holds nothing, and ends nowhere, seeming to be written not as a work of fiction, but simply to ventilate the author’s ideas. These—the work being anonymous—have to be judged by the novel alone. It is rumoured that the “Twin Soul” is the occasional work of twelve years’ labour, and the disconnected character of its events bears out the rumour. Its style is pedantic, though good in writing, while the matter and plot are heavy, and delivered in a long-winded and didactic manner.

The story is that of one Mr. Rameses, an exceedingly virtuous, learned, and solemn Oriental millionaire, whose real nationality remains to the end a mystery, and whose story is narrated by a somewhat cynical English philosopher, called De Vere. The latter tells the story in the style which suits him best, and is perfectly natural. He is humorous and amusing, even if slightly ponderous. But alas for the reader! Mr. De Vere suddenly stops short at an early stage, and the story is taken up, without any apparent cause or reason, by a man unknown, who “had less sympathy with Mr. Rameses,” and who has all the defects of Mr. De Vere’s qualities, and a good many of his own besides, for he is even more ponderous and more cynical, without his humour. Mr. Rameses is a peculiar character, but, as sketched, he is quite in keeping with his Oriental origin. He believes in many theories: re-incarnation, socialism, certain occult doctrines, the possibility of recovering the memory of past incarnations, and, as a matter of course, the modern craze of the day, the theory of “twin souls.” He is perpetually in search of his “twin,” and hunts her with the pertinacity of a sleuth-hound under all forms, and in all places. Mr. De Vere is the possessor of an Assyrian collection, Egyptian papyri, and also of two female mummies—Amenophra and Lurulâ, the first the daughter of a Pharaoh, the second a priestess of Isis—of which the sarcophagi are covered with hieroglyphics, which Mr. Rameses reads with most surprising ease. The hero, claiming his memory as a palimpsest, which by certain processes clearly discovers the obliterated record of his past incarnations, cannot, in spite of this, make up his mind which of the two mummies was formerly the body of his twin-soul. Finally, he solves the doubt by declaring them both to have been the mortal casket of his beloved—with Lurulâ for choice. The reader here has great hopes held out to him that there will be a grand ceremony, at which the mummies are to be unrolled, and at which the soul of the deceased mummy will be summoned back to shuffle on a mortal coil again. Alas! such hopes are fallacious; for the ceremony never takes place, owing to Mr. Rameses falling in love with the sister of a Hindu lady married to an English baronet. After much hesitation the lady so honoured by his choice is also declared to be the vehicle of his twin-soul, _i.e._, to save appearances—to be a re-incarnation of the ego which formerly dwelt in the mummy or mummies. Finally, after a long-winded oration over the mystic properties of a magnificent present of jewels, Mr. Rameses wins “the fair Niona,” as she is called—who, although a Hindu, is a Zoroastrian Sun-worshipper. They are married, notwithstanding their “paganism,” according to Roman Catholic rites, and the pair start to spend the honeymoon in Egypt, where, in the Temple of Isis at Thebes, they are to be again united according to the—to them—more sacred ritual of Sun-worship. After a very interesting dream about the Deluge, which broke through an isthmus uniting Gibraltar to North Africa, and destroyed a vast civilization which occupied the floor of the present Mediterranean Sea, they arrive safely in Egypt. Here the fair Hindu of Zoroastrian persuasion and Italian name, has another interesting psychic vision, an interview with the Sphinx, which makes her incontinently faint, and lose consciousness. Then they proceed to Thebes, and, after due care, make selection of the site of the Temple of Isis. They build their bonfire and ignite it, but at the supreme moment Niona gives a gasp, faints, and this time dies outright, with as little reason for it as every other incident in the novel has. The return to Cairo is immediately commenced, and here Niona, in strict keeping with Mr. Rameses’s habits, is at once converted into a mummy. It must be rather interesting to possess the body of three defunct twin souls, and reflect upon their virtues.

The rest of the book is occupied by various disquisitions of the author, disguised flimsily under conversations of his characters on the social and political customs of the Nineteenth century. Read carefully, the conversations contain ideas, but are likely to offend on account of their length and ponderousness. As regards the construction of the book and the characters, Mr. Rameses is interesting, in spite of his solemnity and his love of mummies, and Mr. De Vere is amusing. The other _dramatis personæ_ seem to have been created merely as pegs upon which to hang the author’s opinions. What, for instance, is the object of entering into detail upon the passionate episodes in the career of Mr. Rameses’s secretary, or the mercenary marriage of Lady Gwendoline Pierrepoint with “Old Methusaleh”? Their only excuse can be that they may serve to increase the contrast between such marriages and that with a twin soul. Taken as a whole, the ideas are interesting, and the mystic utterances in the first volume almost correct from the orthodox occult point. But the manner in which they are displayed is irritating, and this chiefly because the reader is perpetually being brought up to a point of interest, and as perpetually left disappointed.

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POSTHUMOUS HUMANITY.[129]

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Footnote 129:

_Posthumous Humanity_, a study of Phantoms, by Adolphe d’Assier, Member of the Bordeaux Academy of Sciences. Translated and annotated by Henry S. Olcott, President of the Theosophical Society. George Redway, London, 1887. 8vo. pp. 360.

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This is a translation from the French by Colonel H. S. Olcott, President of the Theosophical Society, of the remarkable work of that name, by a well-known _savant_, Adolphe d’Assier. The original work appeared a few years ago, and produced a stir both in the sceptical public and unbelieving science, and an outcry among the spiritists of France, whose pet theories about the “spirits” of the dead it upset. “Posthumous Humanity” was not only a singularly interesting work, but it was one of the first, and perhaps the loudest, of the bugle notes that heralded the last act of the fierce battle between materialistic science and spiritualism; for it ended in the virtual defeat of the former, at any rate, upon one line: it forced the hand of the majority of sceptics in the recognition of what is called in mysticism the “astral body” of man and animal, and by more pretentious than wise investigators “the _phantasms_ of the living,” forgetting those of the dead.

That a learned member of an academy of science should, of all men, write a serious book on the phenomena of “the Borderland,” accepting as facts in nature such things as ghostly appearances, and the projection of the double, is almost a phenomenon in itself. And what makes the case the more remarkable as an indication of a new current in public opinion, is the fact that these things, which it has hitherto been the fashion to consign with a laugh or a shudder to the limbo of exploded superstitions, are treated by the author in a perfectly scientific spirit. He accounts for them, not by the usual supposition of hallucination or stupidity on the part of observers, but by an exceedingly ingenious and plausible postulation of forces at work in us, and around us, which are as little “supernatural” as any of the recognised forces of nature, or portions of man’s constitution. Not only has M. d’Assier the courage to face the probable ridicule of the wiseacres, but he has the audacity to turn the tables upon “men of science,” by actually making fun of their unmeasured pretensions, and twitting them mercilessly about their past mistakes. Not the least remarkable feature in the case is the fact that the author, who started into these researches an ardent positivist, has come out of them an ardent positivist still. He believes that what he has accomplished is to extend the reign of matter into a region previously believed to belong to spirit, thus planting the standard of positivism in a wider and more fruitful region, which he has happily reclaimed from the winds and tides of superstition. But the fact is, that although our author has gone a good deal further than most of those who start out “on their own hook” to explore the realms of the Occult, he cannot be said to have penetrated very far into the mysteries of being. He has peeped in at the door of the psychic antechamber to the spiritual world proper—the ante-chamber in which the members of Psychical Research Societies amuse themselves and others by playing blindman’s buff with hypothesis—and his interesting volume tells us of the wonderful things that go on there. The result of his researches, as he says in his _Preface_, is the conclusion that “posthumous humanity is, in fact, but a special example of posthumous animality, and that the latter presents itself as the immediate consequence of the living world.” Every tyro in theosophy knows that this conclusion is a fair approximation to the truth, and were man nothing but an animal of high degree, it might possibly be the whole truth. But man is an animal, plus _something_, and this something _more_, is precisely what M. d’Assier leaves entirely out of sight, as indeed he could hardly help doing if he attached any importance to remaining a Positivist. It is this _something more_, of whose very existence our author seems profoundly unconscious, that has the chief interest for us, for that is the spiritual and eternal part of man, in contradistinction to the psychic portion which fades away and disappears after a time, as M. d’Assier very justly declares.

It seems a pity that a learned and ingenious man, like our author, should not have begun investigations of this kind by making himself familiar with at least the bare outline of the metaphysical and psychological system that underlies the schools of philosophy of India. This system is the result of very profound research into such phenomena as our author deals with, and also into other far deeper and more important manifestations that he has not considered at all; and these researches have for thousands of years occupied, to a greater or lesser degree, almost every thinking man among races which are acknowledged to be possessed of a very high degree of intellectual acuteness and spiritual insight. Were our Western adventurers into the borderland between spirit and matter—the astral world—to take this obvious precaution, they would know that the ground over which they now laboriously make their way, has not only been traversed before, but pretty fully surveyed and mapped out, and that their supposed discoveries amount virtually to no more than a verification of results long ago obtained by others. This very needed exception in the work under review has been obviated by the translator’s notes and supplement, without diminishing the practical value of M. d’Assier’s treatise as a useful contribution to occult literature. For, as his labours do actually confirm much of the teachings of Theosophy, with regard to that part of the constitution of man, which is common to him and the animals, the work, as it now stands, is really a valuable occult treatise as to facts. The important question with the world, in these times, being not so much _what is said_, as _who it is that says it_, the fact that an incorrigible positivist, has published his belief in the actuality of a psychic plane of existence, and of the temporary survival in it after death of a certain part or principle of the animal (including man), is of the greatest help and importance to theosophy. It will probably affect public opinion far more profoundly than if a thousand Eastern sages proclaimed the same elementary fact of Occultism in chorus. No better illustration of, and testimony to, the reality of plain, broad facts in connection with wraiths, “doubles,” and other such apparitions, can be found than in d’Assier’s “Posthumous Humanity” in its new English garb, by Colonel Olcott, and with the translator’s _Preface_ and annotations to the text. These add greatly to the value of the book for the student of Occultism. In fact, these additions serve the same purpose which a notice of the work in LUCIFER might have been expected to have in view; for they correct the author in some particulars, add additional information in others, and generally forestall the critic who writes from the Theosophical standpoint. Besides this, the translator has added a highly interesting and unique _appendix_, giving the opinions of numerous Hindus of various castes and sects upon psychic phenomena of that kind, collected from various parts of India, which, by itself, has considerable value to the student of mystical sciences. In conclusion, we may record almost a general opinion—save, of course, that of rank materialists—that no work yet published on the subject dealt with by our author is better calculated to reach the scientifically-minded enquirer. It is written with calmness and logical clearness that takes the scoffer’s laugh out of his mouth. It goes as far as anyone new to the subject could be reasonably expected to follow; and the direction it takes is the right one. It is preeminently _the_ book for the too sceptical and ignorant enquirer to begin with.

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ספר יצירה, _Sepher Yetzirah, The Book of Formation, and the Thirty-two Paths of Wisdom_; _translated from the Hebrew, and collated with Latin Versions. By Dr. W. Wynn Westcott, Bath: Robert H. Fryar_, 1887.

This is a treatise of about 30 quarto pages on that well-known Hebrew occult work, the Sepher Yetzirah. It consists of an introduction, giving the historic aspects of the matter, an English translation of the Sepher Yetzirah and the Thirty-two Paths, and several pages of notes, giving remarks on and variant readings of difficult and disputed passages.

The introductory pages bear the stamp of considerable literary research, and the translation of the Book of Formation itself is intelligible and concise. But we can hardly say as much for the Thirty-two Paths, which, abstruse and difficult of comprehension in the original, are, we are afraid, no more intelligible in the translation. Owing to the unpopularity of the subject, there are readers who will be readily drawing the conclusion that Dr. Westcott himself does not altogether understand their mystical bearing and symbolism. Yet the notes on the actual text of the “Sepher Yetzirah” are valuable, and show considerable occult knowledge. But a still greater error is made by the translator. We notice that Dr. Westcott has invariably rendered the word Elohim by “God,” notwithstanding that it is a plural noun, as shown by the plural word “Chiim” joined thereto in the ninth section of the first chapter. This will, no doubt, prove grateful to the staff and readers of the _Jewish World_, whose editors pride themselves, against all fact and truth, on the _Monotheism_ of their early ancestors. It cannot fail to strike the Kabalists as an unfortunate deviation from the original meaning in favour of one laboriously fabricated by both Jewish and Christian falsificators.

The “Book of Formation” is a treatise consisting of 6 chapters and 33 sections, and thus its compilation is pentacular. The 6 chapters refer to the Yetziratic World, the 6 periods of Genesis; while the 33 sections have a close analogy with the Thirty-two Paths which are added at the end of the work. It is a philosophical disquisition on the occult meanings of the ten numbers of the decimal scale, and the 22 letters of the Hebrew sacred alphabet. The first chapter deals with the numbers, which it divides into a Tetrad (symbolising Spirit, Air, Water, and Fire), and a Hexad (symbolising Height, Depth, East, West, South and North). The second chapter treats generally of the 22 letters, produced from the Air or the number 2, and divided into 3 Mother-letters, 7 double-letters, and 12 simple letters. The third chapter shows the symbolic reference of the 3 Mother-letters to Air, Water, and Fire; the fourth chapter that of the 7 double-letters to the Planets &c.; the fifth chapter that of the 12 simple letters to the signs of the Zodiac, &c.; and the sixth chapter forms the synthesis.

The 32 paths are no other than symbolical developments of the 10 Sephiroth or numbers, and the 22 letters which form the connecting links between them.

Altogether the work is interesting and worthy of careful study.

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TREBLE CHORDS.

POEMS BY CATHERINE GRANT FURLEY.

Edinburgh: R. and R. Clark.

This is an inviting little book of verse, with an ill-chosen title. Why “Treble Chords,” when the author cannot compose anything more than a single part? The octave is spanned by treble or threefold chords, but Miss Furley has not yet reached the octave of attainment! No, the book must be re-christened at its second birth; and the protest of the _Girton Girl_, and the more sustained poem of the _Other Isolt_, are assuredly good enough to interest and delight a sufficient number of women to send it into a second edition. The writer has a distinct faculty of seeing, as well as the tendency to take the “other side,” as she does in _Isolt of Brittany_ and in _Galatea to Pygmalion_. The moral of the latter poem is thus presented:

“O, frequent miracle! so often seen We scarcely pause to think what it may mean— Man’s power to raise within a woman’s heart A love he does not know, nor could impart; To wake a soul within the marble breast, Then long to soothe it back to stony rest; For, though the woman’s sweeter to caress, The statue’s more convenient to possess.”

Here is a specimen of the sonnets, not the best, perhaps, but to the purpose:

CIRCE.

Men call me Circe, but my name is Love; And my cup holds the draught of sweet and sour, Of gain, joy, loss, renouncement, all the dower That woman’s love brings man. I hold above Your outstretched hand the chalice; ere you prove Its potency, bethink you; it has power To test your soul. If in a sinful hour You touch it, you shall sink as those who strove Of old to win my heart. Lo! there they be, Not men but beasts; for with impure desire They sought me, and Love holds _that_ blasphemy; And for their sin doth bid them dwell in mire Nor know their shame. Had they been pure in thought, My cup had strengthened them and injured not.

It is but a tiny handful, this, of first flowers; not even a gathering of first-fruits. But they have the fragrance of promise, and a freshness of real rarity. Whether the fruit will set and mature must depend upon the sunshine and the rain and other surroundings of the struggling life, and on the depth of soil and strength of rootage. Of these we cannot judge; but the first-flowers are sweet and pretty and worth a word of welcome.

G. M.

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THE CREATOR, AND WHAT WE MAY KNOW OF THE METHOD OF CREATION.[130]

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Footnote 130:

The Fernley Lecture, 1887, by Dr. Dallinger. T. Woolmer, 2, Castle Street, City Road, London E.C. (1s. 6d., paper covers.)

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The above is the title of a lecture, forming the seventeenth of what are known as the “Fernley Lectures,” delivered annually, by the leading minds in the Ministry of the Wesleyan Methodist Society. This specific lecture is the latest of the series, and was delivered in Manchester, August 1st in present year, by the Rev. W. H. Dallinger, LL.D., F.R.S., Pres. R.M.S., etc., Governor of Wesley College, Sheffield.

The lecture occupies an unique position amongst its fellows, and will bear a most favourable comparison with any that have been delivered by the various Presidents of the Royal Society on the sciences of the day. For clearness of argument and lucidity of thought—_as far as it goes_—it is unsurpassed, and, as a specimen of the power of English language, it is a treat to all who can estimate its value. It is all this, and more, and here its significance and suggestiveness comes in, and I can do no less than characterise its delivery under the circumstances, to an auditory that represents (in the eyes of the sect itself, at all events) the purest form of Evangelical religion, as a startling phenomenon, and as such I consider a notice of it in no way out of place in a theosophical journal. That such a lecture should be allowed to be delivered and favourably received, not only by the audience, but by the Wesleyan body at large, is a “sign of the times” that the intelligent observer cannot fail to discern. It is, undoubtedly, an index finger that marks a large advance in the progress of human emancipation from the increasingly intolerable yoke of Churchianic or Ecclesiastical tyranny; and all “friends of progress” will cheerfully render to the worthy and eloquent lecturer the thanks that are due for his manly and outspoken views upon the profoundest question of the age. The strangest part is the spectacle of a “Minister of the Gospel,” himself a scientist of no mean order, proclaiming from a Methodist platform his adherence to, and acceptance of, the doctrines of Charles Darwin, as true exponents of the “Method of Creation,” which means that “Natural Selection,” and survival of the “Fittest,” accounts for the origin of species and the indefinite variety of extinct and extant animal forms of life. Why not include vegetable forms as well? Methinks the fabulous “missing link” between the vegetable and animal kingdoms may, without much difficulty, be actually spotted. Nature, as delineated by the great “Naturalist,” must have been very peevish and unkind to her worshippers, when she mocks them by destroying every vestige, even to the veriest fragmentary fossil, of this anxiously looked for and expectant missing link, between the animal (brute) and man! To my view, the continuous chain of sequential life forms, as presented in the Darwinian theory, evinces a vast number of “missing links,” and, unless these can be supplied, it will not bear the strain when tested by the unclouded intellect of man. The philosopher of Materialism may accept the Darwinian theories (for as yet they are nothing less or more) as gospel, but the spiritual philosopher will not, nor can he accept them as truth, simply because he recognises a factor, which is an abomination in the eyes of the materialistic “wise ones.” It is this factor that the eloquent and learned lecturer pleads for, without suspecting what it really is. I have reason to know that our reverend scientist regards this “Spiritual” factor with the utmost contempt. But I leave this, and pass on to notice some of the really valuable thoughts and facts that ennoble the lecture, which is addressed to “thoughtful and earnest minds, not concerned specially with questions of philosophy, metaphysics, and science, but alive to the advanced knowledge and thought of our times, and anxious to know how the great foundation of religious belief, the existence of Deity, is affected by the splendid advance of our knowledge of nature.”

This expression “existence of Deity” is conveniently elastic enough to cover the ground of argument by a scientific theologian, inasmuch as it may be taken to mean a personal God, according to sound Evangelical belief, and thus assume a plausible defence of Theism versus Atheism; or, it may admit of a much wider application to an “Unknown God”; for when the lecturer does venture to delineate the characteristic of Deity as the Creator, it is such terms as “Inscrutable Power or Creator,” “Eternal Mind,” “Infinite Intelligence,” &c., which is tantamount to saying that the Primal Cause of all that is, is unknowable; and if this is what Dr. Dallinger really means, he is at one with the Spiritual Philosopher; but this will be a curious weapon in the hands of an ecclesiastical theologian—as dangerous as it is curious. By the use of these terms the reverend author shields himself from the charge of materialistic heresy, albeit to the clear-sighted one there are several, if not many, weak and vulnerable points in the defensive armour; but if the adherents and votaries of the “faith once delivered to the saints” might be a little chary in their acceptance of him as a “sound” exponent of religious truth, yet all progressive minds will hail him as a fearless champion for the truth as delivered by the Book of Nature and interpreted by the splendid achievements of modern science.

“The study of phenomena, their succession and their classification, is the essential work of science. It has no function, and is possessed of no instrument with which to look behind or below the sequence, in quest of some higher relation. The eye and mind of the experimentalist know only of antecedent and consequent. These fill the whole circle of his research; let him find these, and he has found all.”

Here the domain of “science” is defined by a master mind, which tells us that “the researches of science are physical.” The observable, finite contents of space and time are the subjects of its analysis. Existence, not the cause of existence, succession, not the reason of succession, method, not the origin of method, are the subjects of physical research. A primordial cause cannot be the subject of experiment nor the object of demonstration. It must for ever transcend the most delicate physical re-action, the profoundest analysis, and the last link in the keenest logic. Science refuses absolutely to recognise mind as the primal cause of the sequences of matter. This is just—within the strict region of its research—for phenomena, their sequences and classification, are its sole domain. But observe; science universally puts _force_ where the reason asks for cause. The forces affecting matter are tacitly assumed to be competent to account for every activity, every sequence, every phenomenon, and all the harmonies of universal being, a nexus for the infinite diversities and harmonies, a basis for all the equilibrium of nature, is found by modern science in force. But force is as absolutely inscrutable as mind. Force can never be known in itself; it is known by its manifestations. It is not a phenomenon, it produces phenomena. We cannot know it; but we know nothing without it. The ultimate analysis of physical science is the relations of matter and force. In irreducible terms, therefore, the final analysis of science is _matter as affected by motion_.

We now see, from the above excerpta, the goal to which the “splendid discoveries” of modern science lead its votaries, as portrayed by an authority that claims to speak not as other men; and if it is not a veritable dismal swamp, leading to nothing or negation; a miasma suffocating the aspirations of those who are trusting to the leadership of _savants_ to guide them in the path that conveys them to the habitat of true wisdom and knowledge of themselves; then I can only say of such, “miserable comforters are ye all.”

But the question intervenes here: is this a true definition of the end and aim of science? It may be to the majority of the Royal Society; but I may tell those who claim to be the conservators of science, and who arrogate to themselves the right to define the boundaries of even physical science, that they do not possess the _all_ of human intelligence, and that there are, outside their societies, men who refuse to bow the knee to the modern scientific Baal, who refuse to be cajoled by the use of terms that mystify but certainly do not enlighten. For instance, who is one wit the wiser when, having reached the end of its tether, science discovers that “matter and motion” govern and regulate all things observable by the human eye, or within the range of the human mind? To the credit of the author of the last Fernley Lecture, he sees and acknowledges the dilemma into which “materialistic” science is driven; but whether “theological” science, so ably represented by himself, can altogether evade it, is a question that I do not here stay to propound. This much, however, I may say, scientific dicta notwithstanding, there is another department of scientific research which _does_ form the _nexus_—the _veritable_ missing link—between the known and their unknown, and this is the science of psychology, which commences just where the professors of science (physical) confess themselves baffled, and are unable, or rather unwilling, to advance further in this to them _terra incognita_. The wilful ignoring of this by Materialistic leaders of thought ends by putting them out of court in the discussion of the profound problems arising out of the discoveries of the psychological scientist. In presence of facts, the evidence for which are world wide and as demonstrable—_on their own plane or ground_—as geological, or astronomical facts which the psychologist adduces, of what conceivable use are the “relations of matter and force” of the physicist, as explanatory of the laws, &c., pertaining to the new world discovered by psychological _Savants_?

It will be new to many of your readers to find the Rev. Dr. “hob-nobbing” with Professor Huxley, who is quoted as—_not_ a Materialist! The learned professor appears to be indignant with those who are zealous for “the fundamental article of the faith materialistic,” who “parade force and matter as the Alpha and Omega of existence,” and says, “If I were forced to choose between Materialism and Idealism, I would elect for the latter”; and the lecturer adds, “Truly, if our choice must be between them, this is the normal alternative.” It were better had the Professor given some inkling as to what _he_ meant by this high-sounding term “Idealism.”[131]

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Footnote 131:

Both the Idealism of Mr. Herbert Spencer, and the Hylo-Idealism of Dr. Lewins are more materialistic and atheistic than any of the honestly declared materialistic views—Buchner’s and Molaschott’s included.—[ED.]

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The author again says—“I adopt gladly the language of Professor Huxley: Belief, in the scientific sense of the word, is a serious matter, and needs, strong foundations. If it were given me to look beyond the abyss of geologically recorded time to the still more remote period when the earth was passing through physical and chemical conditions, I should expect to be a witness of the evolution of living protoplasm from not-living matter.”

“So should I,” adds the Rev. Dr., who brings in Mr. Crooks (?), of whom the lecturer says, “I do not forget the recent and splendid service done by Mr. Crooks to the philosophical side of chemistry. It is a most subtle and exquisite means of endeavouring to deduce the _method_, the ‘_law_’ according to which what we know as the ‘chemical elements’ were built up. He obtains indications of a primitive element—a something out of which the elements were evolved. He calls it _protyle_ or first stuff, and from its presence concludes that the elements, as we know them, have been evolved from simpler matter—or perhaps, indeed, from one sole kind of matter.” In the following sentences he tries hard to depreciate this “splendid discovery” by Mr. Crooks, the reason for which is anything but difficult to discover. Dr. Dallinger _knows_ that Mr. Crooks published a work entitled “Researches in the Phenomena of Spiritualism,” containing his _Experimental_ Investigations in Psychic Force, which he, in conjunction with his friend Huxley, thinks it beneath him to notice.

But _I_ claim the “splendid discovery” of Mr. Crooks to be of far more transcendent importance than the learned scientist will admit. It comes marvellously near to the scientific demonstration of the ethic propounded by the “philosophy of spirit,” “There is but one life, and one substance, by which life is manifested in an infinitude of forms in all universes, from the simplest to the most complex organic.”

On this subject the Lecture contains the following eloquent, and, I may add, brilliant peroration.

“Life, it is well known, has its phenomena inherent in, and strictly confined to, a highly complex compound, with fixed chemical constituents. This compound, in its living state, is known as protoplasm. It is clear, colourless, and to our finest optical resources, devoid of discoverable structure. There is not a living thing on earth but possesses its life in protoplasm, from a microscopic fungus, to Man. To depict the properties of Life in irreducible simplicity, take one of the lowliest instances within the range of science. Let it be one of the exquisitely minute, almost infinitely prolific, and universally diffused living forms that set up, and carry on, putrefaction. The lesser of them may, when considered as solid specks, vary from the fifty-thousand-millionth of a cubic inch to the twenty-billionth of a cubic inch (evidently far beneath the unaided optic power of the human eye to see). I select one that is oval in shape. Its mission as an organism, is to break up and set free the chemical elements that had been locked up in dead organic compounds. (Query—Was this tiny creature self-generated, or was it the product of the _dead_ organism?) Its own substance wears out by this and other means; and it has the power to renovate the waste from the dead decomposition in which it lives, constructing, in the lavatory of its protoplasm, new living matter. But more; this vital and inconceivably minute speck multiplies with astounding rapidity in two ways; by the first and common process, in the course of a minute and a half, the entire body is divided into two precisely similar bodies, each one perfect; almost immediately these again divide, and so on in geometric ratio through all the populated fluid; the rapidity of this intense and wonderful vital action transcending all thought. By this process alone, a single form may, in three hours, give rise to a population of organisms as great as the human population of the globe. This is life—whether vegetable or animal none can determine—in the simplest form in which it can be known, and which distinguish it for ever and everywhere from what is not life.”

Several equally interesting examples of recent scientific discoveries are given, but space forbids me to more than mention them. Science, as represented by the _Savants_, evidently believes in an unbridged chasm between the forms of life and not-life. The Scientist and Philosopher of Spirit join issue on this, for they declare that “Life is present everywhere, and _in_ all forms, organic or non-organic, and without the presence of Life no forms—not even mineral—could be phenomenal or _ex_istent.”

Your space does not permit me to deal with more than one other, and, to many, the more important subject of Biblical records coming within the domain of science. Here is a specimen of how the learned scientist and theologian deals with the biblical account of Creation.

“And God said, ‘Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind.’ That is the utterance of the human conception, which can alone represent to us the divine resolve to fill the earth with life—and the joy of living things. ‘And it was so.’ But what epochs of countless ages filled the incalculable interval?”[132]

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Footnote 132:

A few years—and, who knows? perhaps only few months more, and Protestant England will have reverend scientists explaining to their congregations from the pulpits that Adam and Eve were but the “missing link”—_two tailless baboons_.—[ED.]

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The boldness of this utterance from one in the position of the Reverend Lecturer can be well imagined. It contains the elements of combustion which need but the spark of investigation to deal a death blow to the established Churchianic dogma of Biblical infallibility in its literal sense. I conclude by repeating that such a deliverance by a ministerial representative of the Wesleyan denomination is a phenomenon that strikingly indicates the “Signs of the times,” and which shows that the emancipation of the human mind from the bonds of theological presumption is not far distant.

WILLIAM OXLEY.

Higher Broughton, Manchester, _December_ 11th, 1887.

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ABSOLUTE MONISM; OR, MIND IS MATTER AND MATTER IS MIND. By SUNDARAM IYER, F.T.S. Madras, 1887.

Under the above title the author issues an address delivered at the last convention of the delegates of the Theosophical Society at Adyar. Metaphysicians, who note with interest all criticisms of Western psychology from the Oriental standpoint, will welcome the appearance of this extremely able and instructive _brochure_, which constitutes the first instalment of Absolute Monism. The object of the writer is to discuss the point whether an examination of all theories, as to relations of mind and body, “does not lead us to the Unistic theory that Mind is Matter, and Matter is Mind.” He endeavours to merge the apparent dualism of subject and object into a fundamental unity:—

“Is mind a product of organized matter? No ... for organized matter is only a combination of material particles, as is unorganized matter. How is it, then, that there is the manifestation of Mind in the one case, and not in the other?... Can subjective facts ever emerge out of a group of molecules? Never; as many times never as there are molecules in the group. And why? Because Mind cannot issue from No Mind.” (p. 13.)

The line of argument adopted _versus_ Materialism—the doctrine that mental facts are the _resultant_ of chemical changes in the brain; force and matter being the only Ultimates of Existence—is unquestionably forcible. Mind can never be resolved into a “bye-product” of brain activity, for several valid reasons. In the first place, in its aspect of thought, it exhibits _concentration on an end_, _intelligence_ and _interest_ in the subject under consideration, all of which characteristics, according to Tyndall and Du Bois Reymond, are necessarily absent from those remarshallings of atoms and molecules which are declared to “cerebrate out” mental phenomena! In the second place, the gulf between consciousness and molecular change has never been bridged; an admission to which the leading physicists and physiologists of the day lend all the weight of their authority. The terms “consciousness” and “matter” are expressive of things so utterly contrasted, that all attempts to deduce the former from the latter have met with signal discredit. Nevertheless, materialists assume the contrary, whenever the necessities of their philosophy demand it. Hence, we find men, like Büchner, admitting in one place that “in the relation of soul and brain, phenomena occur which _cannot be explained by ... matter and force_,” and elsewhere resolving mind into the “_activity of the tissues of the brain_,” “a mode of motion”—contradictions, the flagrancy of which is enhanced by the fact that the same author invests the physical automaton Man with a power to control his actions! Lastly, the degradation of consciousness into “brain-function” by constituting philosophers, theologians, scientists, and all alike “conscious automata”—(machines whose thoughts are determined _for_, not _by_ their conscious Egos)—knocks away the basis of argument. The only resource becomes universal scepticism; a denial of the possibility of attaining truth. Can impartiality, correct thinking and agreement, be expected on the part of controversialists who form part of a comedy of Automata?

If mind is not inherent in matter, it cannot be evolved by mere nervous complexity. The combination of two chemical elements cannot result in a compound in which something more than the constituent factors are present. It is sometimes urged that, since the properties of substances are often altogether changed in the course of chemical combinations—new ones arising with the temporary lapse of the old—consciousness may be explained as a “peculiar property” of matter under some of its conditions. Mr. Sundaram Iyer meets this objection ably. “Aquosity,” it is said, is a property of oxygen and hydrogen in combination, though not in isolation. To this he answers, “chemical properties are either purely subjective facts or objectivo-subjective ones” (p. 57). They exist only in the consciousness of the percipient, and represent no external and independent reality. Psychologists of the type of Huxley would do well to recall this fact, apart from the considerations springing from other data.

Our author is loud in his praises of _Panpsychism_, that phase of pantheism which regards all matter as saturated with a potential psyche. He speaks of the “catholicity, sublimity and beauty ... not to say the philosophy, and logic, and truthfulness of this creed of thought.” It is, however, clear that some of the authorities he cites in support of this view, more especially Clifford, Tyndall, and Ueberweg, represent a phase of thought which is too materialistic to do justice to an elevated pantheistic concept. Clifford’s _conscious_ mind-_stuff_ is sublimated materialism, and Ueberweg speaks of those “sensations” present in “inanimate” objects which are “concentrated” in the human brain, as if they represented so many substances to be weighed in scales. Instructive and thoughtful as is the discussion of this subject (pp. 32-63), its value would have been increased by a survey of the pantheistic schools of German speculation, so many of whose conclusions are absolutely at one with esoteric views as to the Logos and the metaphysics of consciousness.

After discussing the primary and secondary (so-called) qualities of matter, as tabulated by Mill, Hamilton and others, Mr. Sundaram Iyer passes on the question: “What is force?”

“Force _is_ matter ... it may be related to matter in ... four ways:—firstly, it may be an extraneous power to matter, acting upon it from without; secondly, it may be an inherent power in matter, influencing it from within, but yet distinct from the substance of matter; thirdly, it may be an innate power in matter, influencing it from within, and not distinct from the substance of matter; or fourthly, it may be a function of the substance of matter.” (p. 76-7.)

After an interesting criticism of current theories, he concludes that:—

“Function is simply the phenomenal effect of the latent cause, namely force, but never force itself. This potential existence, which is in matter, _is a physical existence_. If not it cannot, as shown before, produce any impression whatsoever upon or in the substance of matter.”

Matter is force and force is matter. It is not quite evident, however, whether this position is strictly reconcilable with the remark that “the primary qualities of matter are all simplifiable into ... extension and (its) motion (actual or possible).”

If force is a _physical existence_, and the real _substance_ of matter at the same time, we get back no further into the mystery of what things-in-themselves really are. Physical existence remains the reality behind physical existence and the realization of matter and force, as aspects only of one basis, in no way simplifies the crux.

It is not clear, moreover, what is the exact meaning the author intends by the use of the word “force.” Is it motion—molar or molecular—or the unknown cause of motion? According to Professor Huxley, “force” is merely an expression used to denote the _cause_ of motion, whatever that may be. We only _know_ this cause in its _aspect_ of motion, and cannot penetrate behind the veil in order to grasp the Noumenon of which motion is the phenomenal effect. The necessity, therefore, of recognising the fact that _motion_ is all that falls within the cognizance of sense, forbids the (profane) scientist to use the term “force” as representative of anything but an abstraction. The question is complicated by the consideration that the _substantiality_ of various so-called “forces” appears most probable, and that this substantiality becomes objectively real to sense, only on a plane beyond this—the domain of matter in its order of physical differentiations.

The materialistic doctrine that force merely = a motion of matter is contradicted by the fact that, as shown by Mill, _motion can be temporarily neutralized_. Lift a heavy weight on to a shelf and the mechanical energy expended in the act is latent in the potentiality of the weight to fall to the ground again. There is _no immediate equivalent_, as the attraction of the earth for the object remains the same (the now greater distance tending to diminish the amount though in a very minute degree.)

It may be further noted that, granting Mr. Sundaram Iyer’s definition of matter as “_extension pure and simple_,” to be correct (p. 112), it is difficult to understand how he predicates this barren content as endowed with _motion_ (p. 83.) What moves?

The rest of the _brochure_ is taken up with some excellent criticism of current conceptions of atoms, space and heterogenealism (a creed now so sorely wounded by Mr. Crooke’s “Protyle.”) Dealing with one of the late Mr. G. H. Lewe’s utterances, the author remarks with great truth: “By some mysterious law of occurrence the self-contradictions of the bulk of the erudite and enlightened are in point of gravity, palpableness, and number in direct proportion to their erudition and enlightenment.” With how many contrasted dicta from the pages of our Büchners, Spencers, Bains etc., etc., could this conclusion be supported.

One word before we close. Is the title of the work well chosen? It appears to us the least satisfactory sentence which has been traced by the writer’s pen. The definition of “mind as matter and matter as mind” not only offers no solution of the great psychological problem discussed, but does injustice to the contents of the work itself.

In the process of definition we “assemble representative examples of the phenomena,” under investigation and “our work lies in generalizing these, in detecting community in the midst of difference.” Now, there is _no community whatever_ between mental and material facts. For as Professor Bain writes:

“Extension is but the first of a long series of properties all present in matter, _all absent in mind_ ... our mental experience, our feelings and thoughts, have no _extension_, no _place_, no _form_[133] or _outline_, or _mechanical division_ of parts; and we are incapable of attending to anything mental until we shut off the view of all that.”—“_Mind and Body._” pp. 125 and 135.

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Footnote 133:

Nevertheless _objectively_ viewed thoughts are actual entities to the occultist.

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The phenomenal contrast of mind and matter is not only at the root of our present constitution but an essential of our terrestrial consciousness. Duality is illusion in the ultimate analysis; but within the limits of a Universe-cycle or Great Manwantaræ it holds true. The _two_ bases of manifested Being—the Logos (spirit) and Mulaprakriti, (Matter, or rather its Noumenon) are unified in the absolute reality, but in the Manvantaric Maya, under space and time conditions, they _are contrasted though mutually interdependent aspects of the_ ONE CAUSE.

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EDITORS’ NOTES.

We have a good deal of correspondence now in type, but must stand over till next month owing to lack of space.

In particular we wish to acknowledge a letter on Hylo-Idealism, signed C. N., forwarded to us by Dr. Lewins from a correspondent of his now in the East. This letter places Hylo-Idealism in a new and very different light, and its straightforward style and language are in strong contrast to the turgid effusions of such writers as G. M. McC. An extract from one of the latter’s letters to the “_Secular Review_” (January 7, 1888), for instance, says that “Specialism _is_ Superficialism, and _vice versa_, both being _fractionalism_; and that the true desideratum is generalisationism (_i.e._ _all-roundism_ and _all-throughism_), whereby and wherein the Kantian and Hegelian metaphysic may be precipitated and modern Materialism sublimed? There is only one alembic for both, and that is Solipsism—that true ‘wisdom of the ages,’ in which the profoundest thinker is at one with the little child.—G. M. McC.”!!![134]

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The following books have been received and will be noticed in due course:—

“Absolute Relativism; or, the Absolute in Relation,” by W. B. McTaggart. (W. Stewart & Co.)

“Spirit Revealed,” by Captain William C. Eldon Serjeant. (George Redway.)

“A Modern Apostle,” and other Poems, by Constance C. W. Naden. (Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.)

“Manuel of Etheropathy,” by Dr. Count Manzetti.

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Footnote 134:

See also his letter under Correspondence.

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=Correspondence.=

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THE CHURCH AND THE DOCTRINE OF ATONEMENT.

_To the Editors of_ LUCIFER.

As it is often supposed that the clergy are required to be united as one man in teaching a doctrine called Atonement, and that this doctrine requires the clergy either to teach that “God required the blood of Jesus to be shed and offered as a sacrifice for an Atonement,” or to leave the Church if they reject it; therefore, since I reject this doctrine, it is sometimes wondered how I can either have been admitted to ordination, or, being admitted, how I can remain in, or expect to have a hearing in, the pulpits of the National Churches.

_The explanation_ of my position is as follows:

I offered myself as a candidate for ordination much later than is usual; and _one_ of the three beneficed clergy, whose testimonials, as to the candidate’s religious views being orthodox, each candidate is required to provide before being accepted as a candidate for examination and ordination, _informed_ the Bishop of London (Jackson) that I did not hold Church of England views on the Atonement. The Bishop, therefore, before accepting me as a candidate, required a personal interview; when I told the Bishop, in reply to his question, whether I had any difficulty in accepting the doctrine of Atonement as taught in the second of the XXXIX. Articles, that I was entering the Church in order to teach, that it was the work of Jesus Christ to devote His life a living sacrifice to persuade us to believe that in His love, His mind, His spirit towards us, we saw (so far as it could be manifested in the human form) the love, mind, and spirit of God towards us; and that the sacrifice of Jesus consisted in His leaving nothing undone that love could do or suffer, even to drinking to its very dregs the cup of our hatred, whilst blind and ignorant, in order that we might accept and believe His testimony.

And, in addition, I told the Bishop that if the XXXIX. Articles did not allow of this teaching, and demanded of the clergy to believe and teach that “God required the blood of Jesus to be shed and offered as a sacrifice for an Atonement, either to appease God’s wrath, satisfy His justice, or propitiate His favour,” then such a doctrine was immoral, anti-Christian, contrary to the Scriptures, and made God to be no better than Shylock, a wolf, or a devil. And I dared the Bishop to refuse accepting me as a candidate.

The Bishop made no reply, neither assenting nor dissenting, and I returned to Petersham to await the result of this interview. After a day or two the Bishop’s chaplain wrote that I might consider my proposal to come to the Bishop’s examination for Orders accepted; and I was ordained without one word of comment upon the conversation at this private interview. But my first vicar only allowed me to preach three times, and then for the rest of the year he boycotted me from either preaching, reading, or even speaking in the parish, excepting only in a particular part of it. My second vicar, after allowing me to preach three times, also boycotted me entirely. I appealed to the Bishop, but he declined to interfere. So after striving in vain to find a clergyman who would allow me to preach what I was ordained to teach, I published pamphlets, and delivered them by the hundred and thousand at the church doors after the service, wherever there was a large congregation; but after a time the Bishop was appealed to to stop me; when he not only denied me, as Peter denied Jesus, but he threatened to instruct the police to prevent me; and the ruling powers at St Paul’s Cathedral did instruct the chief of the police to prevent me.

As a last resort, I write letters in the Press wherever I can find a newspaper willing to open its columns, to explain my views and appeal to the people to obtain liberty in the Church for teaching the truth of “Christ Crucified.” But so great is the opposition to this, that the chief organ of the Church and the Press (the _Times_) refuses even to allow me to advertise for a pulpit, on the ground that it is _inadmissible_; notwithstanding all the minutest details of divorce trials are freely _admissible_, thus proving that everything is admissible excepting one thing, viz.: the truth of Christ Crucified.

And yet the Archbishop of Canterbury has recently told the world that “the Church wishes the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to be told,” and the Bishops of Carlisle, Durham, Peterborough, Manchester, Liverpool and Bedford, have also used words to the same effect. But although I have spent the best part of my life (17 years) in striving to find one clergyman (from the highest to the lowest), I have not found one who would allow this liberty to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, concerning Christ Crucified. And I appeal to the rulers of the Church to allow this liberty—and to the people to demand and obtain this liberty, if the rulers of the Church refuse it. For I have a letter from Canon Liddon, in which he says to me, “I can believe with all my heart, although I only know you from the two letters which you have written to me (upon my sermons), that if you were to preach, people would go to hear you as they go to hear me.” Is there not a cause then, why I should complain of being thus cruelly and unjustly boycotted for 17 years without any reason?

The chief organ of the Church and the Press (the _Times_) in the supposed chief Christian city in the world, refused to publish, even as an advertisement, any one of the three following appeals, on the ground that they were _inadmissible_. Yes, _inadmissible_, whilst all the minutest details of the Barrett trial, the Dilke trial, the Colin Campbell trial, the Seabright trial, and a host of others of a like nature, were all _freely admissible_.