INDEX. (continued 6)

“Then we journeyed on, while he told me of the benevolence of not only Brahmin Yogees, but also of Buddhist. No differences can be observed by the true disciple in any other disciple who is perhaps of a different faith. All pursue truth. Roads differ but the goal of all remains alike.”

* * * “Repeated three times: ‘Time ripens and dissolves all beings in the great self, but he who knows into what time itself is dissolved, he is the knower of the Veda.’

“What is to be understood, not only by this, but also by its being three times repeated?

“There were three shrines there. Over the door was a picture which I saw a moment, and which for a moment seemed to blaze out with light like fire. Fixed upon my mind its outlines grew, then disappeared, when I had passed the threshold. Inside, again its image came before my eyes. Seeming to allure me, it faded out, and then again returned. It remained impressed upon me, seemed imbued with life and intention to present itself for my own criticism. When I began to analyze it, it would fade, and then when I was fearful of not doing my duty or of being disrespectful to those beings, it returned as if to demand attention. Its description:

“A human heart that has at its centre a small spark—the spark expands and the heart disappears—while a deep pulsation seems to pass through me. At once identity is confused, I grasp at myself; and again the heart reappears with the spark increased to a large fiery space. Once more that deep movement; then sounds (7); they fade. All this in a picture? Yes! for in that picture there is life; there might be intelligence. It is similar to that picture I saw in Tibet on my first journey, where the living moon rises and passes across the view. Where was I? No, not afterwards! It was in the hall. Again that all pervading sound. It seems to bear me like a river. Then it ceased,—a soundless sound. Then once more the picture; here is Pranava.115 But between the heart and the Pranava is a mighty bow with arrows ready, and tightly strung for use. Next is a shrine, with the Pranava over it, shut fast, no key and no keyhole. On its sides emblems of human passions. The door of the shrine opens and I think within I will see the truth. No! another door? a shrine again. It opens too and then another, brightly flashing is seen there. Like the heart, it makes itself one with me. Irresistible desire to approach it comes within me, and it absorbs the whole picture.

“‘Break through the shrine of Brahman; use the doctrine of the teacher.’”116

[There is no connection here of this exhortation with any person, and very probably it is something that was said either by himself, in soliloquy, or by some voice or person to him.

I must end here, as I find great rents and spaces in the notes. He must have ceased to put down further things he saw or did in his real inner life, and you will very surely agree, that if he had progressed by that time to what the last portions would indicate, he could not set down his reflections thereon, or any memorandum of facts. We, however, can never tell what was his reason. He might have been told not to do so, or might have lacked the opportunity.

There was much all through these pages that related to his daily family life, not interesting to you; records of conversations; worldly affairs; items of money and regarding appointments, journeys and meetings with friends. But they show of course that he was all this time living through his set work with men, and often harassed by care as well as comforted by his family and regardful of them. All of that I left out, because I supposed that while it would probably interest you, yet I was left with discretion to give only what seemed to relate to the period marked at its beginning, by his meetings with M——, and at the end by this last remarkable scene, the details of which we can only imagine. And likewise were of necessity omitted very much that is sufficiently unintelligible in its symbolism to be secure from revelation. Honestly have I tried to unlock the doors of the ciphers, for no prohibition came with their possession, but all that I could refine from its enfolding obscurity is given to you.

As he would say, let us salute each other and the last shrine of Brahman; Om, hari, Om!

Trans.]

Karma.

The child is the father of the man, and none the less true is it:

“This is the doctrine of Karma.”

But in what way does this bygone wrong and right affect the present life? Is the stern nemesis ever following the weary traveler, with a calm, passionless, remorseless step? Is there no escape from its relentless hand? Does the eternal law of cause and effect, unmoved by sorrow and regret, ever deal out its measure of weal and woe as the consequence of past action? The shadow of the yesterday of sin,—must it darken the life of to-day? Is Karma but another name for fate? Does the child unfold the page of the already written book of life in which each event is recorded without the possibility of escape? What is the relation of Karma to the life of the individual? Is there nothing for man to do but to weave the chequered warp and woof of each earthly existence with the stained and discolored threads of past actions? Good resolves and evil tendencies sweep with resistless tide over the nature of man and we are told:

“Whatever action he performs, whether good or bad, every thing done in a former body must necessarily be enjoyed or suffered.” Anugita, cp III.

There is good Karma, there is bad Karma, and as the wheel of life moves on, old Karma is exhausted and again fresh Karma is accumulated.

Although at first it may appear that nothing can be more fatalistic than this doctrine, yet a little consideration will show that in reality this is not the case. Karma is twofold, hidden and manifest, Karma is the man that is, Karma is his action. True that each action is a cause from which evolves the countless ramifications of effect in time and space.

“That which ye sow ye reap.” In some sphere of action the harvest will be gathered. It is necessary that the man of action should realize this truth. It is equally necessary that the manifestations of this law in the operations of Karma should be clearly apprehended.

Karma, broadly speaking may be said to be the continuance of the nature of the act, and each act contains within itself the past and future. Every defect which can be realized from an act must be implicit in the act itself or it could never come into existence. Effect is but the nature of the act and cannot exist distinct from its cause. Karma only produces the manifestation of that which already exists; being action it has its operation in time, and Karma may therefore be said to be the same action from another point of time. It must, moreover, be evident that not only is there a relation between the cause and the effect, but there must also be a relation between the cause and the individual who experiences the effect. If it were otherwise, any man would reap the effect of the actions of any other man. We may sometimes appear to reap the effects of the action of others, but this is only apparent. In point of fact it is our own action

It is therefore necessary in order to understand the nature of Karma and its relation to the individual to consider action in all its aspects. Every act proceeds from the mind. Beyond the mind there is no action and therefore no Karma. The basis of every act is desire. The plane of desire or egotism is itself action and the matrix of every act. This plane may be considered as non-manifest, yet having a dual manifestation in what we call cause and effect, that is the act and its consequences. In reality, both the act and its consequences are the effect, the cause being on the plane of desire. Desire is therefore the basis of action in its first manifestation on the physical plane, and desire determines the continuation of the act in its karmic relation to the individual. For a man to be free from the effects of the Karma of any act he must have passed to a state no longer yielding a basis in which that act can inhere. The ripples in the water caused by the action of the stone will extend to the furthest limit of its expanse, but no further, they are bounded by the shore. Their course is ended when there is no longer a basis or suitable medium in which they can inhere; they expend their force and are not. Karma is, therefore, as dependent upon the present personality for its fulfillment, as it was upon the former for the first initial act. An illustration may be given which will help to explain this.

A seed, say for instance mustard, will produce a mustard tree and nothing else; but in order that it should be produced, it is necessary that the co-operation of soil and culture should be equally present. Without the seed, however much the ground may be tilled and watered, it will not bring forth the plant, but the seed is equally inoperative without the joint action of the soil and culture.

The first great result of Karmic action is the incarnation in physical life. The birth seeking entity consisting of desires and tendencies, presses forward towards incarnation. It is governed in the selection of its scene of manifestation by the law of economy. Whatever is the ruling tendency, that is to say, whatever group of affinities is strongest, those affinities will lead it to the point of manifestation at which there is the least opposition. It incarnates in those surroundings most in harmony with its Karmic tendencies and all the effects of actions contained in the Karma so manifesting will be experienced by the individual. This governs the station of life, the sex, the conditions of the irresponsible years of childhood, the constitution with the various diseases inherent in it, and in fact all those determining forces of physical existence which are ordinarily classed under the terms, “heredity,” and “national characteristics.”

It is really the law of economy which is the truth underlying these terms and which explains them. Take for instance a nation with certain special characteristics. These are the plane of expansion for any entity whose greatest number of affinities are in harmony with those characteristics. The incoming entity following the law of least resistance becomes incarnated in that nation, and all Karmic effects following such characteristics will accrue to the individual. This will explain what is the meaning of such expressions as the “Karma of nations,” and what is true of the nation will also apply to family and caste.

It must, however, be remembered that there are many tendencies which are not exhausted in the act of incarnation. It may happen that the Karma which caused an entity to incarnate in any particular surrounding, was only strong enough to carry it into physical existence. Being exhausted in that direction, freedom is obtained for the manifestation of other tendencies and their Karmic effects. For instance, Karmic force may cause an entity to incarnate in a humble sphere of life. He may be born as the child of poor parents. The Karma follows the entity, endures for a longer or shorter time, and becomes exhausted. From that point, the child takes a line of life totally different from his surroundings. Other affinities engendered by former action express themselves in their Karmic results. The lingering effects of the past Karma may still manifest itself in the way of obstacles and obstructions which are surmounted with varying degrees of success according to their intensity.

From the standpoint of a special creation for each entity entering the world, there is vast and unaccountable injustice. From the standpoint of Karma, the strange vicissitudes and apparent chances of life can be considered in a different light as the unerring manifestation of cause and sequence. In a family under the same conditions of poverty and ignorance, one child will be separated from the others and thrown into surroundings very dissimilar. He may be adopted by a rich man, or through some freak of fortune receive an education giving him at once a different position. The Karma of incarnation being exhausted, other Karma asserts itself.

A very important question is here presented: Can an individual affect his own Karma, and if so to what degree and in what manner?

It has been said that Karma is the continuance of the act, and for any particular line of Karma to exert itself it is necessary that there should be the basis of the act engendering that Karma in which it can inhere and operate. But action has many planes in which it can inhere. There is the physical plane, the body with its senses and organs; then there is the intellectual plane, memory, which binds the impressions of the senses into a consecutive whole and reason puts in orderly arrangement its storehouse of facts. Beyond the plane of intellect there is the plane of emotion, the plane of preference for one object rather than another:—the fourth principle of the man. These three, physical, intellectual, and emotional, deal entirely with objects of sense perception and may be called the great battlefield of Karma.117 There is also the plane of ethics, the plane of discrimination of the “I ought to do this, I ought not to do that.” This plane harmonizes the intellect and the emotions. All these are the planes of Karma or action what to do, and what not to do. It is the mind as the basis of desire that initiates action on the various planes, and it is only through the mind that the effects of rest and action can be received.

An entity enters incarnation with Karmic energy from past existences, that is to say the action of past lives is awaiting its development as effect. This Karmic energy presses into manifestation in harmony with the basic nature of the act. Physical Karma will manifest in the physical tendencies bringing enjoyment and suffering. The intellectual and the ethical planes are also in the same manner the result of the past Karmic tendencies and the man as he is, with his moral and intellectual faculties, is in unbroken continuity with the past.

The entity at birth has therefore a definite amount of Karmic energy. After incarnation this awaits the period in life at which fresh Karma begins. Up to the time of responsibility it is as we have seen the initial Karma only that manifests. From that time the fresh personality becomes the ruler of his own destiny. It is a great mistake to suppose that an individual is the mere puppet of the past, the helpless victim of fate. The law of Karma is not fatalism, and a little consideration will show that it is possible for an individual to affect his own Karma. If a greater amount of energy be taken up on one plane than on another this will cause the past Karma to unfold itself on that plane. For instance, one who lives entirely on the plane of sense gratification will from the plane beyond draw the energy required for the fulfillment of his desires. Let us illustrate by dividing man into upper and lower nature. By directing the mind and aspirations to the lower plane, a “fire” or centre of attraction, is set up there, and in order to feed and fatten it, the energies of the whole upper plane are drawn down and exhausted in supplying the need of energy which exists below due to the indulgence of sense gratification. On the other hand, the centre of attraction may be fixed in the upper portion, and then all the needed energy goes there to result in increase of spirituality. It must be remembered that Nature is all bountiful and withholds not her hand. The demand is made, and the supply will come. But at what cost? That energy which should have strengthened the moral nature and fulfilled the aspirations after good, is drawn to the lower desires. By degrees the higher planes are exhausted of vitality and the good and bad Karma of an entity will be absorbed on the physical plane. If on the other hand the interest is detached from the plane of sense gratification, if there is a constant effort to fix the mind on the attainment of the highest ideal, the result will be that the past Karma will find no basis in which to inhere on the physical plane. Karma will therefore be manifested only in harmony with the plane of desire. The sense energy of the physical plane will exhaust itself on a higher plane and thus become transmuted in its effects.

What are the means through which the effects of Karma can be thus changed is also clear. A person can have no attachment for a thing he does not think about, therefore the first step must be to fix the thought on the highest ideal. In this connection one remark may be made on the subject of repentance. Repentance is a form of thought in which the mind is constantly recurring to a sin. It has therefore to be avoided if one would set the mind free from sin and its Karmic results. All sin has its origin in the mind. The more the mind dwells on any course of conduct, whether with pleasure or pain, the less chance is there for it to become detached from such action. The manas (mind) is the knot of the heart, when that is untied from any object, in other words when the mind loses its interest in any object, there will no longer be a link between the Karma connected with that object and the individual.

It is the attitude of the mind which draws the Karmic cords tightly round the soul. It imprisons the aspirations and binds them with chains of difficulty and obstruction. It is desire that causes the past Karma to take form and shape and build the house of clay. It must be through non-attachment that the soul will burst through the walls of pain, it will be only through a change of mind that the Karmic burden will be lifted.

It will appear, therefore, that although absolutely true that action brings its own result, “there is no destruction here of actions good or not good. Coming to one body after another they become ripened in their respective ways.”—Yet this ripening is the act of the individual. Free will of man asserts itself and he becomes his own saviour. To the worldly man Karma is a stern Nemesis, to the spiritual man Karma unfolds itself in harmony with his highest aspirations. He will look with tranquility alike on past and future, neither dwelling with remorse on past sin nor living in expectation of reward for present action.

Sufism,

Or Theosophy From the Standpoint of Mohammedanism.

A Chapter from a MS. work designed as a text-book for Students in Mysticism BY C. H. A. BJERREGAARD, Stud. Theos.

In Two Parts:—Part I, Texts; Part II, Symbols.

(Continued.)

PART II.—SYMBOLS.

The practical expounders and preachers of Sufism are the Dervishes, the monks of Islam.

It must have become clear to our readers, that the sweet and peaceful sentiments of the couplet of Katebi, placed as motto over our first part, are the expressions of at least one side of the inner life of Sufism. But, if we listen more closely, we shall hear the plaintive note of the nightingale more distinct and perceive more readily the gloom of the cypress; both of them, like the soul of man, bewail in melancholy our disunion from Deity. That, too, is another side of Sufism, which now has been illustrated, and we have given enough quotations to show, that the highest aim of the Sufi is to attain self-annihilation by losing his humanity in Deity.

So far the direct teachings as they lie on the surface of our quotations. The grand undercurrents are the relations of The Universal Self and The Individual Self. The expression “Self” has not been used, but “God” and “Soul” because of the peculiarity of the exoteric forms of current Mohammedan Theology, which the Sufi-Doctors find themselves bound to observe.

We have yet to quote the Sufi poets Hafiz, Jami, Nizami, Attar and others, but as their teachings are veiled under symbols, they naturally find their place in this our second part, and shall be treated fully toward the end. We will begin with the more ecstatic features of practical Sufism, with the Dervishes, the Moslem saints, and thus develop the subjective forms of Sufism. We shall come to appreciate the use of a ritualistic service and ascetic practices, when we see these framed in close harmony with the laws of Nature and conductive to Union with Self.

Where we use the phrase The Personal, our readers will understand it as the subjective equivalent for the objective “Self.”—

An historic study of the rise of Sufism out of original asceticism, will afford us an excellent view of the evolution of Sufism itself as well as of all other forms of Mysticism. Hence we must devote some space to it.

It must undoubtedly be maintained that asceticism and monastic life are entirely inconsistent with Mohammedanism, and in fact Mohammed himself was far from anything like it, and constantly preached against it, advocating an active life and an aggressive religion.

But neither Mohammed nor his followers could stem the tide of ascetic influences from the East, from Buddhism; nor from the West, from Christianity. These two religious systems had existed for centuries and were both characterized by monastic institutions, and missionary spirit. But, much deeper than these individual influences lies the power of a new historic cycle beginning about a century after Mohammed, just at the time we find the greatest number of Islam saints, with a distinctive monastic cast. The era is characterized by a new civilization in the West, and a consolidation of the Eastern conquests. The Mohammedan power encircles Christendom and threatens to destroy both Church and Christianity. In the East itself a terror of existence befell the minds of men and has left the strongest impressions in the writings of such men as Ata Salami and Hasan, &c.

Even in Mohammed’s lifetime an attempt was made to engraft the elements of the contemplative life upon his doctrine. The facts are well known. One evening, after some more vigorous declamations than usual on the prophet’s part—he had taken for his theme the flames and tortures of hell—several of his most zealous companions, among whom the names of Omar, Ali, Abou-Dharr, and Abou-Horeirah are conspicuous, retired to pass the night together in a neighbouring dwelling. Here they fell into deep discourses on the terrors of divine justice, and the means to appease or prevent its course. The conclusion they came to was nowise unnatural. They agreed that to this end the surest way was to abandon their wives, to pass their lives in continued fast and abstinence, to wear hair-cloth, and practice other similar austerities: in a word, they laid down for themselves a line of conduct truly ascetic, and leading to whatever can follow in such a course. But they desired first to secure the approbation of Mohammed. Accordingly, at break of day, they presented themselves before him, to acquaint him with the resolution of the night, as well as its motives and purport; but they had reckoned without their host. The prophet rejected their proposition with a sharp rebuke, and declared marriage and war to be far more agreeable to the Divinity than any austereness of life or mortification of the senses whatever, and the well known passage of the Quran: “O true believers, do not abstain from the good things of the earth which God permits you to enjoy,” revealed on this very occasion, remains a lasting monument of Mohammed’s disgust at this premature outbreak of ascetic feeling. This lesson and many others of a similar character, for the time being, checked any and all appearance of declared forms of asceticism, but could not prevent the ultimate triumph of the truer and better parts of human nature. “Fate” would have it, that within his own family, lie hidden the germs, destined in after ages, down to the present day, and probably as long as Islam shall exist, to exert the mightiest influence in the Mohammedan world.

Ali, Mohammed’s cousin, and Ali’s son Hasan, his grandson Zein el Abidin, and after them Djaufar es Sadik, Mousa el Kadhim, Ali er Ridha, and others of their race, were members of a family which became the very backbone of asceticism. They were successively looked up to by individual ascetics as the guides and instructors in word and deed of self-denial and abnegation.

In the Menaqibu l Arafin (the Acts of the Adepts) it is related that the Prophet one day recited to Ali in private the secrets and mysteries of the “Brethren of Sincerity” enjoining him not to divulge them to any of the uninitiated, so that they should not be betrayed; also, to yield obedience to the rule of implicit submission. For forty days, Ali kept the secret in his own sole breast, and bore therewith until he was sick at heart. As his burden oppressed him and he could no more breathe freely, he fled to the open wilderness, and there chanced upon a well. He stooped, reached his head as far down into the well as he was able; and then, one by one, he confided those mysteries to the bowels of the earth. From the excess of his excitement, his mouth filled with froth and foam. There he spat out into the water of the well, until he had freed himself of the whole, and he felt relieved. After a certain number of days, a single seed was observed to be growing in that well. It waxed and shut up, until at length a youth, whose heart was miraculously enlightened on the point, became aware of this growing plant, cut it down, drilled holes in it, and began to play upon it airs, similar to those now performed by the dervish lovers of God, as he pastured his sheep in the neighbourhood. By degrees, the various tribes of Arabs of the desert heard of this flute-playing of the shepherd, and its fame spread abroad. The camels and the sheep of the whole region would gather around him as he piped, ceasing to pasture that they might listen. From all directions, the nomads flocked to hear his strains, going into ecstasies with delight, weeping for joy and pleasure, breaking forth in transports of gratification. The rumor at length reached the ears of the Prophet, who gave orders for the piper to be brought before him. When he began to play in the sacred presence, all the holy disciples of God’s messenger were moved to tears and transports, bursting forth with shouts and exclamations of pure bliss, and losing all consciousness. The Prophet declared that the notes of the shepherd’s flute were the inspiration of the holy mysteries he had confided in private to Ali’s charge.

Thus it is that, until a man acquires the sincere devotion of the linnet-voiced flute-reed, he cannot hear the mysteries of “The Brethren of Sincerity” in its dulcet notes, or realize the delights thereof; for “faith is altogether a yearning of the heart, and a gratification of the spiritual sense.”

In regard to “The Brethren of Sincerity” mentioned above it can be said that the Mohammedans in the East know perfectly well that there exists on earth, among the initiated, a secret hierarchy which governs the whole human race, infidels as well as believers, but that their power is often exercised in such a manner that the subjects influenced by it know not from what person or persons its effects proceed.

In this hierarchy the supreme dignity is vested in the Khidr. This is a man indeed, but one far elevated above ordinary human nature by his transcendent privileges. Admitted to the Divine Vision, and possessed in consequence of a relative omnipotence and omniscience on earth; visible and invisible at pleasure; freed from the bonds of space and time; by his ubiquitous and immortal powers appearing in various forms on earth to uphold the cause of truth; then concealed awhile from men; known in various ages as Seth, as Enoch, as Elias, and yet to come at the end of time as the Mahdi; this wonderful being is the centre, the prop, the ruler, the mediator of men of ascetic habits and retirement, and as such he is honoured with the name of Kothb, or axis, as being the spiritual pole round which and on which all move or are upheld. Under him are the Aulia, or intimate friends of God, seventy-two in number (some say twenty-four), holy men living on earth, who are admitted by the Kothb to his intimate familiarity, and who are to the rest the sources of all doctrine, authority, and sanctity. Among these again one, pre-eminent above the rest, is qualified by the vicarious title of Kothb-ez-zaman, or axis of his age, and is regarded as the visible depositary of the knowledge and power of the supreme Kothb—who is often named, for distinction’s sake, Kothb el-Akthab, or axis of the axes—and his constant representative amongst men. But as this important election and consequent delegation of power is invisible and hidden from the greater number even of the devotees themselves, and neither the Kothb-ez-zaman nor the Aulia carry any outward or distinctive sign of dignity and authority, it can only be manifested by its effects, and thus known by degrees to the outer world, and even then rather as a conjecture than as a positive certainty.

On the authority of the famous saint of Bagdad, Aboo-Bekr el Kettanée, E. W. Lane118 states that the orders under the rule of this chief are called Omud (or Owtad), Akhyar, Abdal, Nujaba, and Nukaba, naming them according to their precedence, and remarks that perhaps to these should be added an inferior order called Ashab ed-Darak, that is “Watchmen” or “Overseers.” The Nukaba are three hundred and reside in El-Gharb (Northern Africa to the West of Egypt); the Nujaba are seventy and reside in Egypt; the Abdal are forty and are found in Syria; the Akhyar are seven and travel about the earth; the Omud are four and stand in the corners of the earth. The members are not known as such to their inferior unenlightened fellow-creatures, and are often invisible to them. This is most frequently the case with the Kothb, who, though generally stationed at Mekka, on the roof of the Kaaba, is never visible there, nor at any of his other favorite stations, yet his voice is often heard at these places.

Let us add that their great power is supposed to be obtained by self-denial, implicit reliance upon God, from good genii and by the knowledge and utterance of “the most great name.”

Eflaki, the historian, has given us the links of a spiritual series, through whom the mysteries of the dervish doctrines were handed down to and in the line of Jelaludin er Rumi.

Ali communicated the mysteries to the Imam Hasan of Bara, who died A. D. 728. Hasan taught them to Habib, the Persian († A. D. 724) who confided them to Dawud of the tribe Tayyi († A. D. 781) who transmitted them to Maruf of Kerkh († A. D. 818); he to Sirri († A. D. 867) and he to the great Juneyd († A. D. 909). Juneyd’s spiritual pupil Shibli († A. D. 945) taught Abu-Amr Muhammed, son of Ilahim Zajjaj († A. D. 959) and his pupil was Abu-Bekr, son of Abdu-llah of Tus, who taught Abu-Ahmed Muhammed, son of Muhammed Al-Gazzali († A.D. 1111), and he committed those mysteries to Ahmed el-Khatibi, Jelal’s great-grandfather, who consigned them to the Imam Sarakhsi († A. D. 1175). Sarakhsi was the spiritual teacher of Jelal’s father Baha Veled, who taught the Sayyid Burhanu-d-Diu Termizi, the instructor of Jelal.—We shall now proceed with the history.

(To be continued.)

Please note the following correction of previous article: Footnote, page 143, August No. of the Path, should read “Free translation by J. Freeman Clarke.”

Reticence of Mahatmas and Evolution of the Individual.

Members of the Theosophical Society and the general public have alike manifested a wide divergence of opinion both as regards the fundamental aim of the Society, and its adaptation to individual cases. To get a right view of these points, it is first absolutely necessary that the Society should be considered as a whole, and to remember that like every movement in the physical or spiritual world, it must be governed by the great law of Evolution. This is its primal Cause, and the evolution of the individual its primary work. It is not, as its history shows, an ephemeral institution, to last for a given period, like a hospital, or a society to benefit animals, or poor children, or fallen women. It is a spoke of the universal wheel of Evolution. When the world contained a body of persons sufficiently developed on the spiritual plane, they naturally formed a nucleus, from which rays presently diverged to various parts of the globe. Stimulating centres of energy which are constantly expanding through the individual efforts of their members. What is true of the whole body is true also of its component parts, and each individual, in mental capacity and psychical conditions is precisely what his previous experience, or his evolutionary ratio entitles him to be. Only by means of ever increasing effort on his own part, can he invigorate these powers.

In founding the Theosophical Society, it was hoped that the united labors of all for each and of each for all, might result in so much enlightenment and expansion of individuals as the friction of many minds, all directed to one issue, should through the correlation of moral forces afford. Hence the Society was based upon the idea of Universal Brotherhood.

There are at present two classes of persons who misinterpret this aim of the Society. The first class is variously composed of,—(A) those persons who suppose the Society to be solely devoted to a large phase of the subject, such as the progressive development of the entire body of the present race, or to the united interests of great masses of people, leaving the individual altogether alone in the uphill path of his own spiritual development. (B) Various persons in different parts of the world who have seen fit, coincidently with giving in their adherence to the idea of Universal Brotherhood, to ridicule it as “a mere sham” or “a pure formula” or “an utopian impossibility:” the wavering incredulity of every such person arises no doubt from individual or constitutional peculiarity. (C) Such as suppose this basic idea to be an elastic declaration which may always be used as a shield to ward off the unpopular or chaffing accusation of an interest in Mysticism. (D) Those who base their denial of universal brotherhood upon the very sensible rule requiring applicants for initiation to have endorsement from active fellows of the Society. “If you make distinctions you are not universal,” is the cry of these last.

All the above persons will sooner or later discover that the Society as a whole progresses through the spiritual advancement of individual members. If the individual retrogrades, the common welfare is minus so much; if he progresses, it is plus so much, and when many rise all are presently lifted as by specific gravity, into a higher plane. For this reason not only the exoteric and much slandered founders of the Society, but also the hidden and real founders have always given much of their time and thought to individuals. At the same time they have unceasingly insisted upon the necessity for individual efforts, that each member might develop himself. This is the true meaning of Evolution. It is not the expansion of the man by means of an external force acting upon inert tissue, but an impulse from within outward and upward, enhanced by the cumulative effect of previous impulses, and further assisted by such favoring environment as his condition may permit him to assimilate.

It is in this final respect that the second class under consideration have erred. They demand greater extraneous aid for the individual. Such persons, having joined the Society and asserted their belief in the existence of Mahatmas, or Adepts, or highly advanced human beings, have after a time uttered complaints because they had no personal communications from these Great Beings, while they feel such attentions to be their due. These persons have said,—“We have declared our belief in these wise and holy Men; we have joined the Society, but we have not been favored with any proofs directly from them.” Such persons require a letter under seal, projected in a phenomenal manner through the air or otherwise. Nothing short of this will satisfy them, and if they do not get it, they are likely to leave the fold of the Society, as they themselves intimate. Their complaint, in general terms, is that the Mahatmas are reticent, altogether too reticent to suit their requirements. They say that it is declared that certain other persons have received such evidence in the shape of letters, and they cite Messrs. Sinnett, Olcott, Damodar, Hume, Madame Blavatsky and several Hindus as the favored recipients. The complainants then state that their aspirations, their need, their merit, equal that of these persons, that they are, to put it roughly, “every bit as good.” Some who do not say as much, think it, and a general outcry arises of,—“Why do we not get such letters as proofs? Are we not justified in ascribing undue reticence to the Mahatmas?” When in addition it is said that some others have seen the Mahatmas, or heard their voices and received gifts from them, the injured ones reiterate the complaint,—“Why are the Mahatmas so reticent?” This attitude has finally become that of the press and the public at large, so that the question presents itself,—“Are the Mahatmas unduly reticent?”

The solution of this question is bound up in the subject of the “Evolution of the Individual.” As regards the general evolution, the Mahatmas cannot be thus accused, for had we their knowledge of the whole, so as to be able to feel and know what all minerals, plants, animals and men feel collectively, we should see that in this department Mahatmas are never accused even in thought of withholding either knowledge, favor or blessing. The whole moves by law (which law includes the Mahatmas themselves), and as a whole recognises this law and knows no possible departure from it.

As heretofore stated, the work of the Theosophical Society lies within the department of individual evolution, and just as its sphere may only be enlarged through the constant labors of its members, so every individual follows the same law, will he, nil he. The Mahatmas are not reticent. They can justly be no more than the favoring environment to the individual soul. They give to each human well just the water it can hold; to overflow it would be waste. It has been well said that the human mind, like the atmosphere, has its saturation point. To realise when we have reached this point is the first step on the path of self-knowledge: to strive to expand our boundaries by incessant study and observation, carries us leagues further on our way. Those who journey thus have neither time nor desire for complaint. We enter into this life through our parents, subject to law. From one mystery we pass, ignorant of the future, into another mystery: lessons are learned in each. So is the soul born into the higher life and becomes by degrees acquainted with its mysteries. Through each order of life runs the law of natural selection. “A man is a method, a progressive arrangement, a selecting principle,” says Emerson. As the man chooses the friends and the pursuits best adapted to him, so by the law of spiritual dynamics is the soul attracted to just such food as it can assimilate, to the influences necessary to its present development. If the individual mind fails to grasp this idea and to see that we ourselves, (and not the Mahatmas,) create our own possibilities, how far less fitted is it to profit usefully by the very opportunities it demands. The gratification of curiosity, the quickening of interest in personalities or phenomena as such, are not growths of the soul, nor can they advance the evolution of the individual. The Mahatmas do not withhold us from Truth, but we ourselves. When we come to be a part of it, we shall know it: when we come to live in its laws, who can shut us away from it? The upright heart cries,—“Mine is mine, if the universe deny me, and not all the Mahatmas combined can convey to me one truth in which I am not ready to dwell. The Spirit communicates itself; the Masters but interpret the vision, as soothsayers the dreams of Kings. I am a king when the Spirit exalts me, made so by the super-royal act. I will not covet borrowed robes, nor whine as a beggar for charities, but wait until I am come into mine own estate. Then the Wise Ones will teach me how to rule it.” The heart that chooses in truth this noble part, has felt already the quickening touch of the Divine. Like Jove of old, it bids the earth-bound waggoner abate his cries, and put first his own shoulder to the wheel.

Let complainants therefore reflect how ignorant they are of their own capacity to understand psychological data, and how necessary it is that they should first develop themselves in that direction. A ray of light may shoot by us unseen and unknown, to be lost in the further space, for want of the timely interposition of a reflective surface. Or it may stream directly into the eye, and even so may still be lost, should the eye lack the power to receive the impression. Thus an attempt at direct communication or illumination may be and often is frustrated for lack of the perceptive eye and soul. Shall we expect to receive these at other hands, as by a miracle, when we know well that we never fully profit by any experience which we have not lived out for ourselves. Who amongst us has not seen a child reject with impatience the teachings of his elders, and presently return home brimful of wonder and dogmatism over the very same fact which some companion had knocked into him? The strong soul must be self delivered. Amongst our number there are indeed those who have the spiritual eye in part, and the Mahatmas, desirous to arouse it more fully, now and then project a beam of wisdom which the eye fails to receive and it passes on to those who are better fitted to absorb it. “No man can learn what he has not preparation for learning, however near to his eye is the object. A chemist may tell his most precious secrets to a carpenter, and he shall never be the wiser,—the secret he would not utter to a chemist for an estate. God screens us evermore from premature ideas. Our eyes are holden that we cannot see things that stare us in the face, until the hour arrives when the mind is ripened; then we behold them, and the time when we saw them not is like a dream.”119

Let us then press forward to this harvest time, neither asking for help, nor doubting that it is at hand though unseen, and remembering above all that what we consider reticence, or silence on the part of the Mahatmas, is often but a higher order of speech which we do not as yet understand, and to whose golden accents untiring endeavor alone can give the key.

Julius.

Correspondence.

Hartford, Aug., 1886.

To the Path,

Dear Friend:—I like the Path much. I have noted many articles that I am anxious to get time to read at my leisure. They are full of the meat that satisfieth the soul. How this on-coming wave from esoteric and mystic sources has rushed upon us within the past few years! ‘Tis a veritable ground-swell, and it seems to stretch out to all shores, and its sources are from Infinity itself. Surely, that that we need, does come to us at the right time. The demands of the soul imply that the requisite supply is somewhere in existence. The glass of sparkling cold water tendered by Emerson to Frederika Bremer at the crystal spring at which they halted by the road-side, is symbolic of the wants of the spiritual nature. Her comments upon it, are in the line of thought I have touched upon:

“A glass of water! How much may be comprised in this gift! Why this should become significant to me on this occasion, I cannot say; but so it was. I have silently within myself combated with Emerson from the first time that I became acquainted with him. I have questioned in what consisted this power of the spirit over me, while I so much disapproved of his mode of thinking. In what consisted his mysterious, magical power,—that invigorating, refreshing influence which I always experience in his writings, or in intercourse with him? This cordial draught of clear water from the spring, given by his hand, I understood it. It is precisely this crystal, pure, fresh cold water in his individual character, in his writings, which has refreshed, and will again and yet again refresh me. I have opposed Emerson in thought with myself. * * * But in long years to come, and when I am far from here in my own native land, and when I am old and gray,—yes, always, always will moments recur when I shall yearn toward Waldo Emerson, and long to receive from his hand that draught of fresh water.”

Emerson drew from invisible sources, and Miss Bremer’s fine tribute is all the stronger because it comes in spite of orthodox prejudice. But I have turned off into an unexpected “path,” and my time is up, and I must end abruptly, as usual.

Yours fraternally, F. E.

Marseilles, Aug., 1886.

Editor of the Path,

Dear Sir and Brother:—It gives me great pleasure to acknowledge the receipt of your valuable magazine.

I cannot but admire the great abilities and learning of its contributors, and I trust and hope that a complete success will repay you for your endeavors after the improvement of our poor and misguided humanity, and the glorification of the Truth.

Yours fraternally, Baron J. Spedalieri, F. T. S.

Reviews and Notes.

The Optimism of Emerson.—By Wm. F. Dana. (Cupples, Upham & Co., Boston, 1886.) Price 50 c. cloth. For sale by Brentano, Union Square, New York.

The author seeks to account for the optimism of Emerson by his “cheerful disposition,” and for his influence in literature by the action of that cheerfulness upon “an age of intellectual gloom” due to “England, France, Germany and Italy, having taken a despairing view of life.” The cause of nineteenth century pessimism Mr. Dana sums up thus: “The root of our difficulties is the fact that we have lost faith in a revealed religion. We do not believe the Bible to be an inspired book, hence, we have to form a religion by ourselves out of the material within us and about us. It has seemed impossible to us, unless we abandoned our reason, to believe, that what appear to us good and evil could be all good.” Mr. Dana, though evidently a sincere admirer of Emerson, confesses that he gave the world no new revelation, either in religion or philosophy, and he compares his influence to the moonlight, rather than the sunlight. But if Emerson left the mystery of life unsolved, he influenced men’s emotional nature for good by reason of the cheerful, hopeful tone of his own mind, which, by setting up sympathetic vibrations in the hearts of others, gave them a renewed assurance that “the sun is shining behind the clouds,” and that apparent evil is but real good in disguise.

Philosophy of Religion.—A series of articles on the “Philosophy of Religion from the Standpoint of the Mystics,” prepared by C. H. A. Bjerregaard of the Astor Library, will be published forthwith, in the Religio Philosophical Journal.

The Song Celestial or Bagavad-Gita, tr. from the Sanscrit by Edwin Arnold, M. A. (Roberts Brothers, Boston.) Cloth $1.00. This is a poetical rendering by a master hand, of the greatest of books, and by many will be more easily understood than the present extant prose editions of Wilkins, Thomson, and others. But its power and beauty depend upon the inherent qualities of the poem, and an indifferent hand at the work could not spoil it: how much more it will be for its readers, under the touch of Mr. Arnold, is easy to see, for he is a scholar, a philosopher, and a true singer. So much exoterically.

But this is in every sense an esoteric poem, and as usual, an interpreter who knows nothing of the secret doctrine, has not succeeded in opening the lock of this great treasure box. Following all his predecessors, Mr. Arnold opens with the old old error of ranging the people of King Dhritirashtra upon the plain of Kurukshetra in battle with the Pandavas, and utterly fails to translate this name of a plain. Here is the key. This plain is the human body and is not a field in the centre of India; and the king himself is material existence possessing a thirst for life. Proceeding with the details of the generals and chiefs engaged, our poet simply gives their names untranslated, whereas each name is a power, quality or manifestation of the mental or spiritual man. Bhishma and Bhima of all, are untouched.

Ignorance as to the use and intention of these names is due very much to the indifference of the Hindus who, while knowing well the errors committed, have not raised a finger.

Mr. Arnold’s translation is very beautiful and inspiring, and is to our knowledge, in the hands of many Theosophists.

The Secret of Death, from the Sanscrit, and other poems, by Edwin Arnold, M. A. (Roberts Brothers, Boston.) Cloth $1.00. 45 pages are taken up by the “Secret of Death,” and scattered through the 252 pages are, here and there, other short pieces from Sanscrit. The first poem is a practical rendering of the episode in the Katha Upanishad where Nachiketas is devoted to Yama, the god of death, and learns high knowledge from him. The other Indian songs are: Rajah’s Ride, Bihari Mill song, Funeral song, Serpent Charmer’s song, Flour Mill song and a short discourse of Buddha held at Rajagriha, cast in the same mould as “The Light of Asia.”

India Revisited.—By Edwin Arnold, M. A. C. S. I. (Roberts Brothers, Boston, 1886.) Cloth $2.00, illustrated. This is Mr. Arnold’s account of his revisiting India after the lapse of some years. In prose he is as clear as he is enchanting in poetry. The illustrations are from photographs and lend a charm to the book. The reader’s interest is held to the last chapter; and fair justice is done to “his India,” which is not generally the method pursued by Englishmen who detail their travels in the mysterious land. On returning, his adieu declares that lakhs of true friends are left there among Hindus, and his heart roves from hut to hut, whispering “he knows and loves.”

Dogma and Ritual of High Magism.—By Eliphas Lévi, translated by a fellow of the Theosophical Society, is now in hand for publication as soon as may be convenient. It will be issued in two volumes, about 600 pages, and put at as low a price as possible, $5.00. The Path has taken charge of the issuing of the book, and will receive subscriptions for it. All the illustrations in the French edition will be reproduced.

A Fallen Idol.—By F. Anstey. This is a novel devoted to a plot in which Theosophy, Chelas, astral bodies, currents, and what not, figure on every page. It tells of the power and wanderings, the evil deeds and influence of a strong bad man’s shell, attached to an eastern idol. There is a German Chela included, and also a fraudulent message.

Theosophical Activities.

The American Theosophical Council.—In the July Theosophist, it was announced that the General Council had resolved to organize the American Branches upon a better and more permanent basis, than previously existed, and that instructions to postpone the Board of Control meeting had been sent.

The formal orders have arrived, and are in brief, that all the Branches here are to be formed into the American Council, which is to be the Western Section of the General Council, but subordinate to it, whereupon the Board of Control goes out of existence; all Branch presidents and the present members of the Board of Control are to be ex-officio members of this Council which the orders direct to be formed on call of the Board of Control as soon as possible after receipt of advices. Other members of the Council, to be selected from the whole body of American Theosophists, may be elected, and the Council is to meet in time to forward reports to the regular Council at Adyar in December.

This action is eminently wise, as the term Board of Control was misleading, inasmuch as the very foundation of the Society is democratic in its nature, and control savored to much of form, ceremonies, discipline, officers, secret reports and all the paraphernalia of an established church.

In all other respects the routine is unchanged by the orders. With 14 Branches and others contemplated, these great United States ought to stand in fair way of being soon theosophized.

Malden.—Members are working and studying. They enjoy advantages in having a few who thoroughly understand the subject.

New York.—The Aryan Theosophical Society meets regularly. Not many open meetings have occurred in August or July, but frequent private ones have been held, and the members are deeply in earnest. The library has received several additions, and the books are regularly used by members.

Rumors—are afloat that some very learned and distinguished theosophists from abroad will be here in the fall. If so—and we think our information is reliable—the whole host of newspapers, critics, and Conways, may expect to hear a few more final “last words on Theosophy.” Gentlemen of the opposition! the cycle runs its course, the terrible wheel of Karma turns round resistlessly, and you cannot stop it, astonishing as may seem to you to be the senility of people in running after Theosophy.

Rosicrucians.—The Society of the R. C. is being revived in Germany it is said, and theosophists are in it. Next month we will give a resumé of some of their ideas.

“A knot of ignorance binds all men’s hearts; this, action looses and God’s grace imparts.”—Hindi verse.

“Study all Scriptures written, near or far;

Worship all images and saints of earth; But if you do not study who you are, All your best actions are nothing worth.”—Sanscrit verse. OM!

No. 7.

Every period of soul is measured by time. The period of other souls indeed is measured by a certain time; but that of the first soul, since it is measured by time, is measured by the whole of time.—Proklos’ Elements of Theology.

Time, like a seven-wheeled, seven-naved car, moves on; His rolling wheels are all the worlds. His axle is immortality.—Atharva Veda.

THE PATH.

Vol. I. OCTOBER, 1886. No. 7.

The Theosophical Society, as such, is not responsible for any opinion or declaration in this magazine, by whomsoever expressed, unless contained in an official document.

Where any article, or statement, has the author’s name attached, he alone is responsible, and for those which are unsigned, the Editor will be accountable.

What is the “Theosophical Society”?

AN OPINION IN REGARD TO WHAT IT OUGHT TO BE. [BY A MEMBER.]

I am often asked by strangers who have heard some accounts of the doings of the Theosophists: What is the Theosophical Society, and what is its purpose? Some believe it to be a sect, in which no opinion is suffered to exist unless it is first sanctioned by certain “Headquarters” or “Boards of Control”; others believe it to be a school for occultism and witchcraft; others think that it is a new form of Buddhism, coming under some disguise to overthrow Christianity, while some of those who do not belong to the Christian church suspect it of being an effort to spread Christian doctrines among them by clothing them in some new and more acceptable form. Nearly everyone of such inquirers sees in the T. S. only a bug-bear, and there are all sorts of opinions except the right one prevailing about it.

To all such objections I can only answer by showing to them the printed “Rules of the Theosophical Society,” where under the head “Objects of the Society,” it says: “The Society represents no particular religious creed, interferes with no man’s caste, is entirely unsectarian and includes professors of all faiths.” This sounds so beautifully, that people who have been accustomed all their life to cling to creeds and dogmas and “recognized authorities” are unable to believe that it can be true. Moreover the objectors have heard of “Boards of Control,” of “Presidential Orders,” of “Official Organs,” etc., and all these things have such an air of sectarianism, that they seem to be hardly compatible with the spirit of freedom, so loudly proclaimed by the T. S. It is asked: What has a “Board of Control” to control? Who enforces obedience to presidential orders? Does the official organ promulgate the dogmas of the sect; and if not, what then is the use of these things? It seems therefore time that we should once more consider what the T. S. is, or what it ought to be.

It must be plain to every lover of truth, that, however great the progress may be, which modern civilization has made in regard to the material and temporal welfare of man, the world is still far from having attained physical, intellectual, moral and spiritual perfection. Disease and crime, suffering and death, poverty, tyranny and ignorance are still in existence, and although there are many organized bodies, whose purpose it is to do good and to cure the ills of humanity, still the majority of such bodies are hampered to a certain extent by old beliefs, usages, creeds and superstitions, their activity is not sufficiently free, because their opinions are not free; they may benefit a certain class of humanity, but not all mankind; they know perhaps a part of the truth, but not all of it; their charity extends over a small circle, but not over the whole world. The root of all evil is ignorance, with its children, superstition, fear, crime and disease; the only remedy against ignorance is to spread the knowledge of truth.

There have been at all times men and societies, willing to spread that which they believe to be the truth, by all means which were at their command, whether fair or foul; there have been people ready to force their opinions in regard to the truth upon others, by the power of the sword, the faggot, the rack and the fire; but the truth cannot be spread in this manner. Real knowledge of the good, the beautiful and the true can only be attained by obtaining the knowledge of self, and the knowledge of self must grow in every individual in the course of his development. It can no more be implanted by others or be forced upon another, than a tree be made to grow by pulling its trunk. The object of the true Theosophist is therefore to attain self-knowledge, and to employ the knowledge which he possesses, for the purpose of accomplishing the greatest good.

There is perhaps not a single country upon the face of the earth, in which may not be found a number of persons, who desire to obtain self-knowledge, to find the truth by means of a free and unrestricted investigation, and to employ their knowledge for the benefit of humanity. There are persons who desire to see true progress in the place of stagnation, knowledge in the place of accepted but still dubious opinions, wisdom in the place of sophistry, universal love and benevolence in the place of selfishness. Such men and women may be found here and there, and each one acts in the way he considers the best. Some work by means of the school, others by means of the pulpit; some teach science, others influence the sense of the beautiful and true by their works of art, others speak the powerful language of music; but the most advanced of these give an example to others by their own Christlike conduct in the affairs of every-day life.

The great majority of such persons, interested in the welfare of humanity, live isolated although they may be residing in crowded cities; for they find few who share their mode of feeling and thought and who have identical objects in view. They are often living in communities where little more but selfishness, the greed for money-making or perhaps bigotry and superstition are found. They are isolated and without the support of those who sympathize with their ideas; for although one universal principle unites all those who have the same object in view; still their persons are unknown to each other and they seldom find means for mutual intercourse and exchange of thought.

Now let us suppose that in each country a centre of communication were to be established, by means of which such persons could come into contact with each other, and that at each such centre a journal or newspaper were to be established, by means of which such persons could exchange their thoughts;—not a centre from which supreme wisdom was to be dispensed and from whence dogmas were to be doled out for the unthinking believers; but a centre through which the thought of the members of the society could freely flow; and we could then have an ideal “Theosophical Society.” Such a centre would resemble a central telephone station to which all the different wires extend, and it would require a trustworthy servant at the office to connect the wires and to attend to the external affairs connected with the affairs of the office; but if such a “telephone operator” would attempt to interfere with the messages running over the wires, and to assume an authority to say what kinds of opinions should be wired and what messages should be suppressed; if he were to assume the role of a dictator and permit only such messages to pass over the wires as would be in harmony with his own ideas; then the object of the centre of communication would come to nought; we would again have papal dictates and presidential orders in the place of liberty of thought and speech, and there would be an end of the object and purpose of the society.

But on the other hand, if every unripe mind were to be permitted to have his effusions printed at the expense of the society, and to teach things, which perhaps a few months afterwards, having learned to know better, he would be sorry to think that they had ever seen the light, such a proceeding would throw discredit upon the society and be moreover altogether impracticable.

Our “telephone operator” should therefore be a man possessed of the greatest circumspection and discrimination, and while he should never interfere with the expression of any opinion, no matter how much opposed the latter may be to his own opinion, he should at the same time be permitted to cut down the messages sent over his wires to certain limits and to present them, if necessary, in a more suitable form.

As regards the liberty of speech, it would be an absurdity if such a society were to attempt to prescribe to any of its members what kind of opinions or dogmas he should express; because whatever opinions he may pronounce, they could never be regarded as being the opinions of the society as a whole; for the society as such “represents no particular creed” and “is entirely unsectarian.” If in spite of this solemn assertion anyone chooses to believe that the opinions publicly expressed by a member of the society represent the creed of the society, such an unfortunate circumstance can only be deplored, but will do no serious harm. On the other hand if a “president” or “board of control” should attempt to preside over more important things than merely over the meetings of the members, and if a “board of control” would attempt to control the conscience and the opinions of the members, instead of merely exercising its control over the external affairs of the society; and if an “official organ” would attempt to postulate what ought and what ought not to be believed by the members of the society, such a proceeding would be in direct opposition to the spirit, the object and the purpose of that society, and in contradiction to the principles upon which it was founded; and while it should be the object of every lover of truth to assist the growth of a true “Theosophical Society,” and to maintain its purity of principle, it should also be his aim to suffocate in the germ everything that is opposed to liberty and freedom of speech.

I beg every member of the Theosophical Society to well consider these points, for upon their consideration and decision, depends the solution of the question, whether the Theosophical Society shall end in a farce, or whether it shall be the great movement which it was intended to be.

F. Hartmann.

Kemplen (Bavaria), Aug. 23, 1886.

Apollonius and the Mahatmas.

[READ BEFORE THE MALDEN BRANCH, T. S.]

The journey to India made by the great adept, Apollonius of Tyana, has a special interest for us modern students of occultism. The story of this journey, related in the life of Apollonius by Philostratus, has been held by many to be a fable, and Mr. Tredwell, in his laudable work, omits any account of it. To an earnest Theosophist, however, the internal evidence of the narration is too strong to be resisted, although it is told at third hand probably with the adornments which an accomplished Greek author thought needful for the requisite grace of style.

Apollonius may perhaps be said to have been the Master whose mission was to set the temples in order for the departure of the glorious classic era. Born in the same century as Jesus of Nazareth, nowhere did the teachings of the two, so far as it appears, come into open contact, although the fame of the former spread far and wide in Europe, Asia and Africa during his lifetime. It is said, however, that although no creed bears his name, his work in the world was nevertheless immense and his teachings have, in many unperceived ways, influenced millions of human beings down to the present day.

Apollonius was still a young man when he went to India, but even then he was famous for his wisdom. He had been sent, as a boy of fourteen years, to school in Tarsus by his wealthy father, but he did not like the ways of that city and he was allowed to remove to Aegæ, also in Sicily, where he studied the great philosophers and was specially drawn to the teachings of Pythagoras. At the age of sixteen he fully adopted the Pythagorean life and held firmly to it ever after, letting his hair grow long, eating no flesh, and drinking no wine, and wearing no clothing made of animal products. He took up his abode in the temple of Asclepius, and thousands were attracted thither by the wisdom of the wonderfully beautiful youth. Grown to manhood, he made a vow of silence and spoke not a word for five years. Then for a time he taught in Antioch. When asked how the wise man should treat questions of learning, he replied: “Like the law-giver. For the law-giver must make that, of whose truth he has convinced himself, into commandments for the multitude.”

He now conceived the idea of a journey to India to meet the wise men known as Brahmins and Hyrkanians. He afterwards told the Egyptian Gymnosophists that his thoughts were directed to them in his youth, but his teacher pointed out to him that in India lived the men who stood nearest the source of wisdom, and from whom the Egyptians themselves derived their light.

His seven disciples in Antioch had not the courage to undertake the journey with him, and he departed with two of his family servants, “one for writing rapidly and the other finely,” according to Philostratus. At Ninus he was joined by Damis the Ninivite. This young Assyrian was thenceforth his devoted disciple, accompanying him on all his many journeys throughout his long career. It is to Damis that we chiefly owe the detailed accounts of the doings of the Master thenceforward. We are thereby enabled to see Apollonius in his daily life; in his various deeds and actions, his familiar sayings recorded as he talks with his faithful companion about the common sights and occurrences around them. The picture is therefore exceptionally intimate, and the man himself is brought near to us as well as his divine teachings. When Damis was reproached for writing down such trifles about his master, and compared with a dog devouring the crumbs from a table, he replied: “When the gods are feasting they doubtless have servants who take care that no crumbs of ambrosia are lost.”

A year and eight months were spent in Babylon, where King Bardanus, who was a friend of wisdom, received Apollonius with great honors. Considerable intercourse was had with the Magi; he learnt something of them and also taught them something. Damis was forbidden to accompany him in his visits to them, but he said that Apollonius visited them at noon and at midnight. Once Damis asked “What are the Magi?” and was answered, “They are indeed wise, but not in everything.” The King became ill, and Apollonius spoke so much and so divinely about the soul that the monarch said to those around: “Apollonius not only relieves me of concern for the Kingdom, but also for Death.”

Apollonius, in departing, refused all gifts, but the King provided him with camels and all things needful for the journey. When the King asked what he would bring him from India he replied. “A joyful gift, O King! For if intercourse with the men there makes me wiser, I shall come back to thee better than I now am.”

Upon this the King embraced him and said: “May’st thou but come; for this gift is great.”

They crossed what they called the Caucasus mountains, separating India and Medea. May it not be that from this ancient designation we get the name of the Caucasian race, rather than from what is now known as the Caucasus? This would make the place of origin identical with that commonly ascribed to the Aryans.

Crossing the Indus they soon came to Taxila, which they called the capital of India. It is difficult to trace out their exact course, the present names of most geographical features being quite different from the designations given by Damis. It would probably require a thorough Occultist to tell just what places they did visit. King Phraotes was the ruler at Taxila, and in him Apollonius found an initiate. The latter was struck with the modest simplicity of the monarch’s surroundings on entering the palace, and inferred that he must be a philosopher. The King told Apollonius the course which a youth took who proposed to dedicate himself to the pursuit of Wisdom. When he had reached his 18th year he had to cross the Hyphasis river to those men who had attracted Apollonius to India. Beforehand, however, he had to make his intention publicly known, in order that he might be restrained in case he was not pure. To be pure one had to be without blemish in respect to father and mother, and moreover with an upright ancestry for three generations. If without fault in this respect the youth himself was then examined as to whether he had a good memory, whether he was naturally inclined to uprightness or would only have it appear so, whether given to drink or gluttony, of boastful habits, evil or foolish ways, whether obedient to father, mother and instructors, and finally if he had made no evil use of the bloom of his youth. “Since wisdom stands in great esteem here,” said the King, “and is honored by the Indians, it is of great moment that those who seek to devote themselves unto it should be carefully examined and made to undergo thousandfold tests.”

B.

(Concluded in November.)

Sufism,

Or Theosophy From the Standpoint of Mohammedanism.

A Chapter from a MS. work designed as a text book for Students in Mysticism. BY C. H. A. BJERREGAARD, Stud. Theos.

In Two Parts:—Part I, Texts; Part II, Symbols.

(Continued.)

PART II.—SYMBOLS.

The practical expounder and preachers of Sufism are the Dervishes, the monks of Islam.

Zaous Abou Add er-Rahman, of Persian origin, but born in Yemen, led the way. He had passed his early youth in the society of Zein el Abidin, the son of Hasan, and grandson of Ali, and the first of that family who in life and writing professed the mystical ideas and austere practices, which ever afterwards distinguished the race. Abou-Horeirah, the devoutest of Mohammed’s own companions, and Ebn Abbas were also his masters. He took up his abode at Mecca, the centre of religious feeling, and soon Zaous’ influence began to appear among the crowd of pilgrims from all parts of the Mohammedan empire; they began to imitate his long prayers, his fasts, and extreme poverty, and above all his open contempt for all worldly dignity and rank, and many adopted the peculiarity of his dress, the long and patched garment and the high woollen cap, both of which later became so characteristic of the Sufi.

One of his most distinguished followers was Hasan Yesar, like Zaous, of Persian origin, but born in Arabia, in Medinah. Having received his liberty (he was born after his mother had become a slave of Omm Salma, one of the numerous wives of the Prophet), he retired to Basra, on the Persian Gulf, a town known for its attachment to the family of Ali and their doctrines, and henceforth a stronghold of the ascetic sect. His life proved the truth and strength of his doctrines, and Basra was now their headquarters.

Malik Ebn Dinar, a Persian, and a slave by birth, known for his love of manual labor, poverty and humility, next appears as chief among the ascetics of his age.

Omar Abou Othman, was a disciple of Hasan Yesar and also an inhabitant of Basra. Hasan Yesar described him as one worthy of angels and prophets for preceptors and guides, one who never exhorted save to what he had first put in practice, nor deterred from anything except what he himself inviolably abstained from. He was a vigorous asserter of man’s free-will.

About the same time Omar Abou Durr at Coufa and Sofein Abou Abd Allah displayed similar examples of austerity and virtue, and so did Hammad Abou Ismail, son of the celebrated Abou Hanifah, Abd Allah Meroujï, and Mohammed Ebn es Semmak.

But whether at Mecca or at Basra, the various ascetics already mentioned, and the many not mentioned; whatever personal influence they exercised, and virtues they possessed, they did not form a particular and distinct association or brotherhood. No common rule united them, nor did they group themselves around any superior or chief, as yet.

But the next prominent man among them was not only a remarkable man as an ascetic, but also the father and founder of all the numerous Dervish family. His name was Fodheil Abou Ali Zalikani. He was born of Persian parents and spent his youth as a highway robber. One night he had scaled the walls of a house where the girl of whom he was enamored dwelt, and concealed on the roof, awaited the moment to descend and gratify his passion. But while thus occupied he heard a voice repeating the well-known verse of the Quran: “Is it not high time for those who believe to open their hearts to compunction?” “Lord, it is high time indeed,” replied Fodheil; and leaving the house, as well as his evil design, he retired to a half-ruined caravansarai not far off, there to pass the rest of the night. Several travellers were at the moment lodged in the caravansarai, and, concealed by the darkness, he overheard their conversation: “Let us start on our journey,” said one; and the others answered: “Let us wait till morning, for the robber Fodheil is out on the roads.” This completed the conversion of the already repentant highwayman. He advanced towards the travellers, and, discovering himself to them, assured them that henceforth neither they nor any others should have aught to fear from him. He then stripped himself of his weapons and worldly gear, put on a patched and tattered garment, and passed the rest of his life in wandering from place to place, in the severest penitence and in extreme poverty, sometimes alone, sometimes with numerous disciples, whom he took under his direction, and formed into a strict and organized brotherhood. But with all his austerity of life, his prolonged fasts and watchings, his ragged dress and wearisome pilgrimages, he preferred the practice of interior virtue and purity of intention to all outward observances, and used often to say that “he who is modest and compliant to others, and lives in meekness and patience, gains a higher reward by so doing than if he fasted all his days, and watched in prayer all his nights.” At so high a price did he place obedience to a spiritual guide, and so necessary did he deem it, that he declared: “Had I a promise of whatever I should ask in prayer, yet would I not offer that prayer save in union with a superior.” But his favorite virtue was the love of God in perfect conformity to his will, above all hope and fear. Thus when his only son—whose virtues resembled his father’s—died in early age, Fodheil was seen with a countenance of unusual cheerfulness; and being asked by his intimate disciple Ragi Abou Ali, afterwards Kadhi of the town of Rei, the reason therefor, he answered: “It was God’s good pleasure, and it is therefore my good pleasure also.” We must notice one more of his famous sentences: “Much is he beguiled who serves God from fear or hope, for this true service is for mere love;” and, speaking of himself: “I serve God because I cannot help serving Him for very love’s sake.”

Fodheil died in the year 187 of the Hegira. His disciple was Ibrahim Ebn Adhem, son of noble parents and also a Persian by birth, and he is an example upon the forbearance under injury and reluctance to have their right manifested, so prominent amongst the disciples of Fodheil.

After the death of Fodheil the supreme direction of the brotherhood was vested in Bishar el Hafi, a native of Meron and inhabitant of Bagdad. When young he had, like Fodheil, led a reckless life, till one day walking in the streets he saw written on a piece of paper, torn and trampled on by the feet of the passers-by, the name of God. He picked it up and, having cleaned it to the best of his ability, took it home and placed it out of the reach of further profanation. The same night he heard a voice saying to him; “Bishar, thou has honoured my name. I will accordingly render thy name honourable in this world and in that to come.” He awoke from sleep a changed man, and began a new life of penance and virtue. The name Hafi signifies barefoot. He walked barefooted. His greatest trial was from the veneration of man: “O God,” he used to say, “save me from this honour, the requital of which may perchance be confusion in another life.”

Our space forbids us to dwell upon the Egyptian ascetics who helped to lay the foundation for the future Sufism. We pass by them and dwell mainly with the Persian representatives.

About this time—the beginning of the fourth century—two events occurred of greatest importance in the history we are narrating. The Samanide princes had gained ascendency in the empire over the Abbaside Caliphs. All the princes of the Samanide race were remarkable for their piety and patronage of learning. Nasser Ebn Ahmed, signalized himself by his love of retirement and religious meditation. He founded an oratory at Bokhara which soon became the resort of the now numerous ascetics, and soon other similar institutions arose throughout the country and the dervishes of the East now took on them their permanent name and manner of life.

The other event which characterized this era was the outbreak of open heterodoxy among the ascetics. Hitherto they had concealed their tenets and practices, opposed as they were to the prevailing system, much after the fashion of Ali Zein el Abidin, grandson of the famous Ali, grand-master of the secret order:

After these ascetics had learned their strength from their union they began to take part in politics and worked zealously with that party that wished to overthrow the family and religion of Mohammed and place Ali and mysticism in their stead. They accordingly soon had martyrs in their ranks. Thus died at Bagdad the famous Hosain Abou Meghith el Halladj. To his school belonged the three giants of learning and piety: Abd-el-Kadir el Ghilani, Mohi ed Din Ebn-Aarabi el Moghrebi, and Omar Ebn el Faridh. We pen a few of his words:

He taught the freedom of the human will and wrote the following satire on the predestinarian system of Islam:

He it is who thus in his verse addresses God:

Halladj’s three famous disciples gave their names to the three principal brotherhoods among the Mohammedans, and their work remains to this day.

Abd-el-Kadir el Ghilani was a Persian by birth and resided at Bagdad. Nobody doubted that he was the Kothb of his time, and as such he announced himself in his ecstatic state, though ordinarily he strove to conceal himself under the veil of a mean and despicable appearance. He founded the order of the Qadiriyah which association counted in its ranks some of the greatest names among Eastern mystics and poets. The doctrine of the order was that of Hosein el Halladj, whom he taught the order to look upon as their master, though their doctrine was commonly veiled under a seemingly orthodox terminology. They subsist to this day and are counted among the most prominent.

M. D’hosson in his celebrated work on the Ottoman empire traces the origin of the Faquirs to the time of Mohammed in the following manner: In the first year of the Hegira, forty-five citizens of Mecca joined themselves to many others from Medina. They took an oath of fidelity to the doctrines of their Prophet, and formed a sect or fraternity, the object of which was to establish among themselves a community of property, and to perform every day certain religious practices in a spirit of penitence and mortification. To distinguish themselves from other Mohammedans, they took the name of Sufis. This name, which later was attributed to the most zealous partizans of Islam, is the same still in use to indicate any Muselman who retires from the world to study, to lead a life of pious contemplation, and to follow the most painful exercises of an exaggerated devotion. To the name of Sufi they added also that of Faquir, because their maxim was to renounce the goods of the earth, and to live in an entire abnegation of all worldly enjoyments, following thereby the words of the Prophet: “Poverty is my pride.” Following their example, Abu Bakr and Ali established, even during the lifetime of the Prophet and under his own eyes, religious orders, over which each presided, with Zikrs or peculiar religious exercises, established by them separately, and a vow taken by each of the voluntary disciples forming them. On his decease, Abu Bakr made over his office of president to one Salmann l-Farisi, and Ali to al-Hasann l-Basri, and each of these charges were consecrated under the title of Khalifah, or successor. The two first successors followed the example of the Khalifahs of Islam, and transmitted it to their successors, and these in turn to others, the most aged and venerable of their fraternity. Some among them, led by the delirium of the imagination, wandered away from the primitive rules of their society, and converted, from time to time, these fraternities into a multitude of religious orders. * * * It was about A. H. 49 (A. D. 766) that the Shaikh Alwan, a mystic renowned for his religious fervor, founded the first regular order of the Faquirs, now known as the Alwaniyah.

The Bastamiyah, the Nagshbandiyah, and the Bakhtashiyah descend from the original order established by Abu Bakr. All the others come from Ali.

THE FAQUIRS OR DERVISHES.

The Arabic word Faqir signifies poor, poor in the sense of being in need of mercy, poor in the sight of God. The Persian equivalent Darvish is derived from dar “a door”—those who “beg from door to door.”

The dervishes are, as stated before, the practical expounders of Mohammedanism. They are divided into two great classes, the ba Shara (with the law), or those who govern their conduct according to the principles of Islam: and the be Shara (without the law), or those who do not rule their lives according to the formal principles of any religious creed, although they call themselves Muslims. To the latter, the Sufis principally belong. These Faquirs are called either Azad, the free, or Majnub, the absorbed. The former shave their beards, whiskers, eyebrows, etc., and live a life of celibacy.

Every school and every brotherhood has its own distinctive teachings and technicalities, and its peculiar practices and observances, its saints and doctors, great men and founders.

A student will also readily discover a different character in Arabic and Persian Sufism. The Arabic being nearer to Christianity takes up much from it, but moulds it in its peculiar way; the Persian being nearer the traditions of Zoroaster and in immediate contact with Manechaism, naturally borrows from thence. Thus the “pantheistic” tendencies, such as Divine absorption, universal manifestation of the Deity under the seeming appearances of limited forms, the final return of all things to the unity of God, a tendency to regard matter as evil, the reprobation of marriage, etc.—these were ideas that rose from Persian soil, while the ideas of a radiant Divinity mediating between the supreme fountain-head of Being and the created world; of an all-prevading Spirit of love; of detachment from the world; of poverty, humility, etc., were more akin to Christian belief.

Still Saadis’ description applies to all: “The outward tokens of a dervish are a patched garment and a shaven head; and the inward signs, those of being alive in the spirit, and dead in the flesh:—‘not he who will sit apart from his fellow-creatures at the door of supplication with God; and, if he shall reject his prayer, will stand up in disobedience; or if a millstone come rolling down a mountain, he is not intelligent in the ways of providence, that would rise to avoid it.’

“The ritual of the Dervishes is gratitude and praise, worship and obedience, contentment and charity, and a belief in the unity and providence of God, having a reliance on and being resigned to his will, confident of his favour, and forbearant of all: whosoever is endowed with these qualifications is in truth a dervish, notwithstanding he be arrayed in gorgeous apparel: whereas, the irreligious and hypocritical vainboaster, sensualist, and whoremonger, who turn days into nights in his slavish indulgences, and converts nights into days in his dreams of forgetfulness; who eats whatever falls in his way, and speaks whatever comes uppermost, is a profligate, though clothed in the sackcloth of a saint.——”

The dervishes differ, says A. Vambery,120 from each other only by the manner in which they demonstrate their enthusiasm; still the more we penetrate towards the East, the greater is the purity with which they have been preserved. In Persia the dervishes play a much more important part than in Turkey, and in Central Asia, isolated as it has been from the rest of the world for centuries, this fraternity is still in full vigor, and exercises a great influence upon society.

According to A. Vambery, the Bektashi, Mevlevi, and Rufai orders are principally found in Turkey; the Kadrie and Djelali in Arabia; the Oveisi and the Nurbakhchi Nimetullahi in Persia; the Khilali and Zahibi in India, and the Nakishbendi and Sofi (a recent order) in Central Asia.

According to Th. P. Hughes121 the following are the chief orders of Faqirs met with in North India: (1) The Naqshbandia, the followers of Khwajah Pir Mohammed Naqshband, and are a very numerous sect; they usually perform the Zikr-i-Khafi122 or the silent devotion. (2) The Qadiria sprung from the celebrated Sayyid Abdul Qadir, surnamed Pir Dustagir, whose shrine is at Bagdad. They practice both forms of the Zikr. Most of the Sunni Moulavis of the north-west frontier of India are members of this order. In Egypt it is most popular among the fisherman. (3) The Chishtia are followers of Banda Nawaz, whose shrine is at Calburgah; they are partial to vocal music, for the founder of the order remarked, that singing was the food and support of the soul. They perform the Zikr-i-Jali. (4) The Jalalia founded by Sayyid Jalal-ud-din of Bokhara; they are met with in Central Asia. Religious mendicants are often of this order. (5) The Sarwardia are popular in Afganistan and comprise many learned men. They are the followers of Hasan Bisri of Basra, near Bagdad. These five are all ba-Shara Faqirs.

The be-Shara Faqirs are very numerous. The most popular order is that of the Mudaria, founded by Zinda Shah Murdar of Syria, whose shrine is at Mukanpur, in Oudh. From these have sprung the Malang Faqirs who crowd the bazaars of India. They wear their hair matted or tied in a knot. The Rafia order is also a numerous one in some parts of India. They practice the most severe discipline and mortify themselves by scourging.

The secrets of the dervish orders cannot be learned. An initiation is described in Lane’s Society is the Middle Ages and the following is another.

The following is the account of the admission of Tewekkul Bêg into the order of the Qadiriyahfaqirs, one of the four most prominent ones, by Moolla Shah, a Saint and poet of some celebrity, who died in the year of the Hegira 1072 (1661-62 of our era), at Lahore, where his shrine was reared by the Princess Fatima, daughter of Shah-Jihan. Tewekkul is himself the narrator:

“Having been introduced, by means of Akhônd Mollâ Mohammed Say’d into the intimate circle of Mollâ Shah, my heart through frequent intercourse with the Sheikh was filled with a burning desire of reaching the sublime goal [of the mystical science], and I no longer found sleep by night nor rest by day * * I passed the whole of that night without being able to shut my eyes, and betook myself to reciting a hundred thousand times the one hundred and twelfth chapter of the Qoran. I accomplished this in several days. It is well known that in this chapter of the Qoran the great Name of God is contained, and that through the power of that Name, whoever recites it a hundred thousand times may obtain all that he desires. I conceived then the wish that the Master should bestow his affection upon me. And, in fact, I convinced myself of the efficacy of this means, for hardly had I finished the hundred thousandth recitation of this chapter of the book of God, when the heart of the Master was filled with sympathy for me, and he gave order to Senghin Mohammed, his vicar, to conduct me on the following night to his presence. During that whole night he concentrated his mind upon me, while I directed my meditation upon my own heart; but the knot of my heart was not unloosed. So passed three nights, during which he made me the object of his spiritual attention, without any result being manifested. On the fourth night Mollâ Shâh said, ‘This night Mollâ Senghin and Sâlih Bêg, who are both very susceptible to ecstatic emotions, will direct their whole mind upon the neophyte.’ They obeyed this order, while I remained seated the whole night, my face turned towards Mecca, at the same time concentrating all my mental faculties upon my own heart. Towards daybreak, a little light and brightness came into my heart, but I could distinguish neither form nor color. After morning prayer I presented myself, and the two persons I have just mentioned, before the Master who saluted me and asked them what they had done to me. They replied: ‘Ask him, himself.’ Then, addressing me, he told me to relate to him my impressions. I said that I had seen a brightness in my heart; whereupon the Sheikh became animated, and said to me: ‘Thy heart contains an infinity of colors, but it is become so dark that the looks of these two crocodiles of the infinite ocean [the mystic science] have not availed to bestow upon it either brightness or clearness; the moment is come when I myself will show thee how it is enlightened.’ With these words he made me sit in front of him, while my senses were, so to speak, inebriated, and ordered me to reproduce within me his appearance. Then, having blindfolded me, he bade me concentrate all my mental faculties upon my heart. I obeyed, and in an instant, by the divine favor and the spiritual assistance of the Sheikh, my heart was opened. I saw then within me something like a cup, turned upside down; and this object having been turned up again, a feeling of illimitable happiness filled my whole being. I said to the Master, ‘This cell, where I am sitting before you—I see a faithful reproduction of it within me, and it seems as if another Téwekkul Bêg were seated before another Mollâ Shâh.‘ He answered, ‘It is well; the first vision which presents itself to thy view is the figure of the Master.’ * * * He next bade me uncover my eyes, which I did, and I then saw him, by the material organ of vision, seated in front of me. Again he made me bandage them, and I perceived him by my spiritual vision, seated in front of me just the same. Full of wonder I cried out, ‘O my Master, whether I look with my bodily eyes or my spiritual vision, it is always you that I see.’ Meanwhile I saw advance towards me a dazzling figure, and upon my telling the Master of it, he bade me ask the apparition its name. In my spirit I put to it that question, and the figure answered me by the voice of the heart, ‘My name is Abd Alkâdir Glilâny.’ I heard this answer by my spiritual ear. The Master then advised me to pray the Saint to give me his spiritual help and succor. I made this petition; and the apparition said to me, ‘I had already granted to thee my spiritual assistance; hence it is that the knots of thy heart have been loosed.’ Full of deep gratitude, I imposed on myself the obligation of reciting every Friday night the whole Qoran in honor of this great Saint, and for two whole years I never neglected this practice. Mollâ Shâh then said, ‘The spiritual world has been shown to thee in all its beauty: remain there seated, effacing thyself completely in the marvels of this unknown world.’