text:
The New International Encyclopædia/King, Jonas

KING, (1792-1869). An American missionary. He was born at Hawley, Mass., July 29, 1792, educated at Williams College and Andover Seminary, and engaged in home mission work. To prepare himself for the foreign field he studied Arabic in Paris under De Sacy. From 1822 till 1828 he held the position of professor of Oriental languages in Amherst College, but during the years 1823-25 traveled in the East distributing Bibles and preaching. In 1828 he went to Greece, where his missionary labors at first met with much success. Later he aroused the hostility of the Greek Church, was several times tried on charges of reviling religion and the Church, and even brought in danger of his life. He died at Athens, May 22, 1869. His miscellaneous works in Greek were published at Athens (1859-60). In English he wrote The Oriental Church and the Latin (1865). Consult his life by F. E. H. H. (New York, 1879).


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 сирота (P сироты M, F) orphan.

система system. Вся ваша система организации работ никуда не годится. Your entire system of work is no good at all. — Вы ещё не знакомы с нашей системой воспитания. You still aren't acquainted with our educational system. • type. Это тракторы новой системы. These tractors are of a new type. • order. Я вам объясню по какой системе надо раскладывать эти бумаги. I'll explain to you what order to put these papers in. □ метрическая система metric system. □ У него есть система в работе. He works systematically.

систематический systematic.

ситец (-тца) calico print. Она купила пять метров ситца на платье. She bought five meters of calico print for a dress. • chintz. Это кресло можно наново обить ситцем. You can reupholster this chair with chintz.

ситечко (P -чки, -чек) strainer.

сито sieve. Просейте муку через сито. Run the flour through a sieve.

ситро lemonade.

ситцевый calico. Ситцевая занавеска делит комнату на две части. Calico drapes divide the room in two.

скажу See сказать.

сказать (скажу, скажет; pct of говорить) to tell. На этот раз он сказал правду. This time he told the truth. — Скажите прямо, без обиняков, что вы об этом думаете? Don't mince words. Tell me what you think of it. — (no dur) Не забудьте сказать, чтобы вам принесли горячей воды. Don't forget to tell them to bring you some hot water. — (no dur) Позвоните им и скажите, что вы придёте в пять часов. Call them and tell them you'll be there at five o'clock. — (no dur) По правде сказать, я ему не поверил. To tell the truth, I didn't believe him. • to say. (no dur) Что вы сказали? What did you say? — (no dur) Где это сказано? Who said so? — (no dur) Я его считаю не очень умным, человеком, чтобы не сказать больше. To say the least, he's not very intelligent. — (no dur) Нельзя сказать, чтобы его ответ меня вполне удовлетворил. I can't say that his answer satisfied me fully. • to talk. (no dur) Знаете поговорку: умей сказать, умей и смолчать. You know the saying: You've got to know when to talk and when to keep quiet. — Он долго говорил, но очень мало сказал. He talked for a long time but said very little. □ к слову сказать by the way. (no dur) К слову сказать, я так и не добился объяснения. By the way, I was never able to get an explanation. так сказать so to speak. (no dur) Это у нас, так сказать, парадная комната. This is, so to speak, our best room. □ (no dur) Скажите, пожалуйста, где тут почта? Will you please tell me where the post office is? • (no dur) Скажите, какая бесстрашная! Just see how brave she is! • (no dur) *Вот так дела! Нечего сказать! It's a fine mess, I must say! • (no dur) Слушайтесь меня; вы мне за это ещё спасибо скажете. Take it from me; some day you'll thank me for it. • (no dur) *Шутка сказать, бороться против такого противника. It's no push-over to fight an enemy like that. • (no dur) Вы мне это приготовьте, скажем, к субботе. Get this ready for me for Saturday.

сказка fairy tale. Это одна из моих любимых сказок. This is one of my favorite fairy tales. — Всё это выходит совсем как в сказке. It all turns out just like a fairy tale. • story. Вы мне сказок не рассказывайте! Stop telling me stories! □ *Ну, завели сказку про белого бычка! Oh, you're still singing the same old song.

скала (P скалы) rock. Осторожно причаливайте, здесь скалы. Be careful rnoving the boat, there are rocks here. • cliff. С той скалы открывается прекрасный вид. There's a beautiful view from this cliff.

скамейка bench.

скамья (P скамьи, скамей, скамьям) bench. Принесите скамью подлиннее, и мы все на ней усядемся. Get a long bench and we'll all sit on it. □ Мы с ним друзья со школьной скамьи. He and I have been friends since our school days. • Кончилось тем, что он попал на скамью подсудимых. He finished up by being put on trial.

скандал scandal. Он был замешан в каком-то скандале. He was mixed up in a scandal. • row. Слушайте, не устраивайте скандалов. Look here, don't start a row. • disgrace. Это настоящий скандал! That's a real disgrace! • shame. Вот скандал! Я опять забыл ему позвонить. What a shame! I forgot to call him again! □ Осторожнее, не то нарвётесь на скандал. Be careful or you'll get yourself in trouble.

скарлатина scarlet fever.

скатерть (P -рти, -ртёй F) tablecloth. Положите чистую скатерть на стол. Put a clean tablecloth on the table. □ *Мы вас не задерживаем — скатертью дорога! We're not holding you back. Good riddance!

скачки (-чек P) horse races.

скважина crack. □ замочная скважина keyhole.

скверный (sh -рна) bad. Он скверный человек. He's a bad man. "nasty. Какая скверная погода! What nasty weather! □ "Ну, как дела?" "Скверно!" "How are things?" "Bad!" • По-моему, с ним очень скверно поступили. I think they gave him a dirty deal.

сквозной through. У него сквозная рана. His wound goes clear through. — Это сквозной поезд? Is this a through train? □ С этой улицы через сквозной двор вы можете пройти прямо к нашему дому. You can go to our house from this street through the yard.

сквозняк (-а) draft. Вы сидите на сквозняке. You're sitting in a draft.

сквозь (/with a/) through. Я еле протиснулся сквозь толпу. I could hardly get through that crowd. — Кровь просочилась сквозь повязку. The blood soaked through the bandage. □ *Он как сквозь землю провалился. He disappeared into thin air.

скидка discount. У нас скидок нет: цены твёрдые. We don't have any discounts, just one price. • reduction. Участники экскурсии могут получать билеты со скидкой. Excursion members can get a reduction on their tickets.

скирда (P скирды, скирд, скирдам) rick. Тут ещё много неубранных скирд хлеба. There are lots of ricks of grain here which haven't been put away. □ скирда сена haystack.

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


text: Talk:The Inner Life: volume II

title: Talk:The Inner Life: volume II


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Cook, Frederick Albert

COOK, Frederick Albert, American physician and explorer: b. Callicoon Depot, Sullivan County, N. Y., 10 June 1865. He was graduated at New York University 1890. He was surgeon of the Peary Arctic expedition 1891-92, and of the Belgium Antarctic expedition 1897-99. He has received the decoration of the Order of Leopold, the gold medal of the Belgian Royal Society and the silver medal of the Belgian Royal Geographical Society. He claimed to have reached the North Pole on 21 April 1908. Upon his return in 1909 “from the Pole” — as he said — he was received with great honors at Copenhagen, Denmark, and then, hastening to New York, he at once began making large sums of money by his writings and lectures. Doubts soon began to arise as to the veracity of his story — his companion on the journey he made in 1906 to Mount McKinley, Alaska, made an affidavit that no ascent of that mountain was made as described in Cook's narrative, and the Eskimos who were supposed to have been his companions on the dash to the Pole told the Peary party that they had spent the winter of 1907-08 at Jones Sound. This was followed by the sworn statement of a man who had been hired to prepare for Cook a set of observations for latitudes and longitudes on his journey to the Pole, to send with his other data to the University of Copenhagen for examination. In the meantime Cook disappeared from view, and the learned scientists at Copenhagen decided that his proofs were not sufficient; but the sale of his book ‘My Attainment of the Pole’ (1909; 3d ed., 1913), was very large. In 1913-14 he lectured in England. He has written articles for the leading magazines, describing life in the polar regions, and a valuable account of his Antarctic experiences and scientific observations, entitled ‘Through the First Antarctic Night’ (1900); ‘To the Top of the Continent’ (1906); ‘North Pole and Bradley Land,’ with E. S. Balch (1913).


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 скирдование. □ Они сейчас занимаются скирдованием сена. They're stacking hay now.

склад (/g -у/) warehouse. В порту построено много новых складов. Many new warehouses were built at the docks. • yard. Он работает на дровяном складе. He works in a lumber yard. • make-up. *Он человек совсем особого склада. He's got an unusual make-up. □ военный склад military warehouse. железнодорожные склады railroad warehouses. на складе in stock. У нас таких сапог на складе нет, но мы можем их заказать. We don't have such boots in stock, but we can order them for you. □ Наша фабрика работает уже на склад. Our factory is now manufacturing for stock.

складка crease. Смотрите, какие у него прямые складки на брюках! Look at the sharp creases in his trousers! • pleat. На ней была юбка в складку. She was wearing a pleated skirt. • tuck. Сделайте складку на рукавах, они слишком длинные. Put a tuck in the sleeves; they're too long, • fold. В складках занавесок набралось много пыли. There's lots of dust in the folds of the curtains.

складной folding. Захватите с собой складной стул. Take a folding chair along with you. — Я могу вам дать складную кровать. I'll be able to give you a folding cot.

складывать (dur of сложить) to fold. Я не умею складывать простынь. I don't know how to fold the bedsheets.

скобка parenthesis.

сковорода (P сковороды, сковород, сковородам) frying pan.

сковородка frying pan. Попросите у хозяйки сковородку, и мы сделаем яичницу. Ask the landlady for a frying pan so we can fry some eggs.

скользкий (sh -льзка) slippery. Ступеньки скользкие, будьте осторожны. Be careful; the steps are slippery. □ скользко slippery. Сегодня очень скользко. It's very slippery out today. □ *По-моему, он стоит на скользком пути. In my opinion, he's heading for trouble.

сколько how much. Сколько стоит билет в Москву? How much is a ticket to Moscow? — Вам сколько хлеба? How much bread do you want? — Сколько у вас денег? How much money have you got on you? — Подсчитайте, пожалуйста, сколько это составляет. Will you please see how much this adds up to? • how many. Сколько человек было на собрании? How many people were there at the meeting? — По скольку рублей выходит на брата? How many rubles is it per person? — Сколько ещё километров до Москвы? How many more kilometers is it to Moscow? □ Сколько вам лет? How old are you? • Сколько сейчас времени? What's the time now? • Сколько бы он ни старался — всё равно ничего из этого не выйдет. No matter how hard he tries nothing will ever come of it. • Сколько бы вы мне ни доказывали, мне трудно с этим согласиться. I can't see it that way in spite of all your arguments. • Сколько ни думай, лучшего не придумаешь. No matter how you try, you won't think up a better way. • Сколько раз я ему объяснял, а он всё не понимает. I've explained it to him many times and he still doesn't understand. • Мы все, сколько нас ни есть, вас в этом поддержим. We'll support you to a man. • *Грибов здесь — сколько душе угодно. You can find all the mushrooms you want here. • *Сколько лет, сколько зим! It's been a long time!

скопировать (pct of копировать).

скорлупа (P скорлупы) shell. □ ореховая скорлупа nutshell. яичная скорлупа eggshell.

скорость (P) speed. Он поставил рекорд скорости на двести метров. He made a new speed record for two hundred meters. — Какая здесь разрешается предельная скорость? What's the speed limit here? — Шофёр развил предельную скорость. The driver went at top speed. □ малая скорость slow freight. Дешевле будет послать багаж малой скоростью. It'll be cheaper to ship this by slow freight. □ Переведите машину на вторую скорость. Put the car into second.

скорый (sh -ра) prompt. Я рассчитываю на скорый ответ. I'm counting on a prompt reply. □ в скором времени before long. Она собирается в скором времени сюда приехать. She intends to come here before long. на скорую руку in a slipshod fashion. *Платье было сделано на скорую руку. The dress was made in a slipshod fashion. скорая помощь ambulance. Вызвали уже скорую помощь? Have they already called the ambulance? скорее sooner. Чем скорее вы приедете, тем лучше. The sooner you come the better. скоро soon. Завтрак скоро будет готов. Breakfast will be ready soon. — Заведующий скоро придёт. The manager will be here soon. — Говорят, что вы скоро уезжаете. They say you're leaving soon. — Прямым сообщением мы туда скоро доедем. We'll be there soon if we take the through train. • in the near future. Я скоро им напишу. I'll write them in the near future. □ Его скорее всего можно застать вечером. You're best able to catch him evenings. • Он скорее похож на англичанина, чем на американца. He looks more like an Englishman than an American. • До скорого (свидания)! See you soon. • Торопись — не торопись, скорее скорого не сделаешь. Hurry as much as you hke; you still won't do it any faster.

скосить (скошу, скосит; pct of косить) to mow. Мы уже скосили весь луг. We have already mowed the whole meadow.

скот (-а) livestock. □ крупный рогатый скот cattle. мелкий рогатый скот sheep and goats. рогатый скот horned livestock.

скошу See скосить.

скрипач (-а M) violinist.

скрипачка violinist P.

скрипка violin. Она хорошо играет на скрипке. She plays the violin well. □ *Он здесь играет первую скрипку. He's the key man here.

скромный (sh -мна) modest. Все знают, что он очень скромный человек. Everybody knows that he's a very modest person. — Как это, при его скромном заработке, он ухитряется покупать так много книг? How can he manage to buy so many books on his modest income?


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Frill-Lizard

FRILL-LIZARD, a large Australian lizard (q.v.) (Chlamydosaurus kingi) of the family Agamidæ, so called in allusion to the erectile collar or ruff about its neck. This broad membrane is supported on each side of the neck by slender rods from the hyoid bone which extend to its margin like the sticks of a fan; and like a fan it may be folded close against the shoulders or spread until it stands up all around the back part of the head; but this erection can be accomplished only by opening the mouth widely, and always accompanies a stretching apart of the jaws. The exterior of the frill is of the general grayish-brown of the animal's body, but its interior or front is scarlet; and when it is suddenly spread in the face of an enemy behind the open hissing mouth, it is calculated to astonish and frighten the attacker in no small degree, as seems to be the purpose of the structure. These lizards are six to eight inches long plus a long, lashlike tail. They spend their time on trees and logs, searching for the beetles which constitute their principal food; and have an extraordinary manner, when in haste, of rising and running upon their hind legs alone. Consult Kent, W. Saville, ‘The Naturalist in Australia’ (London 1897).


text: Talk:The Inner Life: volume I

title: Talk:The Inner Life: volume I


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/King, Jonas

KING, Jonas, American missionary and writer: b. Hawley, Mass, 29 July 1792; d. Athens, 22 May 1869. After graduation at Williams College and Andover Seminary, he turned to home missionary work; but, after a while he determined to prepare himself for the foreign mission field. To this end he went to Paris to study Arabic under Dr. De Sacy, one of the great Arabic scholars of his day. On his return he entered Amherst College as professor of Oriental Languages (1822-28). Resigning his position at Amherst he went as a missionary to Greece, where he was soon in trouble with the Greek Church which ordered his arrest on the charge of profaning things sacred. He seems to have heen very aggressive and to have had very little tact in the prosecution of his work, which promised well in the beginning but which virtually went to pieces toward the end. He was a man of scholarly attainments and wrote in both English and Greek. His miscellaneous works in the latter language were published in Athens. His best-known work in English, ‘The Oriental Church and the Latin’ was published in 1865. An account of his life and work was published in New York in 1879, the writer signing himself F. E. H. H.


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 □ скромно modestly. Он ведёт себя очень скромно. He behaves very modestly.

скрою See скрыть.

скроюсь See скрыться.

скрывать (dur of скрыть) to hide. Они долго скрывали раненого лётчика. They hid the wounded flier for a long time. • to conceal. Вы что-то от меня скрываете! You're concealing something from me! □ Он не умеет скрывать своих чувств. He always wears his heart on his sleeve.

-ся to hide. Где он всё это время скрывался? Where was he hiding all this time? • to be concealed. За его словами что-то скрывается. There's another meaning concealed behind his words.

скрыть (скрою, скроет; ppp скрытый; pct of скрывать) to conceal. Я не мог скрыть своего возмущения. I couldn't conceal my indignation. • to keep from. Мы скрыли от неё известие о смерти сына. We kept the news of her son's death from her.

-ся to hide. Вот вы куда скрылись! So that's where you're hiding. • to disappear. Он быстро скрылся за углом. He quickly disappeared around the corner.

скука bore. Какая скука вечно делать одно и то же! What a bore, doing the same thing over and over again! • boredom. Он пишет, что он там умирает от скуки. He writes I he's dying of boredom there.

скула (P скулы) cheekbone.

скульптор sculptor.

скульптура sculpture.

скумбрия mackerel.

скупой (sh скуп, -па, скупо, -ы) stingy. Его считают скупым. He's considered stingy. • miserly. Её дед скупой старик. Her grandfather is a miserly old man. • sparing. Он скуп на похвалы. He's sparing with his praise. □ скупо sparingly. Припасы были нам отпущены очень скупо. They gave us supplies very sparingly.

скучать to be bored. Мне некогда скучать. I don't have time to be bored. • to be lonely. Я скучаю по своим друзьям. I'm lonely for my friends. □ Вы, небось, скучаете по дому. You certainly are homesick.

скучный ([-šn-]; sh -чна) dull. Я так и не дочитал этой скучной книги. I never finished that dull book. • boring. Он удивительно скучный собеседник. He's extremely boring to talk with. • tedious. Нам ещё осталось проделать несколько скучных формальностей. We still have to undergo a few tedious formalities. □ скучно dull. Ему там не будет скучно? Won't it be dull for him there? • boring. Он рассказывал длинно и скучно. His telling of the story was long and boring. □ Мне что-то скучно сегодня. I feel a little blue today.

скушать (pct of кушать) to eat. Скушайте ещё кусочек пирога. Eat another piece of pie.

слабительное (AN) laxative.

слабость (F) weakness. У каждого есть свой слабость. We all have our weaknesses. — Он проявил недопустимую слабость в этом деле. He showed inexcusable weakness in this matter. — Балет — моя слабость. Ballet is my weakness. • soft spot. По-моему, вы питаете к нему слабость. I think you have a soft spot in your heart for him. □ Значит, вы чувствуете больше слабость по утрам? So you feel very weak in the morning, is that it?

слабый (sh -ба) weak. У неё слишком слабый голос для этого большого зала. Her voice is too weak for such a large hall. — Вам крепкого или слабого чаю? Do you want strong or weak tea? — Человек с таким слабым характером не годится для этого дела. A man of such weak character is no good for this business. — Ваши аргументы показались мне весьма слабыми. Your arguments seem rather weak to me. — Шахматист он слабый. He's a weak chess player. — Это его слабая струнка. That's his weak point. — Это слабое место в нашей работе. This is the weak link in our work. • delicate. У вас слабое здоровье; вы должны беречь себя. You're in delicate health and must take care of yourself. • mild. Этот табак для меня слишком слабый. This tobacco is too mild for me. • poor. Результаты получились слабые. The results turned out to be poor. • feeble. Слабая шутка! That's a feeble joke! □ слабо weakly. Он говорил слабо и неубедительно. He spoke weakly and without persuasion. • poorly. Бригада работала слабо. The brigade worked poorly.

слава glory. Красная армия окружена теперь ореолом славы. The Red Army has covered itself with glory. • fame. Он, наконец, добился славы. He finally achieved fame. • reputation. У него слава прекрасного работника. He has a reputation as a good worker. — Одна слава, что учёный, а в этом деле ничего не понимает. He has the reputation of being a scientist, all right, but actually he doesn't know anything about the field. □ слава богу thank God. Слава богу, приехали. Thank God we've arrived! — Не ори! Слава богу, не глухие. Don't yell; thank God, we're not deaf! □ Честь ему и слава! Hats off to him! • Приходите, угостим на славу. Come on over; we'll give you a real feast. • *Добрая слава лежит, а дурная по дорожке бежит. A good reputation is never heard, but a bad name is broadcast far and wide.

славный (sh -вна) glorious. У этого города славное прошлое. This city has a glorious past. • nice. Он очень славный паренёк. He's a very nice little fellow.

сладкий (sh -дка; cf слаще, сладчайший) sweet. Крымский виноград очень сладкий. Crimean grapes are very sweet. • sweetened. Вы пьёте чай сладкий или вприкуску? Do you drink tea already sweetened, or do you sip it through lump sugar? □ сладко sweetly. Он сладко улыбался, но ничем нам не помог. He smiled sweetly, but didn't help us at all. □ Он так сладко спал, что жаль было его будить. He was sleeping so blissfully it was a pity to wake him. • Ему от ваших похвал не слаще. Your praise doesn't make it any easier for him.

сладкое (AN) dessert. На сладкое вы можете получить кисель или фрукты. For dessert you can have kissel or fruit. — Дайте мне, вместо сладкого, стакан чаю. Give me a glass of tea instead of dessert. • sweets. Я предпочитаю солёное сладкому. I prefer salty things to sweets. □ сладкое блюдо dessert. Тут большой выбор сладких блюд. There's a wide choice of desserts here.

слать (шлю, шлёт) to send. Он шлёт вам поклон. He sends you his regards. — Он слал ей письмо за письмом. He sent her one letter after another.

слаще See сладкий.

слева (/cf левый/) on the left. Поставьте лучше стол


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/Foreword to American edition

FOREWORD TO AMERICAN EDITION

The long-promised second series of Adyar Talks has at length been published after many unavoidable delays. After careful consideration it was thought best to abandon the use of the title The Hidden Life and to issue the volume as The Inner Life, Volume II. Some of these informal talks to the classes at Adyar have already appeared in The Theosophist, but many of the chapters contain facts which have not been published before, such as “Mars and its Inhabitants.” The manuscript of The Hidden Side of Things, which promises to be a book of some seven hundred pages, is ready for the printer, and we are only waiting an opportune time to publish it.

C. W. LEADBEATER

ADYAR, June 29, 1911


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/Author's note

AUTHOR'S NOTE

While the President was absent from Adyar on a tour through England and America last year, it fell to my lot to take charge of the daily meetings of the students here. In the course of that time I delivered many informal little addresses and answered hundreds of questions. All that I said was taken down in shorthand, and this book is the result of those notes. In a number of cases it happened that what was said on the roof at the meetings was afterwards expanded into a little article for The Theosophist or The Adyar Bulletin; in all such cases I reprint the article instead of the stenographic report, as it has had the advantage of certain corrections and additions. Necessarily a book of this sort is fragmentary in its nature; necessarily also it contains a certain amount of repetition; though this latter has been excised wherever possible. Many of the subjects treated have also been dealt with in my earlier books, but what is written here represents in all cases the result of the latest discoveries in connection with those subjects. The subjects have been classified as far as possible, and this volume is the second series, containing the nine remaining sections.

C. W. LEADBEATER

ADYAR, July, 1911

title: The Inner Life, v. II/Author's note


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/First Section

FIRST SECTION

THE AFTER-DEATH LIFE

title: The Inner Life, v. II/First Section


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/I

THE THEOSOPHIST AFTER DEATH WHEN a member of the Theosophical Society finds himself upon the astral plane after having permanently laid aside his physical body, it will be well for him to begin by taking stock, as it were — by seeing what is his position, what is the life before him, and how he can make the best use of it. He will do wisely to consult on these matters some friend who has had wider experience than himself, and in practice this is what dead members almost always do. Remember that when the member enters upon the astral plane after death he is not making his first appearance there. Usually he has already done much work there during the sleep of the physical body, and is therefore on familiar ground. As a general rule his first instinct is to make straight for our beloved President, which is probably quite the wisest thing for him to do, as there is no one better qualified to give him sound advice. So many possibilities open out in astral life that one cannot lay down any general rule, though a man cannot go far wrong who tries to make himself useful to those around him. There are plentiful opportunities for learning, as well as for work, and the new-comer will have to decide how he can best apportion his time between them. The astral world will not be altered for the convenience of members of the Theosophical Society, any more than the physical world is, and they, like every one else, will have to encounter what happens to be there. If a drunken man is walking along a certain road, those who happen to pass along that road will meet him, whether they are members or not, and the astral plane does not, in this respect, differ from the physical. The members, being instructed in regard to the rules governing life on astral plane, ought to know better than the uninstructed how to deal with such unpleasant beings as happen to come in their way, but they are just as likely as any one else to meet them. They have, however, probably met such beings many times while functioning upon the astral plane during life, and there is no more reason to be afraid of them than before; indeed, meeting them then upon their own level, it will be far easier to come to an understanding with them and to give them such help as they are able to receive. There is practically no difference between the condition of the ordinary person and the psychic after death, except that the psychic, being somewhat more familiar with astral matters, would feel more at home in his new environment. To be psychic means to be able to bring through into the physical consciousness something of the wider life; it is therefore in the condition of the physical vehicle that there is an inequality between the psychic and the ordinary person, but when the physical is dropped that inequality no longer exists.

title: The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/I


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/II

THE RELATION OF THE DEAD TO EARTH A dead man is often aware of the feelings of the family that he has left. If you try to think exactly what it is that can be manifested through the astral body, you may easily see how much he is likely to know. He does not necessarily follow in detail all the events of the physical life; he does not necessarily know what his friends are eating, or in what occupations they are engaged. But he knows whether they are glad or sorry, and he is at once aware of such feelings as love or hate, jealousy or envy. When a drunkard hovers about a gin-shop it is only by partial materialisation (that is, by drawing round himself a veil of etheric matter) that he can draw in the odour of the alcohol. He does not smell it in at all the same sense as we do; and that is why he is always anxious to force others into the condition of drunkenness, so that he may be able partially to enter their physical bodies and obsess them, so that through those bodies he can once more directly experience the taste and the other sensations which he so ardently desires. In the astral body there are exact counterparts of the eyes and the nose and the mouth, but we must not therefore think that the astral man sees with those eyes, hears with those ears, or can smell or taste through the nose or mouth. All the matter of the astral body is constantly in rapid motion from one part of it to another, so that it is quite impossible for any astral particles to be specialised in the same way as certain nerve-ends are specialised in the physical body. The senses of the astral body act not through special organs, but through every particle of the body, so that with astral sight a man can see equally well with any part of his body, and can see all around him simultaneously, instead of only in front of him. He could grasp at the astral counterpart of the hand of a living man, but as the two hands would pass through one another without any sense of contact, there would be no object in his doing so. It is, however, perfectly possible for him to materialise a hand which, though invisible, can be felt just as the ordinary physical hand can be, as may often be observed at séances. There are three subdivisions of the astral plane from which it may be possible (though not desirable) for disembodied men to see and follow events taking place upon the physical plane. On the lowest sub-plane the man is usually occupied in other ways, and concerns himself little with what takes place in the physical world, except, as is explained in our literature, when he haunts vile resorts; but, in the next subdivision, he has very close touch with the physical plane, and may quite probably be conscious of a good many things in connection with it, though what he sees is never the physical matter itself, but always the astral counterpart of it. In rapidly diminishing degree this consciousness is also possible as he ascends through the next two sub-planes; but beyond that, it would be only by the special effort to communicate through a medium that contact with the physical plane could be gained, and from the highest sub-plane even that would be extremely difficult. The extent of a man's power to see and follow physical events from the astral plane is determined by his character and disposition, as well as by the stage of development to which he has attained. Most of those whom we ordinarily call good people, living out their lives to their natural end, sweep through all these lower stages before awakening to astral consciousness, and they are therefore unlikely to be conscious of anything physical at all. Some few, however, even of these are drawn back into touch with this world by great anxiety about some one left behind. Less developed persons have in their composition of the matter of these lower sub-planes, and are therefore much more likely to be able to follow to some extent what goes on upon earth. Most of all is this the case if they are people whose whole turn of thought is essentially of this world — who have in them little or nothing of spiritual aspiration or of high intellect. This downward tendency grows with the using, and a man who is at first happily unconscious of what lies below him may be so unfortunate as to have his attention attracted to it, frequently by selfish manifestations of the grief of the survivors. He then exerts his will to keep himself from rising out of touch with this life to which he no longer belongs; and in such a case his power of seeing earthly things increases for a time, and then he suffers mentally when he presently finds such power slipping from him. Such suffering is entirely due to the irregularity introduced into the astral life by his own action, for it is absolutely unknown in the ordinary and orderly evolution after death. If it is complained that in this way the departed does not see the physical world exactly as it really is, we must answer that neither the departed nor we on this plane ever see the physical world as it really is at all, for we (or most of us) see only the solid and liquid portions thereof, and are altogether blind to the far vaster gaseous and etheric parts; while the departed does not see the physical matter at all, nor even the whole astral counterpart of it, but only that portion of the latter which belongs to the particular sub-plane upon which he is at the time. The only man who gets anything like a comprehensive view of affairs is he who has developed etheric and astral sight while still alive in the physical body. Another difficulty in the way of the disembodied is that he by no means always recognises with any certainty the astral counterpart of the physical body even when he sees it. He usually requires considerable experience before he can clearly identify objects, and any attempt which he makes to deal with them is liable to be very vague and uncertain, as is often seen in haunted houses where stone-throwing, trampling, or vague movements of physical matter take place. This power of the identification of objects is thus largely a question of experience and knowledge, but it is little likely to be perfect unless he has known something of such matters before death. A correspondent writes to ask whether a dead man can enjoy the astral counterpart of a play at a theatre, and whether there will be room for him there if the building is already full of people. Certainly a theatre full of people has its astral counterpart, which is visible to dead people. The play, however, is not likely to afford them any enjoyment, since they cannot see the costumes and the expression of the actors at all as we see them, and the emotions of these actors, being only simulated and not real, make no impression upon the astral plane. Astral bodies can and constantly do interpenetrate one another fully, without in the least injuring one another. If you will think for a moment you will see that this must be so. When you sit next to any person in a railway carriage or in a tram-car your astral body and his must necessarily interpenetrate to a very large extent. There is not the slightest difficulty in such interpenetration, since the astral particles are enormously farther apart in proportion to their size even than physical particles are. At the same time they seriously affect one another as far as their rates of vibration are concerned, so that to sit in close proximity to a person of impure, jealous or angry thought is exceedingly prejudicial. A dead friend can, therefore, quite easily enter a theatre which is full of people — more especially as the people are seated upon the ground or the platforms, while the astral entity is far more probably floating about in the air. The man who commits suicide runs away from school before the appointed lesson is learnt; he is guilty of the great presumption involved in taking into his own hands a decision which should be left to the working of the Great Law. The consequences of so great a rebellion against nature are always of a momentous character. They are certain to affect the next life, and quite probably more lives than one. The circumstances surrounding a suicide immediately after death are the same as they would be for the victim of an accident, since both of them arrive upon the astral plane with equal suddenness. But there is the enormous difference that the man, who dies by accident, not expecting death, is thrown into a condition of unconsciousness and usually passes through the lowest sub-plane without knowing anything of its varied unpleasantness. The suicide, on the contrary, has acted deliberately, and is generally painfully aware of much that is horrible and repugnant to him. He cannot be saved from the sights and feelings which he has brought upon himself; but he may often be helped to understand them, and may be inspired with patience, perseverance and hope by the good offices of some kind friend. While fully recognising that suicide is a mistake, and a most serious one, we are not called upon judge our brother who commits that mistake. There is a wide difference between different cases, and it is impossible for us to know the various factors which enter into each, although every one of them is duly taken into account in the working of the law of eternal justice. In trying to estimate the conditions of a man's life on the astral plane after death, there are two prominent factors to be considered — the length of time which he stays upon any particular sub-plane and the amount of his consciousness upon it. The length of a man's stay upon any sub-plane depends, as has been said, upon the amount of matter belonging to that sub-plane he has built into himself during earth-life. But the amount of consciousness that a person will have upon a given sub-plane does not invariably follow precisely the same law. Let us consider an extreme example of possible variation, in order that we may grasp its method. Suppose a man has brought over from his past incarnation tendencies requiring for their manifestation a large amount of the matter of the lowest sub-plane, and has in his present life been fortunate enough to learn in his earliest years the possibility and the necessity of controlling these tendencies. It is improbable that such a man's efforts at control would be uniformly and entirely successful; but if they were, the substitution of finer for grosser particles would progress steadily though slowly. This process is at best a gradual one, and it might well happen that the man died before it was half completed. In that case there would undoubtedly be enough matter of the lowest sub-plane left in his astral body to ensure him no inconsiderable residence there; but it would be matter through which in this incarnation his consciousness had never been in the habit of functioning, and, as it could not suddenly acquire this habit, the result would be that the man would rest upon that sub-plane until his share of its matter was disintegrated, but would be all the while in a condition of unconsciousness — that is, he would practically sleep through the period of his sojourn there, and so would be entirely unaffected by its many disagreeables. It will be seen that both these factors of post-mortem existence — the sub-plane to which the man is carried and the degree of his consciousness there — depend not in the least on the nature of his death, but upon the nature of his life, so that any accident, however sudden or terrible, can scarcely affect them. Nevertheless, there is reason behind the familiar old prayer of the Church: “From sudden death, good Lord, deliver us;” for though a sudden death does not necessarily affect the man's position upon the astral plane in any way for the worse, at least it does nothing to improve it, whereas the slow wasting away of the aged or the ravages of any kind of long-continued disease are almost invariably accompanied by a considerable loosening and breaking up of the astral particles, so that when the man recovers consciousness upon the astral plane, he finds some at any rate of his chief work there already done for him. The great mental terror and disturbance which sometimes accompany accidental death are in themselves a very unfavourable preparation for the astral life; indeed, cases have been known in which such agitation and terror persisted after death, though that is happily rare. Still, the popular desire to have some time in which to prepare for death is not a mere superstition, but has a certain amount of reason at the back of it. Naturally, to anyone who is leading the Theosophical life it will make but little difference whether the transition from the physical plane to the astral comes slowly or quickly, since he is all the time doing his best to make as much progress as possible, and the object before him will remain the same in either case. To sum up then: it seems clear that death by accident does not necessarily involve any lengthy residence on the lowest level of the astral plane, though it may in one sense be said slightly to prolong such residence, since it deprives the victim of the opportunity of burning out the particles belonging to that level during the sufferings of a lingering disease. In the case of young children it is exceedingly unlikely that in their short and comparatively blameless young lives they will have developed much affinity for the lowest subdivisions of astral life; indeed, as a matter of practical experience they are hardly ever to be found in connection with that sub-plane at all. In any case, whether they die by accident or disease, their life on the astral plane is a comparatively short one; the heaven-life, though much longer, is still in reasonable proportion to it, and their early reincarnation follows as soon as the forces which they have been able to set in motion during their short earth-lives work themselves out, precisely as we might expect from our observation of the action of the same great law in the case of adults. Nothing that is likely to be done in ordinary life to his physical corpse need make any difference whatever to the man living on the astral plane. I am obliged to make these two reservations because, in the first case, outside of ordinary life there are certain horrible magical rites which would very seriously affect the condition of the man on the other plane, and in the second, although the state of the physical corpse need not make any difference to the real man, it nevertheless sometimes does, by reason of his ignorance or foolishness. Let me endeavour to explain. The length of a man's astral life after he has put off his physical body depends mainly upon two factors — the nature of his past physical life, and his attitude of mind after what we call death. During his earth-life he is constantly influencing the building of matter into his astral body. He affects it directly by the passions, emotions and desires which he allows to hold sway over him; he affects it indirectly by the action upon it of his thoughts from above, and of all the details of his physical life (his continence or his debauchery, his cleanliness or his uncleanliness, his food and his drink) from below. If, by persistence in perversity along any of these lines, he is so stupid as to build for himself a coarse and gross astral vehicle, habituated to responding only to the lower vibrations of the plane, he will find himself after death bound to that plane during the long and slow process of that body's disintegration. On the other hand if, by decent and careful living, he gives himself a vehicle mainly composed of finer material, he will have very much less post-mortem trouble and discomfort, and his evolution will proceed much more rapidly and easily. This much is generally understood, but the second great factor — his attitude of mind after death — seems often to be forgotten. The desirable thing is for him to realise his position on this little arc of his evolution — to learn that he is at this stage withdrawing steadily inward towards the plane of the true ego, and that consequently it is his business to disengage his thought as far as may be from things physical, and fix his attention more and more upon those spiritual matters which will occupy him during his life in the heaven-world. By doing this he will greatly facilitate the natural astral disintegration, and will avoid the sadly common mistake of unnecessarily delaying himself upon the lower levels of what should be so temporary a residence. Many people, however, simply will not turn their thoughts upwards, but spend their time in struggling with all their might to keep in touch with the physical plane which they have left, thus causing great trouble to anyone who may be trying to help them. Earthly matters are the only ones in which they have ever had any living interest, and they cling to them with desperate tenacity even after death. Naturally, as time passes on, they find it increasingly difficult to keep hold of things down here, but instead of welcoming and encouraging this process of gradual refinement and spiritualisation they resist it vigorously by every means in their power. The mighty force of evolution is eventually too strong for them, and they are swept on in its beneficent current, yet they fight every step of the way, thereby not only causing themselves a vast amount of entirely unnecessary pain and sorrow, but also seriously delaying their upward progress. Now, in this ignorant and disastrous opposition to the cosmic will a man is much assisted by the possession of his physical corpse as a kind of fulcrum on this plane. He is naturally in close rapport with it, and if he is so misguided as to wish to do so, he can use it as an anchor to hold him down firmly to the mud until its decomposition is far advanced. Cremation saves the man from himself in this matter, for, when the physical body has been thus properly disposed of, his boats are literally burned behind him, and his power of holding back is happily greatly diminished. We see therefore that, while neither the burial nor the embalming of a corpse can in any way force the ego to whom it once belonged to prolong his stay upon the astral plane against his will, either of those causes is a distinct temptation to him to delay, and immensely facilitates his doing so if he should unfortunately wish it. No ego of any advancement would allow himself to be detained upon the astral plane, even by a proceeding so foolish as the embalming of his corpse. Whether his physical vehicle was burned or allowed to decay slowly in the usual loathsome manner, or indefinitely preserved as an Egyptian mummy, his astral body would pursue its own line of quick disintegration entirely unaffected. Among the many advantages gained by cremation the principal are that it entirely prevents any attempt at partial and unnatural temporary reunion of the principles, or any endeavour to make use of the corpse for the purposes of the lower magic — to say nothing of the many dangers to the living which are avoided by its adoption.

title: The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/II


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/III

CONDITIONS AFTER DEATH Students often ask whether for the ordinary man a subconscious or an active existence is more desirable on the astral plane. This depends upon the nature of the active existence, and upon the stage of development of the ego concerned. The ordinary man dies with a certain amount of unexhausted desire still in his composition, and this force must work itself out before it is possible for him to sink into a subconscious condition. If the only activity possible for him is that of the lower desires, it is obviously better for him that nothing should be allowed to interfere with his sinking into comparative unconsciousness as soon as possible, since any new karma that he makes is little likely to be of an advantageous kind. If, on the other hand, he is sufficiently developed to be able to be of use to others on the astral plane, and especially if he has already been in the habit of working there during sleep, there is no reason why he should not usefully employ the time of his enforced sojourn there, though it would be inadvisable to set in motion new forces which would lengthen that sojourn. Those who are working under the direction of the pupils of the Masters of Wisdom will naturally avail themselves of their counsel, since they have had much experience along these lines, and can in turn consult others of still wider knowledge. The astral life may be directed by the will, just as the physical life may be, always within the limits prescribed in each case by karma — that is to say, by our own previous action. The ordinary man has little will-power or initiative, and is very much the creature of the surroundings which he has made for himself, on the astral plane as on the physical; but a determined man can always make the best of his conditions and live his own life in spite of them. What has, after all, been caused by his will can gradually be changed by his will, if time permits. A man does not rid himself of evil tendencies in the astral world any more than he would in this life, unless he definitely works to that end. Many of the desires which are so strong and persistent in him are such as need a physical body for their satisfaction, and since he has that no longer, they often cause him acute and prolonged suffering; but in process of time they wear themselves out, they become as it were atrophied, and die down because of this impossibility of fulfilment. In the same way the matter of the astral body slowly wears away and disintegrates as the consciousness is gradually withdrawn from it by the half-unconscious effort of the ego, and thus the man by degrees gets rid of what ever holds him back from the heaven-world. But the worst of his trouble is that the man is generally not alive to the necessity of getting rid of the evil which detains him. It is obvious that if he realises the facts of the case and gives his mind to the work, he can greatly expedite both the processes referred to the above. If he knows that it is his business to kill out earthly desires, and to withdraw into himself as quickly as may be, he will earnestly set himself to do these things; instead of which he usually in his ignorance broods over the desires and so lengthens their life, and clings desperately to the grossest particles of astral matter as long as he possibly can, because the sensation connected with them seems nearest to that physical life for which he is so passionately longing. Thus we see why one of the most important parts of the work of the invisible helpers is to explain facts to the dead, and also why even a merely intellectual knowledge of Theosophical truths is of such inestimable value to a man. The dead man when he first arrives upon the astral plane by no means always realises that he is dead, and even when that fact comes home to him it does not follow that he at once understands how the astral world differs from the physical. In the physical world man is the slave of a number of imperious necessities; he must have food and clothing and shelter; in order to procure these he must have money; and in most cases in order to obtain money he must do some kind of work. All this is so much a matter of course to us down here that the man who is set free from this slavery finds it difficult for a long time to believe that he is really free, and in many cases he continues unnecessarily to impose upon himself fetters which he has in reality cast aside. So we sometimes see the newly dead trying to eat — sitting down to or preparing for themselves wholly imaginary meals, or building for themselves houses. I have actually seen a man in the summer-land building a house for himself stone by stone, and even though he made each of these stones for himself by an effort of his thought, he did not yet grasp the fact that he might just as well have made the whole house for himself, with the same amount of trouble, by a single effort of the same kind. He was gradually led to see that, by the discovery that the stones had no weight, which showed him that his present conditions differed from those to which he had been used on earth, and so led him to investigate further. In the summer-land men surround themselves with landscapes of their own construction, though some avoid that trouble by accepting ready-made the landscapes which have already been constructed by others. Men living on the sixth sub-plane, upon the surface of the earth, find themselves surrounded by the astral counterparts of physically existing mountains, trees and lakes, and consequently are not under the necessity of manufacturing scenery for themselves; but men upon the higher subplanes, who float at some distance above the surface of the earth, usually provide themselves with whatever scenery they desire, by the method that I have described. The commonest example of this is that they construct for themselves the weird scenes described in their various scriptures, and therefore in those regions we constantly find ourselves in presence of clumsy and unimaginative attempts to reproduce such ideas as jewels growing upon trees, and seas of glass mingled with fire, and creatures which are full of eyes within, and deities with a hundred heads and arms to correspond. In this way, as a consequence of ignorance and prejudice during their physical life, many men do a great deal of valueless work when they might be employing their time in the helping of their fellows. To the man who has studied Theosophy and therefore understands these higher planes, one of their pleasantest characteristics is the utter restfulness and freedom which comes from the absence of all these imperious necessities which make a misery out of physical life. The dead man is the only absolutely free man, free to do whatever he wills and to spend his time as he chooses, free therefore to devote the whole of his energies to helping his fellows.

title: The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/III


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/IV

ANIMAL OBSESSION We are familiar with the idea that an ego on its way down into reincarnation may sometimes be drawn aside from its course and indefinitely delayed at astral levels by the attraction of the group-soul of some kind of animal with whose characteristics it is in too close affinity. We know that the same affinity sometimes seizes upon a soul upon the astral plane after death, and detains it in very intimate association with an animal form, and also that as the result of gross cruelty it is possible to be karmically linked to an animal, and to suffer most horribly with it. All this was described by Mrs. Besant as follows, in a letter to an Indian paper, which was reproduced in The Theosophic Gleaner, vol. XV, page 231: “The human ego does not reincarnate in an animal, for reincarnation means the entering into a physical vehicle which thereafter belongs to and is controlled by the ego. The penal connection of the human ego with an animal form is not reincarnation; for the animal soul, the proper owner of the vehicle, is not dispossessed, nor can the human ego control the body to which it is temporarily attached. Nor does the human ego become an animal, nor lose its human attributes, while undergoing its punishment. It does not have to evolve up again through the successive lower stages of humanity, but on being set free at once takes the grade of human form to which its previous evolution entitles it. (See the cases of Jada Bharata, and of the Rishi's wife set free by the touch of Rama's feet — cases which show that the popular idea that the man becomes a stone or an animal is erroneous.) “The facts are these. When an ego, a human soul, by vicious appetite or otherwise, forms a very strong link of attachment to any type of animal, the astral body of such a person shows the corresponding animal characteristics, and in the astral world — where thoughts and passions are visible as forms — may take the animal shapes. Thus, after death, in Pretaloka the soul would be embodied in an astral vesture resembling, or approximating to, the animal whose qualities had been encouraged during earth-life. Either at this stage, or when the soul is returning towards reincarnation, and is again in the astral world, it may in extreme cases be linked by magnetic affinity to the astral body of the animal it has approached in character, and will then, through the animal's astral body, be chained as a prisoner to the animal's physical body. Thus chained, it cannot go onwards to Svarga if the tie be set up while it is a Preta; nor go onwards to human birth if it be descending towards physical life. It is truly undergoing penal servitude, chained to an animal; it is conscious in the astral world, has its human faculties, but it cannot control the brute body with which it is connected, nor express itself through that body on the physical plane. The animal organisation does not possess the mechanism needed by the human ego for self-expression; it can serve as a jailor, not as a vehicle. Further the animal soul is not ejected, but is the proper tenant and controller of its own body. Shri Shankaracharya hints very clearly at this difference between this penal imprisonment and becoming a stone, a tree or an animal. Such an imprisonment is not reincarnation, and to call it by that name is an inaccuracy; hence, while fully conversant with the above facts, I should always say that the human ego cannot reincarnate as an animal, cannot become an animal. This is not the only experience a degraded soul may have in the invisible world, of which hints may be found in the Hindu Shastras, for. . . the statements made are partial and very incomplete. “In cases where the ego is not degraded enough for absolute imprisonment, but in which the astral body is strongly animalised, it may pass on normally to human re-birth, but the animal characteristics will be largely reproduced in the physical body — as witness the `monsters' who in fact are sometimes repulsively animal, pig-faced, dog-faced, etc. Men, by yielding to the most bestial vices, entail on themselves penalties more terrible than they for the most part realise, for nature's laws work on unbrokenly and bring to every man the harvest of the seeds he sows. The suffering entailed on the conscious human entity thus cut off for the time from progress and from self-expression is very great, and is of course reformatory in its action; it is somewhat similar to that endured by other egos, who are linked to bodies human in form, but without healthy brains — those we call idiots, lunatics, etc. Idiocy and lunacy are the results of vices other in kind from those that bring about the animal servitude above explained, but the ego in these cases also is attached to a form through which he cannot express himself.” These instances are the explanation (or at least a part of the explanation) of the widely-spread belief that a man may under certain circumstances reincarnate in an animal body. In Oriental books, what we should call three stages of one life are quite commonly spoken of as separate lives. It is said that when a man dies to the physical plane he is reborn at once on the astral plane — meaning simply that his specially and wholly astral life begins then; and in the same way what we should describe as the passing into the heaven-life is called a death on the astral plane and a rebirth at the higher level. This being so, it is easy to understand that one of the abnormal cases above mentioned might be described as `rebirth as an animal,' although it is not at all what we should mean by such a term if we employed it in Theosophical literature. In recent investigations our attention has been drawn to a type of case differing somewhat from either of the above in that the link with the animal is intentionally made by the human being, in order to escape from something which he feels to be far worse. No doubt this type also was known to the ancients, and forms one of the classes referred to in the tradition of animal incarnations. Let me endeavour to explain it. When a man dies, the etheric part of his physical body is withdrawn from the denser part, and shortly afterwards (usually within a few hours) the astral breaks away from the etheric, and the man's life on the astral plane is begun. Normally the man is unconscious until he has freed himself from the etheric, and so when he awakens to a new life it is that of the astral plane. But there are some people who cling so desperately to material existence that their astral vehicles cannot altogether separate from the etheric, and they awaken still surrounded by etheric matter. The etheric body is only a part of the physical, and is not in itself a vehicle of consciousness — not a body in which a man can live and function. So these poor people are in a very unpleasant condition, suspended as it were between two planes. They are shut out from the astral world by the shell of etheric matter which surrounds them, and at the same time they have lost the physical sense-organs by which alone they can come fully into touch with the world of ordinary earth-life. The result is that they drift about, lonely, dumb and terrified, in a thick and gloomy fog, unable to hold intercourse with the denizens of either plane, glimpsing sometimes other drifting souls in their own unfortunate positions, yet powerless to communicate even with them, incapable of joining them or of arresting their aimless wandering as they are swept on and engulfed in the rayless night. Now and again the etheric veil may part sufficiently to permit one glance into lower astral scenes, but that is rarely encouraging, and indeed is often mistaken for a glimpse into hell; sometimes for a moment some familiar earthly object may be half-seen — usually from passing contact with a strong thought-image; but such rare and tantalising liftings of the fog only make its darkness the more soul-shaking and hopeless when it shuts down again. All the while the poor soul cannot realise that if he would but let go his frenzied grasp on matter he would slip at once (through a few moments of unconsciousness) into the ordinary life of the astral plane. But it is just that feeling that he cannot bear — the feeling of losing even the miserable half-consciousness that he has; he clings even to the horrors of this grey world of all-embracing fog rather than let himself sink into what seems to him a sea of nothingness and complete extinction. Occasionally, as the result of wicked and blasphemous teaching on earth, he fears to let himself go lest he should fall into hell. In either case, his suffering, his hopelessness and utter dreariness are usually extreme. Out of this unpleasant but self-imposed predicament there are several ways. There are members of our band of invisible helpers who devote themselves specially to seeking out souls who are in this painful condition, and trying to persuade them to let themselves sink out of it; and there are also many kindly people among the dead who take this up as a sort of branch of astral slum work. Sometimes such efforts are successful, but on the whole few of the victims have faith and courage enough to let go their hold on what to them is life, poor apology though it be. In process of time the etheric shell wears out, and the ordinary course of nature reasserts itself in spite of their struggles; and sometimes in sheer despair they anticipate this result, deciding that annihilation is preferable to such a life, and so recklessly letting themselves go — the result being an overwhelming but pleasant surprise to them. In their earlier struggles, however, there are some who are so unfortunate as to discover unnatural methods of reviving to some extent their touch with the physical plane instead of sinking into the astral. They can do this readily through a medium, but usually the medium's `spirit-guide' sternly forbids them access. He is quite right to do so, for in their terror and their great need they are often utterly unscrupulous, and they would obsess and even madden the medium, fighting as a drowning man fights for life; and all absolutely uselessly, since the eventual result could only be to prolong their sufferings by strengthening that material part of which most of all they should get rid. Occasionally they contrive to seize upon some one who is unconsciously a medium — some sensitive young girl, usually; but they can be successful in such an attempt only when the ego of the young girl has weakened his hold on his vehicles by allowing the indulgence of undesirable thoughts or passions. When the ego's relations with his vehicles are normal and healthy he cannot be dispossessed by the frantic efforts of such poor souls as we have been describing. An animal, however, has no ego behind him, though he has a fragment of a group-soul which may be said to stand for him in the place of an ego. The hold of this fragment upon his vehicles is by no means what that of an ego would be, and so it comes to pass that what for the moment we may call the `soul' of the animal can be dispossessed much more easily than that of a man. Sometimes, as I have said, the human soul wandering in the grey world is unfortunate enough to discover this, and so in his madness he obsesses the body of an animal, or if he cannot quite drive out the animal soul he contrives to gain partial control, so as to share the tenement to some extent with the rightful owner. In such a case he is once more in touch with the physical plane through the animal; he sees through the animal's eyes (often a very remarkable experience) and he feels any pain inflicted upon the animal; in fact, so far as his own consciousness is concerned, he is the animal for the time being. An old and respected member of one of our English Branches related that he had received a visit from a man who came to ask for advice under peculiar circumstances. The visitor was a man who gave the impression of having seen better days, but he had fallen into such abject poverty that he was compelled to take any work that offered, and thus it happened that he had become a slaughter-man at a huge abattoir. He declared that he was absolutely unable to execute his loathsome task, because when he prepared to slaughter the creatures he was constantly checked by cries of heart-rending anguish, and by voices which said: “Have mercy upon us! Do not strike, for we are human beings entangled with these animals, and we suffer their pain.” So, since he had heard that the Theosophical Society occupied itself with unusual and uncanny matters, he came to it to ask for advice. No doubt this man was somewhat clairaudient, or perhaps simply sensitive enough to catch the thoughts of these poor creatures who had associated themselves with the animals, and these thoughts naturally symbolised themselves to him as audible cries for mercy. No wonder he was unable to continue his occupation. This may well give pause to the devourer of flesh, to the man who calls the murder of animals `sport,' and most of all to the vivisector; the man who kills or tortures an animal may be inflicting unspeakable suffering upon a human being.

I have little doubt that the possibility for a material-minded man of this uncanny blunder is at least part of the rationale of the belief of various tribes that certain creatures must never be killed “lest one should unawares be dispossessing the spirit of an ancestor." For the man who thus entangles himself with an animal cannot abandon that animal's body at will; even if he learnt enough to make him desire to withdraw, he could do so only gradually and by considerable effort, extending probably over many days. It is usually only at the death of the animal that he is set free, and even then there remains an astral entanglement to shake off. After the death of the animal such a soul sometimes struggles to obsess another member of the same herd, or indeed any other creature whom he can seize in his desperation. I have noticed that animals obsessed or semi-obsessed by human beings are often shunned or feared by the rest of the herd, and indeed they are themselves often half-maddened by anger and terror at the strangeness of the thing and at their own helplessness. The animals most commonly seized upon seem to be the less developed ones — cattle, sheep and swine. More intelligent creatures, such as dogs, cats and horses, would presumably not be so easily dispossessed — though my attention was once drawn to a peculiarly horrible instance in which a Catholic priest had in this way attached himself to a cat. Then there is the well-known case of the monkey of Pandharpur, who betrayed so curious a knowledge of Brahmana ceremonies. But in most cases the obsessing soul has to be satisfied with what he can get, for the effort to overpower even the more stupid beasts usually taxes his powers to the utmost. This obsession of an animal seems to be the modern substitute for the awful life of the vampire. In the time of the fourth root-race, men who had a mad clinging to material life sometimes contrived to maintain a low and unspeakably horrible form of it in their own physical bodies by absorbing living blood from others. In the fifth race that happily seems no longer to be possible, but people of the same type occasionally fall into this snare of animal obsession — bad enough, indubitably, but still not so utterly gruesome and disgusting as vampirism. So even in its very worst and lowest aspects the world is improving! I have known of isolated cases of two other types of animal connection; one in which a wicked dead person was in the habit of temporarily seizing the body of a certain animal for specific evil purposes, and another in which an Oriental magician had, as an act of revenge for an insult to his religious faith, mesmerically linked his unhappy victim to an animal form after death. This could be done only if there existed in the victim some weakness through which such a magician could seize upon him, and if he had intentionally done something which gave him a karmic hold upon him. Normally neither of these cases would be at all possible. All obsessions, whether of a human or an animal body, are an evil and a hindrance to the obsessing soul, for they temporarily strengthen his hold upon the material, and so delay his natural progress into the astral life, besides of course making all sorts of undesirable karmic links. This grey life, like almost all other unpleasant possibilities connected with the life after death, can come only as the result of ignorance of the real conditions of that life. The more we learn of life and death, the more emphatic appears the duty of making every effort to spread the knowledge of Theosophy, for it becomes ever clearer and clearer that in that knowledge is life and happiness and progress for all.

title: The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/IV


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/V

INDIVIDUALISED ANIMALS

When an individualised animal dies he has a happy astral life of considerable length, during which he usually remains in the immediate neighbourhood of his earthly home and in the closest touch with his especial friend and protector — able to see and enjoy the society of his friend as fully as ever, though himself invisible to the latter, his memory of the past being of course just as perfect as it was on earth. This will be followed by a still happier period of what has sometimes been called dozing consciousness, which will last until in some future world the human form is assumed. During all this time he is in a state analogous to that of a human being in the heaven-world, though at a somewhat lower level. He creates his own surroundings, even though he may be but drowsily conscious of them, and they will undoubtedly include the presence of his earth-friend in his very best and most sympathetic mood. For every entity which comes into connection with it, whether only just entering upon human evolution or preparing to pass beyond it, the heaven-world means the highest bliss of which that entity is, at his level, capable.

title: The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/V


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/King, Samuel Archer

KING, Samuel Archer, American aëronaut and scientist: b. Philadelphia, 1828; d. 1914. At the age of 21 he began making balloons in which he took a great interest. This led him to make ascensions himself two years later at Philadelphia. His interest in the matter created interest in others, so that balloon ascensions became features of expositions, traveling shows and other affairs in which many people were collected together. King himself sometimes made ascensions at such places, notably at the World's Columbian Exposition (Chicago 1893). Between this date and his ascensions at the Centennial Exposition in 1876 much had been done by himself and others of his followers to increase the general interest in the navigation of the air. King led the way in the scientific study of the means of air navigation and in the photographing of objects, especially towns and cities, from the air.


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/VI

LOCALISATION OF STATES The idea of location applies to the sub-planes of the astral, but only to a limited extent. Matter of all the stages undoubtedly surrounds us here on the surface of the earth, and the living man, employing his astral body during the sleep of the physical, comes into touch with them all simultaneously, and is able to receive impressions from them all. That is, if I, using my astral body during sleep, look at another living man's astral body, I see the whole of it, including of course matter of every sub-plane. But in the case of the average dead man, there has been a rearrangement of the matter of his astral body, consequent upon the proceedings of what is commonly called the desire-elemental, and broadly speaking only one type of astral matter is available to receive impressions. What we usually call `sight' on the astral plane is not really sight at all, for that word implies the use of an organ specialised to receive certain vibrations. Astral cognition is arranged on an entirely different scheme. It has often been said that a man can `see' with any part of his astral body — that is, every particle of that body is capable of receiving impressions from without and transmitting them to the consciousness within. But every particle is not capable of receiving every possible impression. For example, I became cognizant of the lowest kind of astral matter only by means of matter of the same subdivision existing in my own astral body; and I receive its vibrations through the particles of that lowest type of matter which happen to be at the moment on the surface of my astral body. Since during life all the particles of the astral body are constantly in motion among themselves, much as are the particles of a boiling liquid, it inevitably happens that all the subdivisions of matter are represented upon the surface of the astral body, and that is why I am able to see all the stages simultaneously. The ordinary man after death has for practical purposes only one type of matter outside, because of the concentric shell arrangement; therefore his view of the astral world around him is a very imperfect one. If he, immured in a shell of matter of the lowest stage, looks at a living man's astral body, he can see only that part of it which consists of that lowest type of matter; but as he has no means of realising the limitation of his faculties, he inevitably assumes that he sees the whole of the other man' s astral body, and therefore that the other man is a person possessing no characteristics but those eminently unsatisfactory ones which alone express themselves through matter of that particular subdivision. He is living in the midst of all sorts of high influences and beautiful thought-forms, but is almost entirely unconscious of their existence, because those particles of his astral body which could respond to their vibrations are carefully shut in where they cannot be reached. That lowest type of astral matter corresponds to the solid subdivision of physical matter, and the astral counterpart of any solid physical object is composed of that lowest subdivision of astral matter — the seventh class of astral matter, if we number the sub-planes from above downwards. The astral counterparts of the floor, walls and furniture of a room are all of the lowest type of astral matter, and consequently the man newly dead usually sees these counterparts vividly, and is almost entirely unconscious of the vast sea of thought-forms which encompasses him, because nearly all those forms are built out of combinations of the finer types of astral matter. In process of time, as the consciousness steadily withdraws inward; the shell of this coarsest type of matter atrophies and begins to disintegrate, and matter of a somewhat higher type is as it were uncovered, and becomes the surface through which impressions can be received. Since this usually happens gradually, it means that the man finds the counterparts of physical objects growing dimmer and dimmer, while the thought-forms become more and more vivid to him, so that without necessarily moving at all in space, he finds himself living in a different world. If while this process is going on he should encounter you at intervals he will be sensible of what will appear to him as a great improvement in your character — not that you have necessarily changed, but that he is becoming able to appreciate the higher vibrations of that character, and is losing the power to receive the lower ones. Your disposition may remain just what it was, but the dead man having commenced by seeing only its worst features, will pass it all slowly in review until presently he reaches a condition in which only the best and highest side of it is within his consciousness. This then is what is meant by passing from one sub-plane to another — that the man loses sight of one part of the wonderful complexity which is the astral world, and that another part of it comes into his view. It is after all only a repetition on a smaller scale of what happens to each one of us as we pass from plane to plane. The whole astral world and the whole mental world are both of them around us here and now, yet so long as our consciousness is focussed in the physical brain we are blankly unconscious of them. At death the consciousness is transferred to the astral body, and at once we find ourselves seeing the astral part of our world, having lost sight of the physical. When later on we lose the astral body in turn, and live in the mental body, we are then conscious (though only partially) of the mental part of our world, and have altogether lost for the time both the astral and the physical. Just as it is possible for the man living on the astral plane to defy the desire-elemental and insist upon keeping the particles of his astral body in constant motion, just as they were during his physical life, so it is possible for the man still in physical life to train himself to have at his command the physical and astral and mental consciousness practically simultaneously; but this means considerable advancement. To sum up the foregoing, then: `rising higher' in the ordinary spiritualistic sense is simply raising the consciousness from one stage of the astral to another, the matter of the astral body having in the first place been arranged after death by the desire-elemental. In such a case the consciousness can act only through the shell of matter which lies outermost, and consequently at first the dead man is confined to the perception of the lowest subplane, and can only become conscious of a higher sub-plane when that outer coating of denser matter is in great part worn away. Consequently such a man in the earlier part of his post-mortem existence is naturally shut off from all the best and pleasantest part of astral life; and when he escapes from that condition he may in one sense be said to have risen higher. A Theosophist, who comprehends the conditions of the astral plane, altogether declines to permit the rearrangement of his astral body by the desire-elemental in the first place; or if that should happen during the momentary unconsciousness which immediately succeeds death, those of us who are trying to help the man immediately break up the elemental's arrangement and restore the astral body to exactly the condition in which it was during life, with all its varieties of matter mingled in the natural way, so that the dead man can perceive the whole of the astral plane, instead of only one subdivision of it. In this way his astral life is perfect from the first, and he can be a much more useful person than if he were confined to the consciousness of one subdivision only. Still, as I explained in The Inner Life, Vol. I, in the chapter on spheres, there is just this much of truth behind the idea of location as connected with the sub-planes. Here on the surface of the earth we are in presence of matter in the solid, liquid, gaseous and etheric conditions. But it is undoubtedly true that, broadly speaking, the solid matter forms the basic, that the liquid matter is usually resting upon it, and that the gaseous matter rests upon both of these lower forms. There is a certain amount of solid matter and a great deal of liquid matter floating in the air above us, but still it remains broadly true that the zone of solid matter is limited by the surface of the earth, and the zone of liquid matter by the upper surface of the clouds, while the zone of gaseous matter extends a great many miles above that, and the zone of specialised etheric matter a great deal farther still. So that although all classes of matter exist around us here, we might yet say that in one sense each has a zone of its own, and that in each case the zone of a finer type of matter extends somewhat farther from the centre of the earth than the zone of the denser type of matter next below it. A similar condition exists with regard to astral matter. All possible kinds of it exist here close about us, and the great majority of the denizens of the astral world spend most of their lives comparatively near to the surface of the physical earth; but as they withdraw into themselves, and their consciousness touches the higher types of matter, they find it easier and more natural than before to soar away from that surface into regions where there are fewer disturbing currents. I was once brought into touch with the case of a dead man who informed a friend of mine, during a series of spiritualistic séances, that he frequently found himself about five hundred miles above the surface of the earth. In this case the questioner was one who was well versed in occultism, and who would therefore know well how to conduct his enquiries and the investigations of his friend on the other side intelligently and scientifically; so that there might well be some truth in his friend's assertions. The finer types of astral matter extend almost to the orbit of the moon, whence the name that the Greeks gave to the astral plane — the sublunar world. In fact, so nearly does the limit of astral matter coincide with that orbit, that the astral envelopes of the moon and the earth usually touch one another at perigee, but not at apogee. I knew, likewise, of a case in which a dead man reached the moon, but could not then return. That was because the continuity of astral matter failed him — the tide of space had flowed in between, as it were, and he had to wait until communication was re-established the approach of the satellite to its primary.

title: The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/VI


text:
The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/VII

HEAVEN-LIFE CONDITIONS The principal difficulty in understanding the conditions of the heaven-world comes from our inveterate habit of thinking of the personality as the man. If two friends are bound by ties of affection, we must try to remember that the bond is between the souls and not the bodies — that they are friends now on earth because in quite different bodies they have known and loved each other perhaps for thousands of years. That fact draws their physical bodies together on this plane, but it does not enable them to understand more of one another than their physical capabilities permit; and further, each wears three heavy veils, in the shape of the mental, astral and physical bodies, to conceal his real self from the other. When one of them dies he passes on to the astral plane, and there he meets his living friend face to face during the sleep of the latter. Even already he can see somewhat more of his friend than before, because for each of them, during those hours of sleep, the heaviest of the three veils has been withdrawn. The dead man is still dealing with the personality of his friend only, and therefore if some great sorrow should fall upon the waking life of that friend, it would inevitably be reflected in his astral life, and the dead man would perceive it. For our sleeping and walking lives are in reality but one, and during our sleep we are aware of that fact, and have the continuous memory of both open before us. You will see, therefore, that the astral body of his living friend (with which the dead man is dealing) is the astral body of the personality, and he is therefore fully conscious of what is happening to that personality. When the heaven-world is reached all this is changed. The dead man is then functioning in his mental body — the same mental body which he has used during his past earth-life; but he does not meet there the mental body which his friend is using during life. On the contrary, the dead man himself by his thought builds for his friend an entirely separate mental body, and it is the ego of his friend which ensouls it, working from its own level and from the causal body. This is an additional opportunity for mental-plane activity for the friend, and is entirely separate in every way from the personality of his physical life. It is not possible for one man to ensoul more than one physical body at one time, but it is quite possible for him to ensoul simultaneously any number of the thought-forms which other people may make of him on the mental plane in the course of their heaven-life. I think it is a misunderstanding of this fact which had led some to think that several physical bodies may be incarnations of one man. You will see, therefore, that any sorrow or trouble which may fall upon the personality of the living man, and may conceivably influence his mental body, will not in the least affect his other thought-form which his ego is using as an additional mental body. If in that manifestation he knows at all of such sorrow or trouble, he will regard it as he would from the causal body — that is to say, it will not be to him a sorrow or trouble at all, but only a lesson, or the working out of some karma. There is no delusion at all in this view of his, because he is seeing the matter as it really is, from the point of view of the ego on his own plane. It is our lower personal view that is the delusion, because we see sorrow and trouble where in reality there are only the steps on our upward way. The two friends may know far more of each other at that level, because each has now only one veil, that of the mental body, cast over his individuality; but there is still that veil. If the dead man has known only one side of his friend during life, it will be only through that side that the friend can express himself in the heaven-world. He can express that side of himself much more fully and satisfactorily than ever before; but he is largely confined to that side. Still, it is a fuller expression than the dead man has ever been able to see upon the lower planes. He by no means forgets that there is such a thing as suffering, because he remembers clearly his past life; but he understands now many things that were not clear when he was on the physical plane, and the delight of the present is for him so great that sorrow seems to him almost like a dream. It is asked how we who still live on earth converse with our friends in heaven; if by we you mean our personality, that does not converse with friends in heaven. The real ego does do so, as has been said, but in the veil of this personality we know nothing of that. Suppose that a good Catholic mother died, who dearly loved her daughter, and that after the mother had reached the heaven-world, her daughter embraced Theosophy. The mother would go on imagining her daughter as merely orthodox; would she not in this be under a delusion? Yes, she would, for this is an instance of one of the possible limitations to which I have previously referred. If the mother could see only such of her daughter' s thought as could be expressed by orthodox ideas, there would naturally be points in the new revelation which had come to the daughter which the mother would be little able to grasp. But in so far as the ego of the daughter profited by what the personality had learnt, there would be a tendency on her part gradually to widen out and perfect the conception of the mother, but always along the lines to which the mother was accustomed. There would be no sense of difference of opinion, and no avoidance of subjects of religion. You will understand that I am speaking here of the ordinary person; in the case of a more advanced man who was already fully conscious in the causal body, he would put himself down consciously into the thought-form provided for him by a friend in the heaven-world, as into an additional mental body, and work through it with definite intention; so that if such a man should acquire additional knowledge he could directly and intentionally communicate it to that friend. In this way the Masters work on such of their pupils as take the heaven-life, and alter their characters immensely. A man's condition in the heaven-life depends upon the amount of spiritual force in him. Of two people of the same class or type the more spiritual would naturally remain a longer time; but it must be borne in mind that the force may be used up quickly or slowly according to the necessities of each man's evolution. Those who have devoted themselves especially to the work of serving the Great Ones, and through them humanity, are likely in this respect to have experiences differing somewhat from the ordinary. It is evident that our Masters have already, many millennia ago, formed a special band of servers and helpers from those who have offered themselves for such work, and They use this body of men as a kind of regiment of pioneers to be sent wherever special work of that kind is needed. Those who have read the lives of Alcyone, as published in The Theosophist, will realise that the hero of that remarkable story is a member of that band — or perhaps we should rather say of one of those bands; and for that reason it will be found that over and over again the same set of people come together in all sorts of different places, in their successive incarnations. It is obvious that in a group of a hundred people there must be many divergences; some of them will assuredly generate more spiritual force than others, and their karma would naturally be such as to take them into differing surroundings, yet the one great fact that they are devoted to service overpowers all these considerations, and they are brought together in order that they may be utilised as a whole. Be sure that in this there is no injustice, and that no one of them, for this or any other reason, escapes one jot of the karma which is legitimately due to him. Indeed, those who offer themselves for service not infrequently suffer considerably in the course of that service — sometimes because it is necessary that their past karma should be cleared up quickly, in order that they may be free to do higher work without any hindrance from it, and in other cases because their work may have made it impossible for them to reap life after life the karma that would otherwise have come to them, and so a considerable accumulation may descend upon them at once in some gigantic catastrophe. Instances of the working of both these methods may be found in the lives of Alcyone. In the case of the great bulk of humanity there is no special interference from without, and the heaven-life of each works itself out at whatever may be its ordinary rate. Naturally this difference in the time of working out involves also a difference of intensity which is shown by a greater or less brilliancy in the light of the mental body. The more developed man, especially if he has before him the idea of service, usually generates karma during his heaven-life, and thus he may modify it even while it is in progress. It is true that Madame Blavatsky states in The Key To Theosophy that it is impossible for a materialist to have any heaven-life, as he had not while on earth believed in any such condition; but it seems probable that she was employing the word materialist in a more restricted sense than that in which it is generally used, for in the same volume she also asserts that for them no conscious life after death is possible at all, whereas it is a matter of common knowledge among those whose nightly work lies upon the astral plane that many of those whom we usually call materialists are to be met with there, and are certainly not unconscious. For example, a prominent materialist intimately known to one of our members was not long ago discovered by his friend in the highest subdivision of the astral world, where he had surrounded himself with his books and was continuing his studies almost as he might have done on earth. On being questioned by his friend he readily admitted that the theories which he had held while on earth were confuted by the irresistible logic of facts, but his own agnostic tendencies were still strong enough to make him unwilling to accept what his friend told him as to the existence of the still higher spiritual state of the heaven-world. Yet there was certainly much in this man's character which could find its full result only in the heaven-world, and since his entire disbelief in any life after death has not prevented his astral experience, there seems no reason to suppose that it can check the due working out of the higher forces in him upon the mental plane. We constantly find down here that nature makes no allowance for our ignorance of her laws; if, under an impression that fire does not burn, a man puts his hand into a flame, he is speedily convinced of his error. In the same way a man's disbelief in a future existence does not affect the facts of nature, and in some cases at least he simply finds out after death that he was under a mistake. The kind of materialism referred to by Madame Blavatsky was probably something much coarser and more aggressive than ordinary agnosticism — something which would render it exceedingly unlikely that a man who held it would have any qualities requiring a heaven-life in which to work themselves out; but no such case as that has yet come under our observation.

title: The Inner Life, v. II/First Section/VII