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The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/II

BROTHERHOOD The brotherhood of man is a fact in nature; those who deny it are simply those who are blind to it, because they shut their eyes to actualities which they do not wish to acknowledge. We need waste little time over those who deny it; nature itself will refute their heresy. More subtly dangerous are those who misunderstand it, and their name is legion. Remember not only what brotherhood means, but also what it does not mean. It emphatically does not mean equality, for twins and triplets are comparatively rare; under all but the most abnormal circumstances, brotherhood implies a difference in age, and consequently all sorts of other differences, in strength, in cleverness, in capacity. Brotherhood implies community of interest, but not community of interests. If the family be rich all its members profit thereby; if the family be poor, all its members suffer accordingly. So there is a community of interest. But the individual interests of the brothers not only may be, but also for many years must be, absolutely different. What interests has the boy of fourteen in common with his brother of six? Each lives his own life among friends of his own age, and has far more in common with them than with his brother. What cares the elder brother of twenty-five, fighting his way in the world, for all the prizes and anxieties of school-life which fill the horizon of that second brother? It is not to be expected, then, that because they are brothers men shall feel alike or be interested in the same things. It would not be desirable, even if it were possible, for their duties differ according to their ages, and the one thing which most promotes the evolution of the human family as a whole is that every man should strive earnestly to do his duty in that state of life to which it shall please God to call him, as the Church catechism puts it. This does not in the least imply that every man must always remain in the station in which his karma has placed him at birth; if he can honestly and harmlessly make such further karma as will raise him out of it he is at perfect liberty to do so. But at whatever stage he may be, he should do the duties of that stage. The child grows steadily; but while he is at a certain age, his duties are those appropriate to that age, and not those of some older brother. Each age has its duties — the younger to learn and to serve, and the older to direct and protect; but all alike to be loving and helpful, all alike to try to realize the idea of the great family of humanity. Each will best help his brothers, not by interfering with them, but by trying earnestly to do his own duty as a member of this family. The brotherhood of our Society ought to be a very real thing. It is important that we should recognize and realize a close fellowship, a feeling of real unity and drawing together. This will be achieved if members will forget their own personal feelings and think chiefly of the interests of others. The heart of the Society is making for itself a body on the buddhic plane, a channel through which the Great Ones can work. The perfection of the channel as such depends upon the attitude of the earnest and devoted members. As yet it is very imperfect, because of the tendency of each member to think too much of himself as a unit, and too little of the good and well-being of the whole. The stones of the wall must be built each in its own place; one standing out of place here, or projecting there, causes roughness, and the wall as a whole is a less perfect wall. We form but a little part of a vast scheme, one wheel as it were of a machine. It is for us to make ourselves really fit for our little part; if we do that, though we may be quite unfit to take a leading position in the drama of the world, yet what little we do is well done and lasting, and will honourably fill its place in the greater whole. You are all aware that in seven hundred years' time our two Masters will commence the founding of the sixth root-race, and that even already They are looking about for those who will be suitable assistants for Them in that work. But there is something nearer than that to be done — and it is a work which will afford excellent practice in developing the qualities necessary for that larger work; and this is the development of the sixth sub-race of the Aryan race, which is now just beginning to be formed in North America. Already signs are to be seen of the preparations for this work; different races are being welded together in one; and we too have our part to play in this. We all recognize how important it is that a child's early years should be surrounded by good influences, and it is just the same with the childhood of a race. If we can succeed in starting this young race along right lines much will be gained; and we, even at this distance from America, can be of great help at this critical period of history, if we will. Part of the scheme very shortly to be realized is the drawing together of the various branches of our fifth sub-race, the Teutonic. Many of us belong to that — the English colonies, the Americans, the Scandinavians, the Dutch and the Germans; and many also in France and Italy, as for example the Normans, who are the descendants of the Norsemen, and also those in southern countries who are descendants of the Goths and Visigoths. What is desired in order to promote the work of the great plan is that all these races should be drawn into much closer sympathy. This has already been achieved to a great extent in the case of England and America; it is very much to be regretted that it cannot be done in the case of Germany also, but for the present that great country seems disposed to hold aloof from the desired coalition, and to stand out for what it considers its own private interests. It is much to be hoped that this difficulty may be overcome. The great purpose of this drawing together is to prepare the way for the coming of the new Messiah, or, as we should say in Theosophical circles, the next advent of the Lord Maitreya, as a great spiritual teacher, bringing a new religion. The time is rapidly approaching when this shall be launched — a teaching which shall unify the other religions, and compared with them shall stand upon a broader basis and keep its purity longer. But before this can come about we must have got rid of the incubus of war, which at present is always hanging over our heads like a great spectre, paralyzing the best intellects of all countries as regards social experiments, making it impossible for our statesmen to try new plans and methods on a large scale. Therefore one essential towards carrying out the scheme is a period of universal peace. Many efforts have already been made in various ways to bring about this result — for example the Peace Conference; but it seems that some other way will have to be tried. If we of the fifth sub-race can but put aside our prejudices and stand side by side, a great work lies before us in the future. Ours is the latest sub-race, and therefore contains, generally speaking, the highest egos in evolution. Yet the majority of the people in it are by no means ready to respond to a purely unselfish motive as a means of bringing about the universal peace required. How then can this best be attained? By making it to the interest of all these nations to insist upon universal peace. Remember that trade suffers during war. We of these various branches of the Teutonic race are the greatest trading nations of the world, and I hope that we may shortly realize that it is to our interest to bind ourselves together, and to stand for peace. Truly this is not a very high motive, for it is merely self-interest; but still when the rulers and great statesmen are moved to desire unity from the abstract love for humanity, this lower motive may help to bring their less developed fellow-countrymen into line with them, and cause them warmly to support any movement which they may set on foot for that object. All sorts of events are being utilized to help this binding together of our race. For example, the death of Her Majesty the late Queen Victoria was very decidedly utilized for that purpose. Her life did very much in drawing the Colonies together into closer bonds with the Mother-country. Those who saw the Jubilee procession from the psychic standpoint were greatly impressed with the mighty current of high emotion thereby evoked. In her life she did much, but at her death still more was accomplished. By her death she drew close not only our Colonies, but also the United States. I was in America at the time of her death, and really it might have been their own ruler for whom the Americans were mourning, so spontaneous and so sincere were their expressions of the sense of loss. So in her death the great Queen did grand service, as well as in her life. Each race has its own peculiarities, just as each individual has. If we wish to co-operate in the great work we must learn to allow for these, to be tolerant of them, and to regard them with a kindly interest, instead of sneering at them or letting them get on our nerves. What then can we do practically to help these great national affairs? This at least: that when in our presence unkind or sneering remarks are made about other nations, we can make a point of always putting forward considerations on the other side, and saying something kindly. We may not always be able to contradict the evil thing said, but at least we may supplement it with something that is good. There are perhaps but few of us, but at least in the course of a year each of us probably meets at least a thousand others, and each of us may to that extent be a centre for helping our own nation to see good in others, and thus, though it may be only in a small way, we may be able to smooth the path and make the way for union easier. Many people are constantly in the habit of speaking with narrow prejudice against the peculiarities of other nations; let us at least take care not to do this, but always bear in mind the importance of promoting friendly feeling. Do not let us despair when we think how little each one of us can do in the matter; let us rather remember that every little effort will be used by Those who are working from behind. No doubt the scheme will be carried out whether or not we take the privilege which is offered to us of helping in it; but that is no reason why we should not do our best. Nor is it only good people who are used in the promotion of the scheme. All sorts of forces are being used by the Great Brotherhood that stands behind to forward necessary work. Yes, even the very selfishness and the failings of men. “Blindly the wicked work the righteous will of heaven,” as Southey writes in Thalaba. And “All things work together for good to them that love God.” This was spoken as regards personal karma, but the same thing holds good in regard to greater and broader schemes. For example, the bigotry of the Christian Church, evil though it is, has not been altogether valueless, for it has helped to develope strength of faith, since the ignorant cannot believe strongly without being bigoted. Self-seeking in commercial pursuits is evil also, yet it has in it a certain power which can be turned to account by those who stand behind, for it developes strength of will and concentration, qualities which in a future life may be put to most valuable uses. We each have an opportunity to help in this scheme, to co-operate on the side of good. If we do not take the opportunity offered to us, another will, and if not that other, then another, but in any case the work will be done. We know that already some to whom the opportunity has been offered have cast it aside; but that is only all the more reason why we shou1d work with greater vigour, so as to atone for their defection — to do their share as well as our own. Never for a moment must we fear that because of such defection the work will be allowed to suffer. We cannot but regret that our poor friends should lose their opportunities — that from ignorance and lack of clear-sightedness they are working so sadly against their own interests. Yet remember that their folly is but temporary; they will awaken to the truth some day — if not in this life, then in some other. Meantime inside all is well, and the Great Work is going forward. The evolution of the world is, after all, like any other large undertaking. Think of the making of a railway, for instance. It does not matter to the railway company or to the future passengers which workman lays a certain rail or drives a certain bolt, so long as it is well and truly done; and the overseer will attend to that. It matters very much to the workman, for he who works receives the pay, while the other gets nothing. The overseer regrets it when a workman goes off in a fit of temper or of drunkenness and refuses to work for a day; but he thinks, “Never mind, he will come back tomorrow,” and meantime he employs some one else. Many have left the work in just that way in an outburst of personality, but they will return. The question is not as to whether the work shall be done — the Masters will see to that in any case; it is only as to who will embrace the opportunity of doing it. Many people who contend bitterly against the right are merely showing that they are not yet fit to pass this test; they have not yet reached the stage where they can forget themselves utterly in the work; their personalities are still rampant, and so they are capable of being shocked and thrown off their balance, if some new fact comes before them. It is sad, of course, but it is only temporary; they have lost a good opportunity for this life, because they are not yet strong enough for it; but there are many lives yet to come. Meantime others will take their places. Never forget that one thing of importance is that the Masters' work should be done; let us at least be among those who are doing it now, even though there are many who cannot yet see clearly enough to help us. They repudiate the Masters for this life, like a naughty little boy who gets angry with his parents, and in a fit of passion runs away and hides himself; but presently hunger brings the naughty little boy home again, and in the same way hunger for the truth which they have once tasted will bring most of them back to the feet of the Masters in their next lives. Meantime let us stand firm, and fill our hearts with peace even in the midst of strife. If we would rise to our opportunity we must rub down our corners and get rid of our awkward personalities, and forget them in encouraging good feeling in every possible way. If we hear something said against somebody else let us at once try to put the other side, and this both with regard to nations and individuals. Counterbalance the evil by speaking the good — not to give a false impression, but to give the best possible aspect or interpretation of the facts. Our work is to make the machine run smoothly, and neutralize the friction. Our aim is to be a united whole as a Society, and to help towards harmony in the outside world. The scheme is great, the opportunity glorious; shall we take it? Yet beware lest you should make the idea of preparing yourself for grand work in the future an excuse for neglecting the minor opportunities of every-day life. A good example of what I mean is offered by a letter which I recently received, in which the writer says that he finds himself in the position of having to teach a Theosophical Branch, and that he feels it a great responsibility, of which he cannot think himself worthy because his knowledge is at present so imperfect. Now in reply to this I shall say: Do not be in the least troubled about your position towards your Branch. Assuredly it is a responsibility to teach, but on the other hand it is a very great privilege. Think of it rather in this way, that here are number of hungry souls, and Those who stand behind have been so kind to you as to give you the opportunity of being the channel through which these can be fed. You have the broad principles of the teaching clearly in mind, and your own common sense will keep you from going far wrong in details. I admire your extreme consciousness, but if you keep these main principles steadily before your pupils, you are very little likely to go wrong in your teaching. We all have the responsibility of which you speak, and those of us who have to write the books and give the lectures feel it far more acutely than you can imagine. Indeed we have sometimes been told by friends that we ought to have attained adeptship before we wrote any books, so that it might be quite certain that there should be no mistakes in them. I can only say that we decided to share our imperfect knowledge with our brothers, even while we still have very much to acquire; and I think that the result has justified our decision. If we had waited until we attained adeptship, it is true that our books would have been perfect — and they are very far from being perfect now — but then you see you would all have had to wait a thousand years or so for them, which would have made a considerable difference to the work of the Society in the present century. It seems to me that the problem that lies before you is an exactly similar one. You also might refrain from teaching until you knew everything; but what would become of your Branch in the meantime?

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


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Rh from the nature of his lading. The only burden of Mokărē was a fowling-piece, which he would not go without; and, as he was a good shot, we thought he might be of use, in procuring fresh provisions. Gough had a musket, and Mr. Kent a fowling-piece, and two kangaroo dogs.

Thus accoutred, we departed, each with a blanket, and an additional pair of shoes tied on his back. Captain Barker wished that he could be of the party; but circumstances prevented him. He, Dr. Davis, and Lieutenant Sleeman, accompanied us a mile or two, and then, wishing us a prosperous journey, returned.

After having proceeded, by a native path, nearly seven miles N.N.W., we crossed a considerable stream, running easterly, which was supposed to be the principal branch of King's River; and about three miles farther, we passed another, of smaller size, running in the same direction. We halted to the north-west of a detached hill; and, as the sun was powerful, we agreed to rest a little, and partake of some refreshment.

It being my intention to proceed a considerable distance in the direction of Swan River, I had already to coax Mokărē, who, imagining we were going to Porrongorup (a chain of hills about twenty-five miles north from the settlement), as Captain Wakefield and others had formerly done, did not seem to relish taking any other direction. Having rested sufficiently, we resumed our journey, and proceeded, at a pretty brisk pace, for

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The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/III

HELPING THE WORLD

One of the first qualifications which are required for the treading of the Path is single-mindedness or one-pointedness. Even worldly men succeed because they are one-pointed, and we can learn from them the value of determination on our own line. Our goal is not so tangible as theirs, so we have more difficulty in keeping the one-pointed attitude of mind; but in India the importance of the unseen is more easily realized than in the West. It is good to seek the company of those who are more advanced, to whom the realities of the Path are constantly present; also to read and hear and think about our purpose frequently, and unwaveringly to practise the virtues by which alone the perfect knowledge can come to us. This an age of hurry and scurry; the tendency is for people to do a little of many things, but nothing thoroughly — to flutter from one thing to another. No man now devotes his life to a masterpiece, as was often done in the Middle Ages in Europe, in old days in India. Occultism changes a man's life in many ways, but in none more than in this; it makes him absolutely one-pointed. Of course I do not mean that it causes him to neglect any duty that he used to do; on the contrary, the never-ceasing watch to fulfil every duty is its first prescription. But it gives him a keynote of life which is always sounding in his ears, which he never forgets for an instant — the key-note of helpfulness. Why? Because he learns what is the plan of the LOGOS, and tries to co-operate in it. This involves many lines of action. To be able to help effectively he must make himself fit to help; hence he must undertake the most careful self-training, the elimination of evil qualities from himself, the development merit of good ones. Also he must maintain a constant watchfulness for opportunities to help. One special method of helping the world lies ready to the hand of members of our Society — that of spreading Theosophic truth. We have no right and no desire to force our ideas on any one, but it is our duty and our privilege to give people the opportunity of knowing the real explanation of the problems of life. If when the water of life is offered, a man will not drink, that is his own affair; but at least we should see that none perishes through ignorance of the existence of that water. We have then this duty of spreading the truth, and nothing should be allowed to interfere with it. This is the work that as a Society we have to do, and we must remember that the duty is binding upon each of us. Our minds must be filled with it, we must be constantly thinking and planning for it, seizing every opportunity that offers. It is not for us to excuse ourselves because some other member seems to be doing nothing; that is his business, and we are in no way concerned in it; but if we ourselves neglect to do our very best, we are failing in our duty. It was not to illumine our own path that this glorious light came to us, but that we also in our turn might be light-bearers to our suffering brothers.

title: The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/III


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The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/IV

CRITICISM If we wish to make any progress in occultism, we must learn to mind our own business and let other people alone. They have their reasons and their lines of thought which we do not understand. To their own Master they stand or fall. Once more, we have our work to do, and we decline to be diverted from it. We must learn charity and tolerance, and repress the mad desire to be always finding fault with someone else. It is a mad desire, and it dominates modern life — this spirit of criticism. Every one wants to interfere with somebody else's duty, instead of attending to his own; every one thinks he can do the other man's work better than it is being done. We see it in politics, in religion, in social life. For example the obvious duty of a Government is to govern, and the duty of its people is to be good citizens and to make that work of government easy and effective. But in these days people are so eager to teach their Governments how to govern that they forget all about their own primary duty of being good citizens. Men will not realize that if they will but do their duties, karma will look after the “rights” about which they are so clamorous. How comes this spirit of criticism to be so general and so savage at this stage of the world's history? Like most other evils, it is the excess of a good and necessary quality. In the course of evolution we have arrived at the fifth sub-race of the fifth root-race. I mean that that race is the latest yet developed, that its spirit is dominant in the world just now, and that even those who do not belong to it are necessarily much influenced by that spirit. Now each race has its own special lessons to learn, its own special quality to unfold. The quality of the fifth-race is what is sometimes called manas — the type of intellect that discriminates, that notes the differences between thing. When it is perfectly developed, men will note these differences calmly, solely for the purpose of understanding them and judging which is best. But now, in this stage of half-development most people look for differences from their own point of view not in order to understand them but in order to oppose them — often violently to persecute them. It is simply the point of view of the ignorant and unevolved man, who is full of intolerance and self-conceit, absolutely sure that he is right (perhaps he may be up to a certain point) and that everybody else therefore must be entirely wrong — which does not follow. Remember that Oliver Cromwell said to his council: “Brethren, I beseech you in the sacred name of the Christ to think it possible that you may sometimes mistake!” We too must develop the critical faculty; but we should criticise ourselves, not others. There are always two sides to every question; generally more than two. Kritein means to judge; therefore criticism is useless and can only do harm unless it is absolutely calm and judicial. It is not a mad attack upon the opponent, but a quiet unprejudiced weighing of reasons for and against a certain opinion or a certain course of action. We may decide in one way, but we must recognize that another man of equal intellect may emphasize another aspect of the question, and therefore, decide quite otherwise. And yet in so deciding he may be just as good, just as wise, just as honest as we ourselves. Yet how few recognize that; how few rabid protestants really believe Catholics to be good men; how few convinced redhot radicals really believe that an old Tory squire may be just as good and earnest a man as themselves, trying honestly to do what he thinks his duty! If a man comes to a decision different from our own we need not pretend to agree with him, but we must give him credit for good intentions. One of the worst features of modern life is its eager readiness to believe evil — its habit of deliberately seeking out the worst conceivable construction that can be put upon everything. And this attitude is surely at its very worst when adopted towards those who have helped us, to whom we owe thanks for knowledge or inspiration received. Remember the words of the Master: “Ingratitude is not one of our vices.” It is always a mistake to rush madly into criticism of those who know more than we; it is more seemly to wait and think matters over, to wait and see what the future brings forth. Apply the test of time and the result; “By their fruits ye shall know them.” Let us make a rule to think the best of every man; let us do our work and leave others free to do theirs.

title: The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/IV


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238 a few miles, when one of the party fell suddenly down, the heat of the day having overpowered him. This caused us some alarm, but he soon recovered. It was proposed that we should now take up our night quarters, and renew our journey at daylight; but, being aware that it would not do, to be idle or indifferent, in the beginning of our expedition, and wishing to show an example, I took the invalid's burden over my own shoulder, and marched off,—the poor fellow following, and begging me to let him carry it; but, as he really appeared fagged, I did not accede to his pressing solicitation. Thus we proceeded until the evening, when we bivouacked in the vicinity of an extensive but shallow lagoon, the water of which we found excellent.

On Thursday, at daylight, we resumed our journey N.N.W., all well; at nine o'clock we arrived at a large lagoon, from three to six feet deep, where we halted, kindled a fire, and took breakfast; an empty preserved-meat-canister serving the double purpose of tea-kettle and tea-pot.

Being refreshed by a cup of strong tea, and a cold bath in the lagoon, we renewed our journey, to the westward. In a short time, we perceived an extensive sheet of water, a few hundred yards on our right: from appearances, we judged that this was permanent, which supposition Mokărē confirmed by informing us, that the natives came hither when, from long-continued drought, the smaller and shallower lagoons were dried up.

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The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/V

PREJUDICE Beware of the beginnings of suspicion: it will distort everything. I have seen it come between friends and noticed how a little suspicion soon grows into a giant misunderstanding. Every harmless word is distorted, and mistaken to be the expression of some unkind or improper motive, while all the time the speaker is utterly unconscious of the suspicion. It is the same when opinions differ about books or religion; a slight difference of opinion is fostered by dwelling upon all that tells on one's own side and against the other side, until the result is an absurdly distorted view. One finds it again with colour prejudice although those now wearing white bodies have worn brown ones and vice versa, and the habits of one have been or will be the habits of the other. Brotherhood means the getting rid of prejudices; knowledge of the fact of reincarnation ought to help us to overcome our limitations and uncharitableness. We who are students of the higher life must rise above these prejudices. It is a difficult task, because they are ingrained — prejudices of race, of caste, of religion; but they must all be rooted out, because they prevent clear sight and true judgment. They are like coloured glass — still more like cheap, imperfect glass; everything seen through them is distorted, often so much so as to look entirely different from what it really is. Before we can judge and discriminate we must see clearly. It is always very easy to attribute some evil motive to others whom we have allowed ourselves to dislike, and to discover some evil explanation for their acts. This tendency forms a very serious impediment in the path of progress. We must tear away our own personalities, for only then shall we be at all able to see the other person as he is. A prejudice is a kind of wart upon the mental body, and of course when a man tries to look out through that particular part of the body he cannot see clearly. It is in reality a congested spot in the mental body, a point at which the matter is no longer living and flowing, but is stagnant and rotten. The way to cure it is to acquire more knowledge, to get the matter of the mental body into motion, and then one by one the prejudices will be washed away and dissolved. This evil effect of prejudice was what Aryasangha meant when he said, in The Voice of the Silence, that the mind was the great slayer of the real. By that he was drawing attention to the fact that we do not see any object as it is. We see only the images that we are able to make of it, and everything is necessarily coloured for us by these thought-forms of our own creation. Notice how two persons with preconceived ideas, seeing the same set of circumstances, and agreeing as to the actual happenings, will yet make two totally different stories from them. Exactly this sort of thing is going on all the time with every ordinary man, and we do not realize how absurdly we distort things. The duty of the Theosophical student is to learn to see things as they are, and this means control, vigilance and a very great deal of hard work. In the West, for example, people are very much prejudiced along religious lines, for we are born into a certain religion and sedulously taught that all others are superstitions. Our ideas therefore are biased from the first, and even when we do learn to know a little about other religions and respect them it would be difficult for us to imagine ourselves born into them. Those who are Hindus can scarcely think of themselves as being born as Christians or Muhammadans, and just in the same way the Christian or Muhammadan has an equal difficulty in thinking of himself as a Hindu or a Buddhist, although it is practically certain that in some past life he has been in one or other of these religions. Many so-called protestant Christians will not even now trust a Roman Catholic, and the more ignorant people are, the greater is their distrust of that to which they are unaccustomed. The peasantry, for example, have an instinctive distrust of all foreigners, and there are many country places in England where, let us say, a Frenchman, unless in poverty and needing help, would certainly be regarded with suspicion. If he is hungry he will be fed, and treated with compassion; but let him come as a fellow-workman and all that he does will be criticised, laughed at, and suspected. Now of course all this comes from ignorance, and occurs because the peasantry are unaccustomed to meeting with foreigners. The removal of such prejudice is one of the great advantages gained by an intelligent man when he travels. In the Theosophical Society men of different nations are being drawn much more closely together; Indians are learning to trust white people, and white people in turn are learning that Indians are much the same as themselves. I was working in Amsterdam during the Boer war, and though in Holland generally there was a strong feeling at the time against England, there was never the slightest trace of it among the Dutch Theosophical members. It is most interesting to attend one of the European Theosophical Conferences, and to see the really hearty good feeling which exists between men of different nations — how unfeignedly glad they are to see one another, and how they rejoice in one another's company. One sees at once that if such fellow-feeling as exists between the members of the Theosophical Society could only spread to a majority of their fellow-countrymen in the various nations, war would at once become a ridiculous impossibility. As things are now we form opinions on very slight grounds; you meet a person for the first time, and something that he says, or some trivial gesture, arouses in you a little dislike of him, so that there is a slight wall between you and him. This may seem an unimportant matter, yet if you are not careful that slight bias against the person will grow into a barrier which will for ever prevent you from understanding him. To a certain extent you see him through this thought-form that you have made, and you cannot see him correctly, for it is like looking through a twisted and coloured glass which distorts everything. Sometimes, but not so often, a prejudice is in favour of the person, as in the case of a mother who can see no harm in what her child does, even though he may seriously harm others. Now whether they be against a person or in favour of him, both of these are equally prejudices, mental delusions which slay the real. The best way to see truly is to begin determinedly to look always for the good in every one, as our prejudices are generally on the other side, and we are sadly prone to see the evil where none exists. We differ from other people in colour, in dress, in manners and customs, and in outer forms of religion, but all these are merely externals, and all that goes to make up the real man behind and beneath all this is much the same in us all. It is not after all so difficult to learn to look behind the outer shells in which people conceal themselves. Thereby they usually make the worst of themselves, for the main faults nearly always lie on the surface, and the real gold is often successfully concealed. One who aspires to make progress must overcome this blindness to the worth of others, this tendency to judge by surface characteristics. Remember that no one who desires to stand on the side of good as against evil can ever be refused the opportunity, no matter how ignorant or bigoted he may be. The Masters always take the good and use it wherever it appears, even if there is in the same man much that is bad also; and Their use of this force for good greatly helps the man who has generated it. For example, They will use the devotional force which is to be found even in a murderous fanatic, and thus They will allow him to do some good work and consequently to be helped. We also should imitate the Great ones; we should always try to take the good in everything and everybody. Do not look for and accentuate the evil in any one, but select and emphasize the good. Go on doing your own work to the best of your ability, and do not trouble yourself about the work of another, or about how he is doing it. Even if other people make difficulties in your way, climb over them and do not worry; they are your karma, and after all these things from outside do not really matter. Do not make the mistake of thinking that others are trying to thwart your good purposes. All these people are much like yourself, think of it — would you deliberately choose to do a wicked thing like that?

title: The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/V


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Rh At eleven o'clock, we crossed a mountain stream, running to the southward, through a valley where the land assumed a more fertile appearance than that which we had hitherto passed over, which was either barren scrub, or swampy ground.

At six o'clock, P.M. we arrived at another stream, running also to the south-westward, where we took up our quarters for the night Some were employed in making a fire and cooking supper, and others, who went in search of game, succeeded in shooting several black cockatoos. Mr. Kent and myself took a walk for some distance along the banks of this pleasant stream: we observed that its banks were covered with luxuriant grass, sprinkled with the yellow buttercup, which put us in mind of home.

The alluvial soil, however, extends no great distance; but the gently-swelling, lightly-wooded adjacent hills are well adapted for sheep-walks, and this is the more desirable, as, in all my excursions, in the vicinity of Swan River, I saw very little pasturable land.

On Friday morning, we directed our course N.W. by W., passing through a tract of land, diversified by moderately elevated hills, and fertile and well-watered valleys.

About nine o'clock, we turned to the eastward, to gain the summit of a hill perceived in that direction, for the purpose of getting a few bearings, and obtaining a view of the surrounding landscape. Having left this

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240 situation, we altered our course to N.W. by N., and walked about eight miles, over a tract of scrubby barren land. We then arrived at a swampy flat, where, there being good water, we stopped, and dined. Departing thence, and altering our course a little, a rich and romantic country soon burst into view, which we found abundantly supplied with good water.

In the evening, we encamped near a stream, running north-west, through land bearing considerable resemblance, both in appearance and quality, to the Cow-pastures in the county of Camden, New South Wales. We saw several flocks of kangaroos; and, as Mokărē had previously informed us, "not one,—not two,—not three,—but many in a flock." We also saw frequent traces of the native dog.

Whether it was that Mokărē had got into an enemy's country, we did not know; but he was particularly on the alert during the night. Some noise, not sufficient to arouse any other of the party, made him start up, seize his musket, and level it at something, which he afterwards said was a to-ort (a dog). The alarm having ceased, we resumed our slumbers till daybreak.

On Saturday, as the kangaroos appeared in great abundance, it was thought prudent to let half a day be spent in hunting them, to prevent interruption on our journey, and also to obtain a fresh mess for ourselves and the dogs, which did not appear to be thriving on their limited allowance.

We left one man to guard our prisoners. Mr. Kent

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Rh and myself went to the westward, and the others to the eastward. About noon, we re-assembled, unsuccessful; the kangaroos proving far too fleet for the dogs, while the sportsmen, from the open nature of the country, could not approach sufficiently near them, unperceived. The land was observed to continue of the same good quality, in both directions.

Before proceeding on our journey, we took a slight repast; and, while in the act of doing so, Mokărē sprang on his legs, seized his musket, and ran forward, making a hideous noise. We soon perceived the cause of this conduct: a native was advancing towards us, with that kind of confidence, inspired either from fearing no danger, or from a consciousness that support was at hand.

Mokărē was commanded not to fire; but there was no disturbance, as the native lads soon recognized each other. The stranger joined us with the utmost confidence, and partook of our repast. He was a good looking fellow (comparatively speaking), and his well-formed limbs, and general good condition, proved that he had an abundant and constant supply of nutriment.

He and Mokărē entered into an animated conversation. The stranger, in relating his story, did it in a sort of recitative, far from being disagreeable. Mokărē, who, at first, talked in the tone that he had acquired from us, soon relapsed into the same recitativo, which, it would appear, is their natural way of communicating with each other.

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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Fries, John

FRIES, John, American insurgent: b. 1764; d. 1825. He had a varied career, becoming in succession a cooper, soldier and auctioneer. His career of soldier was undertaken in the so-called Whisky Insurrection. When in July 1798, Congress voted a direct tax of $2,000,000 the Federal officers who were sent to Pennsylvania to collect the State quota of $237,000, were resisted by a party of opposition which Fries had rallied from among the Germans of Montgomery, Lehigh, Bucks and Berks counties. At Bethlehem, 7 March 1799, the United States marshal was compelled by this party to release 30 prisoners who had been arrested for refusing to obey the law. The “rebellion” was at length put down by the militia which President Adams ordered out, and among those captured was Fries, who was subsequently twice tried and on each occasion sentenced to death. In April 1800 he was pardoned by President Adams, who at the same time proclaimed an amnesty to all concerned in the “rebellion.” Removing to Philadelphia he engaged in the tinware business in which he became comparatively wealthy. Consult Davis, ‘The Fries Rebellion’ (Doylestown, Pa., 1899); McMaster, ‘History of the People of the United States’ (Vol. II, New York 1907); and, for an account of the trials, ‘Das erste und zweite Verhör von John Fries’ (Allentown 1839).


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242 We understood that he was on a hunting expedition; his present occupation being to assist in driving the kangaroos to a certain place, where they could be surrounded, and speared. He told us, that Will (a powerful chief, to whom all this tract of country belonged) was at no great distance to the eastward, and would be glad to see us.

From what I could learn, there is no doubt that a great extent of good land exists in that direction, to the northward of the Porrongorup and Morillup ranges. But, as I had previously arranged, in my own mind, the plan of our journey, I did not wish to deviate from it.

My determination was, to proceed, for three or four days, in the direction of Swan River; then to bend to the westward;—then southward,—and to return, to the settlement, by the sea coast. In conformity with this arrangement, the stranger's invitation was declined, to the great chagrin of Mokărē, and some others of the party, who felt the desire for exploring much diminished, by learning from him, that the land was very barren, and bad for travelling, in the direction we purposed to pursue, and infested with snakes.

We sent, by the stranger, our respects to Will, and an invitation for him to visit King Ya-nup (the name the natives give the Sound), where he, and any of his tribe, would meet a friendly reception. I regretted that we could not go to see the natives—our time being limited, and our object defined.

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now pursued a course directly north, passing through a country keeping the same general character,—good, open, forest land, without much timber. We started several flocks of kangaroos, but had no success, either in killing or catching any, though several ran pretty close to the sportsmen.

Mokărē, however, irritated by repeated disappointments, and determined to succeed, if possible, stripped himself naked; and we observed, with much curiosity, his manoeuvres. On perceiving a flock of kangaroos, which he did much sooner than any of the party, he walked, with the greatest caution, towards them, and continued doing so, while they were feeding. When any of them happened to look up, he stood firm in the position he might be in, without moving either body or limb, and

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text: Narrative of a Voyage Round the World (Wilson)/Chapter 16


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 case. On the south side of the cloister stood the refectory (P), an immense building, 100 ft. long and 60 ft. wide, accommodating six longitudinal and three transverse rows of tables. It was adorned with the portraits of the chief benefactors of the abbey, and with Scriptural subjects. The end wall displayed the Last Judgment. We are unhappily unable to identify any other of the principal buildings (N). The abbot’s residence (K), still partly standing, adjoined the entrance-gate. The guest-house (L) was close by. The bakehouse (M), also remaining, is a detached building of immense size.

The first English house of the Cluniac order was that of Lewes, founded by the earl of Warren, c. 1077. Of this only a few fragments of the domestic buildings exist. The best preserved Cluniac houses in England are Castle Acre, Norfolk, and Wenlock, Shropshire. Ground-plans of both are given in Britton’s Architectural Antiquities. They show several departures from the Benedictine arrangement. In each the prior’s house is remarkably perfect. All Cluniac houses in England were French colonies, governed by priors of that nation. They did not secure their independence nor become “abbeys” till the reign of Henry VI. The Cluniac revival, with all its brilliancy, was but short-lived. The celebrity of this, as of other orders, worked its moral ruin. With their growth in wealth and dignity the Cluniac foundations became as worldly in life and as relaxed in discipline as their predecessors, and a fresh reform was needed. The next great monastic revival, the Cistercian, arising in the last years of the 11th century, had a wider diffusion, and a longer and more honourable existence. Owing its real origin, as a distinct foundation of reformed Benedictines, in the year 1098, to Stephen Harding (a native of Dorsetshire, educated in the monastery of Sherborne), and deriving its name from Citeaux (Cistercium), a desolate and almost inaccessible forest solitude, on the borders of Champagne and Burgundy, the rapid growth and wide celebrity of the order are undoubtedly to be attributed to the enthusiastic piety of St Bernard, abbot of the first of the monastic colonies, subsequently sent forth in such quick succession by the first Cistercian houses, the far-famed abbey of Clairvaux (de Clara Valle), 1116. The rigid self-abnegation, which was the ruling principle of this reformed congregation of the Benedictine order, extended itself to the churches and other buildings erected by them. The characteristic of the Cistercian abbeys was the extremest simplicity and a studied plainness. Only one tower—a central one—was permitted, and that was to be very low. Unnecessary pinnacles and turrets were prohibited. The triforium was omitted. The windows were to be plain and undivided, and it was forbidden to decorate them with stained glass. All needless ornament was proscribed. The crosses must be of wood; the candlesticks of iron. The renunciation of the world was to be evidenced in all that met the eye. The same spirit manifested itself in the choice of the sites of their monasteries. The more dismal, the more savage, the more hopeless a spot appeared, the more did it please their rigid mood. But they came not merely as ascetics, but as improvers. The Cistercian monasteries are, as a rule, found placed in deep well-watered valleys. They always stand on the border of a stream; not rarely, as at Fountains, the buildings extend over it. These valleys, now so rich and productive, wore a very different aspect when the brethren first chose them as the place of their retirement. Wide swamps, deep morasses, tangled thickets, wild impassable forests, were their prevailing features. The “bright valley,” Clara Vallis of St Bernard, was known as the “valley of Wormwood,” infamous as a den of robbers. “It was a savage dreary solitude, so utterly barren that at first Bernard and his companions were reduced to live on beech leaves.”—(Milman’s Lat. Christ. vol. iii. p. 335.) All Cistercian monasteries, unless the circumstances of the locality forbade it, were arranged according to one plan. The general arrangement and distribution of the various buildings, which went to make up one of these vast establishments, may be gathered from that of St Bernard’s own abbey of Clairvaux, which is here given. It will be observed that the abbey precincts are surrounded by a strong wall, furnished at intervals with watch-towers and other defensive works. The wall is nearly encircled by a stream of water, artificially diverted from the small rivulets which flow through the precincts, furnishing the establishment with an abundant supply in every part, for the irrigation of the gardens and orchards, the sanitary requirements of the brotherhood and for the use of the offices and workshops.

The precincts are divided across the centre by a wall, running from N. to S., into an outer and inner ward,—the former containing the menial, the latter the monastic buildings. The precincts are entered by a gateway (P), at the extreme western extremity, giving admission to the lower ward. Here the barns, granaries, stables, shambles, workshops and workmen’s lodgings were placed, without any regard to symmetry, convenience being the only consideration. Advancing eastwards, we have before us the wall separating the outer and inner ward, and the gatehouse (D) affording communication between the two. On passing through the gateway, the outer court of the inner ward was entered, with the western façade of the monastic church in front. Immediately on the right of entrance was the abbot’s house (G), in close proximity to the guest-house (F). On the other side of the court were the stables, for the accommodation of the horses of the guests and their attendants (H). The church occupied a central position. To the south was the great cloister (A), surrounded by the chief monastic buildings, and farther to the east the smaller cloister, opening out of which were the infirmary, novices’ lodgings and quarters for the aged monks. Still farther to the east, divided from the monastic buildings by a wall, were the vegetable gardens and orchards, and tank for fish. The large fish-ponds, an indispensable adjunct to any ecclesiastical foundation, on the formation of which the monks lavished extreme care and pains, and which often remain as almost the only visible traces of these vast establishments, were placed outside the abbey walls.

Plan No. 2 furnishes the ichnography of the distinctly monastic buildings on a larger scale. The usually unvarying arrangement of the Cistercian houses allows us to accept this as a type of the monasteries of this order. The church (A) is the chief feature. It consists

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 it, and think she would be even more so, knowing so much about all the people. I should very much like to have a talk with her about them, especially Polycarp, Clemens of Alexandria, Irenaeus and Ignatius. I should like to know if she has been taught to like Tertullian or not. … Ruskin's work seems to take nearly all day. My own needlework has hardly been touched since Mama left. Certainly I have despatched R. I think singing and reading have flourished most. I can't consider Ruskin's work has got on, because I was not at Marlboro' House last week, tho' in other respects it's all right. I think, most of my time seems spent in putting the room neat.

4, Russell Place, August 26th, 1858.

Margaret has been kindness itself. … She urges that Andy should take a resident situation on account of her health. But Andy's heart is so clinging, id wound so fast round her home, her health even would suffer. … Her influence on the children is the fruit of three years' work. … Andy is the sunshine of her home.

4, Russell Place, December 3rd, 1858.

Mr. Maurice talked to Ockey a good deal about the Bible Class at the College. He wanted to know who some of the pupils were; and Ockey said it was so interesting to hear his descriptions of the people,


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 In the Open Space movement she was much cheered by the acquisition of land at Gowbarrow overlooking Ullswater Lake; and she threw herself energetically into the plan for purchasing additional land on Mariners’ Hill, which had become peculiarly precious to her since the erection of the seat in memory of her mother.

But all this progress, in what she considered the proper work of her life, was interrupted, in 1907, by a duty which she was, at the time, rather disposed to look upon as likely to be barren of results. This was her appointment on the Royal Commission for enquiring into the working of the Poor Law. Nevertheless it will be seen from her letters that she heartily devoted herself to the rather exhausting labour of the visits to Institutions in various parts of the country, as well as the attendance at the sittings of the Commissioners. It should be mentioned also that the burden of her labours had been much increased by a recent carriage accident. The letter from Lord George Hamilton, the chairman of the Commission, shows that some, at least, of her colleagues found more value in her services than she was disposed to attach to them; and from other quarters, also, we have heard similar appreciation, from those who had opportunity of observing her work.

As so many words have been wasted on theories about her attitude towards the decisions of the Commissioners, I wish to call special attention to her letter to the Chairman, as showing the exact extent of her difference from, and agreement with, the conclusions of her colleagues.

Her steady dislike to undue Government interference with movements for assisting the poor showed itself also in 1909, in that part of her Letter to her Fellow Workers which refers to the attempts of the War Office to exploit the Cadet Corps.

In the same year she was greatly encouraged by the progress of the housing reform, carried on in Amsterdam and other towns by her Dutch friends, a progress which gave her special satisfaction.

But all these hopes and efforts were marred in 1910 by the loss of her sister Miranda, who from her earliest days had brought so bright and helpful an element into Octavia’s life, and


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User talk:Ronhjones

You can normally find me on en-Wiki http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/User_talk:Ronhjones.

title: User talk:Ronhjones


text:
The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/VI

CURIOSITY Be so centred in your work that you have no time to find fault with others, or to pry into their affairs. If only each man would mind his own business the world would be infinitely happier. This prying into other people's affairs works much of evil, and it is quite accurate to say that the person who does it is suffering from a disease. The man who is prying is not usually doing it for the purpose of helping, but simply to satisfy his curiosity about something which does not concern him, which is symptomatic of his disease. Another symptom is that the man cannot keep to himself the information which he has so nefariously acquired, but must everlastingly be pouring it out to others as foolish and as wicked as himself. For it is wicked beyond all doubt, this gossip — one of the wickedest things in the world. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred what is said is an absolute fabrication, but it does an enormous amount of harm. It is not only the damage done to another person's reputation; that is the least part of the evil. The gossip and his pestilential cronies perpetually make thought-forms of some evil quality which they choose to attribute to their victim, and then proceed to hurl them upon him in an unceasing stream. The natural effect of this will be to awaken in him the evil quality of which they accuse him, if there is anything at all in his nature which will respond to their malicious efforts. In the one case out of a hundred in which there is some truth in their spiteful prattle, their thought-forms intensify the evil, and so they pile up for themselves a store of the terrible karma which comes from leading a brother into sin. Theosophists especially should be careful to avoid these evils, because many of them are making some effort in the direction of developing psychic powers, and if they should use those for the purpose of prying into other people's affairs or for sending evil thoughts to them, their karma would be of the most terrible nature. Never speak unless you know, and not even then unless you are absolutely certain that some definite good will come of it. Before you speak ask yourself about what you are going to say: “Is it true? Is it kind? Is it useful?” And unless you can answer these three questions in the affirmative, your duty is to remain silent. I am well aware that an absolute following of this rule would reduce the conversation of the world by about ninety per cent, but that would be an unspeakable advantage, and the world would advance much more rapidly. When we understand the underlying unity of all we cannot be otherwise than helpful, we cannot stand aside from our brother's sorrow. Of course there may be many cases where physical aid is impossible, but at least we can always give the help of sympathy, compassion and love, and this is clearly our duty. For a man who realizes Theosophy harshness is impossible. Any member who acts roughly or coarsely is failing in his Theosophy, and if he fails in patience he is failing in comprehension. To understand all is to forgive all, to love all. Every man has his own point of view, and the shortest road for one man is not by any means necessarily the best for another. Every man has a perfect right to take his own evolution in hand in his own way, and to do with regard to it what he chooses, so long as he does not cause suffering or inconvenience to any one else. It is emphatically not our business to try to put everybody right, but only to see that all is right on our side in our relation with others. Before we undertake an effort to force someone else into our path it will be best for us carefully to examine his, for it may be better for him. We ought to be always ready to help freely to the fullest extent of our power, but we ought never to interfere.

title: The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/VI


text:
The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/VII

KNOW THYSELF The old Greek saying Gnothi seauton, know thyself, is a fine piece of advice, and self-knowledge is absolutely necessary to any candidate for progress. And yet we must beware lest our necessary self-examination should degenerate into morbid introspection, as it often does with some of the best of our students. Many people are constantly worrying themselves lest unawares they should be "sliding back," as they call it. If they understood the method of evolution a little better they would see that no one can slide back when the whole current is moving steadily forward. As a torrent comes rushing down a slope, many little eddies are formed behind rocks, or perhaps where the water is whirling round and round, and therefore for the moment some of it is moving backward; but yet the whole body of water, eddies and all, is being swept on in the rush of the torrent, so that even that which is apparently moving backwards in relation to the rest of the stream is really being hurried forward along with the rest. Even the people who are doing nothing towards their evolution, and let everything go as it will, are all the while gradually evolving, because of the irresistible force of the LOGOS which is steadily pressing them onwards; but they are moving so slowly that it will take them millions of years of incarnation and trouble and uselessness to gain even a step. The method in which this is managed is delightfully simple and ingenious. All the evil qualities in man are vibrations of the lower matter of the respective planes. In the astral body, for example, selfishness, anger, hatred, jealousy, sensuality, and all qualities of this kind are invariably expressed by vibrations of the lower type of astral matter, while love, devotion, sympathy, and emotions of that class are expressed only in matter of the three higher sub-planes. From this flow two remarkable results. It must be borne in mind that each sub-plane of the astral vehicle has a special relation to the corresponding sub-plane in the mental body; or to put it more accurately, the four lower sub-planes of the astral correspond to the four kinds matter in the mental body, while the three higher correspond to the causal vehicle. Therefore it will be seen that only higher qualities can be built into the causal body, since the vibrations created by the lower can find in it no matter which is capable of responding to them. Thence it emerges that while any good which the man developes within himself records itself permanently by a change in his causal body, the evil which he does and thinks and feels cannot possibly touch the real ego, but can only cause disturbance and trouble to the mental body, which is renewed for each fresh incarnation. Of course the result of this evil does store itself in the mental and astral permanent atoms, and so the man has to face it over and over again, but that is a very different matter from taking it into the ego and making it really a part of himself. The second remarkable result produced is that a certain amount of force directed towards good produces an enormously greater effect in proportion than the same amount of force directed towards evil. If a man throws a certain amount of energy into some evil quality it has to express itself through the lower and heavier astral matter; and while any kind of astral matter is exceedingly subtle as compared with anything on the physical plane, yet as compared with the higher matter of its own plane it is just as gross as lead is on the physical plane when compared with the finest ether. If therefore a man should exert exactly the same amount of force in the direction of good, it would have to move through the much finer matter of these higher sub-planes and would produce at least a hundred times as much effect, or if we compare the lowest with the highest, probably more than a thousand times. Remember that even in addition to what has been said as to the effect of force in different grades of matter, we have the other great fact that the LOGOS Himself is by His resistless power steadily pressing the whole system onwards and upwards, and that, however slow this cyclic progression may seem to us, it is a fact which cannot be neglected, for its effect is that a man who accurately balances his good and evil comes back, not to the same actual position, but to the same relative position, and therefore even he has made some slight advance, and is as it were in a position just a little than that which he has actually deserved and made for himself. It will be clear from these considerations that, if any one is so foolish as to want to get really backwards against the stream, he will have to work hard and definitely towards evil; there is no fear of “sliding” back. That is one of the old delusions which remains from the times of the belief in the orthodox devil, who was so much stronger than God that everything in the world was working in his favour. Really the exact opposite is the case, and everything round a man is calculated to assist him, if he only understands it. So many of our most conscientious people are just like the child who has a little garden of his own, and constantly pulls up his plants to see how the roots are growing — with the result of course that nothing grows at all. We must learn not to think of ourselves personally, nor of our personal progress, but enter the path of development, go on working for others to the best of our ability, and trust our progress to take care of itself. The more a scientist thinks about himself the less mental energy he has for the problems of science; the more a devotee thinks about himself the less devotion has he to lavish upon his object. Some self-examination is necessary, but it is a fatal mistake to spend too much time in self-examination; it is like spending all one's time in oiling and tinkering at the machinery. We use what faculties we have, and in the use of them others will develope and true progress will be made. If you are learning a language, for example, it is a mistake to try to learn it from books quite perfectly before you make any attempt to speak it; you must plunge into it, and make mistakes in it, and in the effort you will learn in due course to speak without mistake. So in the course of time what is called renunciation will come naturally, and even easily. No doubt when men first attempt to live the higher life they do definitely renounce many things which are pleasures to others — which still have a strong attraction even for them; but soon the man finds that the attraction of such pleasures has ceased, and that he has neither time nor inclination for the lower enjoyments. Learn above all things not to worry. Be happy, and make the best of everything. Try to raise yourself and help others. Contentment is not incompatible with aspirations. Optimism is justified by the certainty of the ultimate triumph of good, though if we take only the physical plane into account it is not easy to maintain that position. One's attitude in this matter depends chiefly upon the level at which one habitually keeps one's consciousness. If it is centred chiefly in the physical plane one sees little but the misery, but when it becomes possible to centre it at a higher level the joy beyond always shines through. I know the BUDDHA said that life was misery, and it is quite true on the whole with regard to the manifested life down here, yet the Greeks and Egyptians managed to extract much joy even from this lower life by taking it from the philosophical point of view. We never lose anything by making the best of things, but gain very much in happiness and in the power of making others happy. As our sympathy and our love grow we shall be able to receive within ourselves all the streams of emotion and of thought which come to us from others, and yet we shall remain within ourselves unaffected, calm and joyous, like the great ocean which receives the waters of many rivers and yet remains always in equilibrium. The inner life of an aspirant ought not to be one of continual oscillation. Outer moods change constantly because they are affected by all sorts of outside influences. If you find yourself depressed, it may be due to any one of half-a-dozen reasons, none of them of any real importance. The physical body is a fertile source of such ills; a trifling indigestion, a slight congestion in the circulation, or a little over-fatigue may account for many conditions which feel quite serious. Even more frequently depression is caused by the presence of some astral entity who is himself depressed, and is hovering round you either in search of sympathy or in the hope of drawing from you the vitality which he lacks. We must simply learn to disregard depression altogether — to throw it off as a sin and a crime against our neighbors, which it really is; but, anyhow, whether we can succeed fully in dispersing its clouds or not we must learn simply to go on as though it were not there. Your mind is your own mind, into which you should allow entrance only to such thoughts as you, the ego, choose. Your astral body is also your own, and you should not allow in it any sensations except those which are good for the higher self. So you must manage these vibrations of depression, and absolutely decline to give harbourage to them. They must not be allowed to impinge upon you. If they do so impinge they must not be permitted to effect a lodgment. If, to some slight extent, in spite of your efforts, they do hang about you, then it is your duty to ignore them and to let no one else know that they even exist. Sometimes people tell me they have had moments of splendid inspiration and exaltation, and glowing devotion and joy. They do not realize that these are precisely the moments when the higher self succeeds in impressing himself upon the lower, and that all that which they feel is there all the time, but the lower self is not always conscious of it. Realize by reason and by faith that it is always there, and it becomes as though we felt it, even in the time when the link is imperfect and down here we feel it not. But many a man, while admitting the truth of this in the abstract, yet says that he cannot perpetually feel this happiness because of his own defects and constant failures. His attitude in fact is very much that adopted in the litany: “Have mercy upon us miserable sinners.” Now we are all sinners in the sense that we all fall short of what we ought to do, and constantly do what we ought not to do, and constantly do what we ought not to do but there is no need to aggravate the offense by being miserable sinners. A miserable person is a public nuisance, because he is a centre of infection, and is spreading misery and sorrow all round upon his unfortunate neighbours — a thing which no man has a right to do. Any man with just the same feelings, who contrives to keep himself reasonably happy even while making determined efforts to reform, is not injuring others in at all the same way. People who think and speak of themselves as miserable worms are going exactly the right way to make themselves miserable worms, for what a man thinks, that he is. All such talk is usually hypocrisy, as you may easily see from the fact that the man who so readily calls himself a miserable worm in church would feel distinctly insulted if anybody else called him so in ordinary daily life. And whether it is hypocritical or not it is certainly nonsense, for we passed the reptilian stage of evolution long ago, if we ever were in it. Anyone who understands at all the influence of thought will realize that a man who really thinks himself a miserable worm has already deprived himself of any power of rising out of that state, while the man who realizes strongly that he is a spark of the divine life will feel ever hopeful and joyous, because in essence the divine is always joy. It is a great mistake to waste time repentance; what is past is past, and no amount of remorse can undo it. As one of our own Masters once said, “The only repentance that is worth anything whatever is the resolve not to do it again.”

title: The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/VII


text:
The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/VIII

ASCETICISM Some mistaken ideas seem prevalent among our members upon the subject of asceticism, and it may be worth while to consider what it really is, and how far it may be useful. The word is usually taken to signify a life of austerities and of mortification of the body, though this is somewhat of a departure from the original meaning of the Greek word asketes, which is simply one who exercises himself as an athlete does. But ecclesiasticism impounded the word and changed its sense, applying it to the practice of all sorts of self-denial for the purpose of spiritual progress, on the theory that the bodily nature with its passions and desires is the stronghold of the evil inherent in man since the fall of Adam, and that it must therefore be suppressed by fasting and penance. In the grander Oriental religions we sometimes encounter a similar idea, based on the conception of matter as essentially evil, and following from that the deduction that an approach to ideal good or an escape from the miseries of existence can be effected only by subduing or torturing the body. The student of Theosophy will at once see that in both these theories there is dire confusion of thought. There is no evil inherent in man except such as he has himself generated in previous births; nor is matter essentially evil, since it is just as much divine as is spirit, and without it all manifestation of the Deity would be impossible. The body and its desires are not in themselves evil or good, but it is true that before real progress can be made they must be brought under the control of the higher self within. To torture the body is foolish; to govern it is necessary. “The men who perform severe austerities……. unintelligent, tormenting the aggregated elements forming the body, and Me also, seated in the inner body — know these demoniacal in their resolves.” (Bhagavad-Gita, XVII, 5, 6). And again, “The austerity done under a deluded understanding, with self-torture… that is declared of darkness.” (Ibid, XVII, 19).

There appears to be a widely-spread delusion that to be really good one must always be uncomfortable — that discomfort as such is directly pleasing to the LOGOS. Nothing can be more grotesque than this idea, and in the above quoted texts from the Bhagavad-Gita we have a hint that it is perhaps worse than grotesque, for it is there said that they who torment the body are tormenting the LOGOS enshrined in it. With us in Europe this unfortunately common theory is one of the many horrible legacies left us by the ghastly blasphemy of Calvinism. I myself have actually heard a child say: “I feel so happy that I am sure I must be very wicked” — a truly awful result of criminally distorted teaching. Our Masters, who are so far above us, are full of joy; full of sympathy, but not of sorrow. We also must feel sympathy with others, but not identify ourselves with their sorrow. A man in great trouble can judge nothing clearly. To his vision all the world seems dark, and it appears as if no one should be happy. When he is in great joy, all the world appears bright, and it seems as if no one ought to be unhappy. Yet nothing is changed, not even he himself, but only his astral body. All the world is going on just the same, whether you are happy or unhappy. Do not identify yourself with your astral body, but try to get out of this web of illusion, these personal moods. No doubt this ludicrous theory of the merit of discomfort comes partly from the knowledge that in order to make progress man must control his passions, and from the fact that such control is disagreeable to the unevolved person. But the discomfort is very far from being meritorious; on the contrary, it is a sign that the victory is not yet achieved. It arises from the fact that the lower nature is not yet dominated, and that a struggle is still taking place. When the control is perfect there will no longer be any desire for the lower, consequently no struggle and no discomfort. The man will live the right life and avoid the lower because it is perfectly natural for him to do so — no longer because he thinks he ought to make the effort, even though it may be difficult for him. So that the discomfort exists only at an intermediate stage, and not it, but its absence, is the sign of success. Another reason for the gospel of the uncomfortable is a confusion of cause and effect. It is observed that the really advanced person is simple in his habits, and often careless about a large number of minor luxuries that are considered important and really necessary by the ordinary man. But such carelessness about luxury is the effect, not the cause, of his advancement. He does not trouble himself about these little matters because he has largely outgrown them and they no longer interest him — not in the least because he considers them as wrong; and one who, while still craving for them, imitates him in abstaining from them, does not thereby become advanced. At a certain stage a child plays with dolls and bricks; a few years later he has become a boy and his play is cricket and football; later again when he is a young man these in turn lose much of their interest, and he begins to play the game of love and life. But an infant who chooses to imitate his elders, who throws aside his dolls and brick and attempts to play cricket, does not thereby transcend his infancy. As his natural growth takes place he puts away childish things; but he cannot force the growth merely by putting these away, and playing at being older. There is no virtue whatever merely in becoming uncomfortable for discomfort's sake; but there are three cases in which voluntary discomfort may be a part of progress. The first is when it is undertaken for the sake of helping another, as when a man nurses a sick friend or labours hard to support his family. The second is when a man realizes that some habit to which he is addicted is a hindrance in his upward way — such a habit, say, as tobacco-smoking, alcohol-drinking, or corpse-eating. If he is in earnest he gives up the habit instantly, but because the body is accustomed to that particular form of pollution it misses it, cries out for it, and causes the man a great deal of trouble. If he holds firm to his resolution his body will presently adapt itself to the new conditions, and when it has done so there will be no further discomfort. But in the intermediate stage, while the battle for mastery between the man and his body is still being fought, there may be a good deal of suffering, and this must be taken as the karma of having adopted the vice which he is now forsaking. When the suffering passes the karma is paid, the victory is won, and a step in evolution is achieved. I am aware that there are rare cases (when people are physically very weak) in which it might be dangerous to relinquish a bad habit instantaneously. The morphine habit is an instance in point; one who is a victim to its horrors usually finds it necessary gradually to decrease the dose, because the strain of abrupt cessation might well be great than the physical body could endure. It would seem that there are certain pitiable cases in which the same system of gradual decrease must be applied to the flesh-eating habit. Doctrine tell us that while the digestion of flesh takes place chiefly in the stomach, that of most forms of vegetable food belongs to the work of the intestines; and therefore a person in very weak health sometimes finds it advisable to give to these various organs a certain amount of time to adjust themselves to the necessary change, and to practise, as it were, the functions which they are now required to fulfil. The steady pressure of the will, however, will soon bring the body into subjection and adapt it to the new order of things. The third cases in which discomfort may have its use is when a man deliberately forces his body to do something which it dislikes, in order to make sure that it will obey him when necessary. But it must be distinctly understood that even then the merit is in the ready obedience of the body, and not in its suffering. In the way a man may gradually learn indifference to many of the minor ills of life, and so save himself much worry and irritation. In this training himself in will, and his body in obedience, he must be careful to attempt only such things as are advantageous. The Hatha Yogi developes will-power, assuredly, when he holds his arm above his head until it withers; but while he grains enormously in will-power he also loses the use of his arm. The will-power can be developed just as well by some effort the result of which will be permanently useful instead of permanently hampering — by the conquest, for example, of irritability or pride, impatience or sensuality. It would be well if all who feel a yearning for asceticism would take to heart the words of wisdom in the Bhagavad-Gita: “Purity, straightforwardness, continence and harmlessness are called the austerity of the body. Speech causing no annoyance, truthful, pleasant and beneficial……is called the austerity of speech. Mental happiness, equilibrium, silence, self-control, purity of nature — this is called the austerity of the mind.” (XVII, 14, 15, 16). Note especially that in this last verse mental happiness is described as the first characteristic of the austerity of the mind — the first sign of the perfect self-control necessary for one who wishes to make real progress. It is emphatically our duty to be happy; morbidity, gloom or depression mean always failure and weakness, because they mean selfishness. The man who allows himself to brood over his own sorrows or wrongs is forgetting his duty to his fellows. He permits himself to become a centre of infection, spreading gloom instead of joy among his brethren; what is this but the grossest selfishness? If there be any one who feels a yearning for asceticism, let him take up this mental austerity advised in the scripture, and resolve that whatever may be his private troubles or sufferings he will forget himself and them for the sake of others, so that he may ever be pouring forth upon his fellow-pilgrims the radiant happiness which comes from the fuller knowledge of the Theosophist, ever helping them towards the realization that “Brahman is bliss.”

title: The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/VIII


text:
The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/IX

SMALL WORRIES Unnecessary worry appears to be the key-note of modern life. Not only those who are making special efforts to progress are making themselves unreasonably uncomfortable, but the same vice is quite common even in ordinary life. The astral body of the average man is a sad sight for a clairvoyant. The illustration in Man Visible and Invisible (p. 131) shows what an astral body ought to be — merely a reflection of the colours of the mental, indicating that the man allows himself to feel only what his reason dictates. But if that be too much to expect at this stage of evolution, the picture on p.102 gives us an assortment of colours which represents an average astral body when comparatively at rest. In it there are many hues which show the presence of undesirable qualities — qualities which should be weeded out as soon as may be; but that side of the subject is treated in the book, and it is to another feature that I wish now to draw attention. I have said that the illustration shows what an ordinary undeveloped astral body would look like if comparatively at rest; but one of the evils of what we have agreed to call civilization is that hardly any astral body ever is even comparatively at rest. Of course it is understood that the matter of an astral body must always be in perpetual vibration, and each of the colours that we see in the drawing marks a different rate of that vibration; but there should be a certain order in this, and a certain limit to it. The more developed man (on p. 131) has five rates of vibration, but the ordinary man shows at least nine rates, with a mixture of varying shades in addition. That is clearly not so good as the other, but the case of the majority of people in the West is really far worse than that. To have even nine rates of simultaneous vibration is already bad enough, but in the astral body of many a man and woman one might easily observe fifty rates or even hundred. The body should be divided into a few fairly definite areas, each swinging steadily at its normal rate, but instead of that, its surface is usually broken up into a multiplicity of little whirl-pools and cross-currents, all battling one against the other in the maddest confusion. All these are the result of little unnecessary emotions and worries, and the ordinary person of the West is simply a mass of these. He is troubled about this thing, he is annoyed about that, he is in fear about a third, and so on; his whole life is filled with petty little emotions, and all his strength is frittered away on them. A really great emotion, be it good or bad, sweeps over the whole of a man' s astral body and for the time brings it all to one rate of vibration; but these small worries make little vortices or centres of local disturbance, each of which persists for a considerable time. The astral body which thus vibrates fifty ways at once is a blot upon the landscape and a nuisance to its neighbors. It is not only a very ugly object — it is also a serious annoyance. It may be compared to a physical body suffering from some unusually aggravated from of palsy, with all its muscles jerking simultaneously in different directions. But to make the illustration even partially adequate we should have to assume that this palsy was contagious, or that every one who saw its unfortunate results felt an irresistible tendency to reproduce them. For this horrible chaos of catastrophic confusion produces an unpleasant and most disturbing effect upon all sensitive people who approach it; it infects their astral bodies and communicates to them a painful sensation of unrest and worry. Only a few have yet unfolded the faculties which enable them to see this maleficent influence in action; a larger number are vaguely conscious of discomfort when they approach one of these fussy persons; but probably the majority feel nothing definite at the time of meeting, though later in the day they will probably wonder why they are so inexplicably fatigued. The effect is there and the harm is done, whether it be immediately perceptible or not. A person who is so foolish as to allow himself to get into this condition does much harm to many, but most of all to himself. Frequently the perpetual astral disturbance reacts through the etheric upon the dense physical vehicle, and all sorts of nervous diseases are produced. Nearly all nerve troubles are the direct result of unnecessary worry and emotion, and would soon disappear if the patient would but hold his vehicles still and possess his soul in peace. But even cases where a strong physical body is able successfully to resist this constant irritation from the astral, its effect upon its own plane is no less disastrous. These tiny centres of inflammation which thus cover the whole astral body are to it what boils are to the physical body — not only themselves causes of acute discomfort, sore spots the least touch upon which produces terrible pain, but also weak spots through which the life-blood of vitality drains away, and through which also blood-poisoning from without may take place. A person whose astral body is in this distracted condition can offer practically no resistance to any evil influence which he may encounter, while he is quite unable to profit by good influences. His strength flows out through these open sores, at the same time that all sorts of disease-germs find entrance by them. He is not using and controlling his astral body as a whole, but allowing it to break up into a number of separate centres and control him. His little worries and vexations establish themselves and confirm their empire over him until they become a legion of devils who possess him so that he cannot escape from them. This is a painfully common condition; how is a man to avoid falling into it, and if he is already in it, how is he to get out of it? The answer is the same to both questions; let him learn not to worry, not to fear, not to be annoyed. Let him reason with himself as to the utter unimportance of all these little personal matters which have loomed so large upon his horizon. Let him consider how they will appear when he looks back upon them from the next life, or even twenty years hence. Let him lay well to heart the words of wisdom, that of all the outward things that happen to a man “nothing matters much, and most things matter not at all.” What he himself does or says or thinks is of importance to him, for that forms his future; what other people do or say or think matters to him nothing whatever. Let him abstract himself from all these little pin-pricks of daily life, and simply decline to be worried by them. It will need some resolution at first, for it requires effort to conquer a well-established bad habit. He will find his mind muttering to him over and over again: “Mrs. Jones spoke evil of me; perhaps she is doing it now; perhaps other people may believe her; perhaps it may do me harm,” and so on ad infinitum. But he must reply: “I don't care what Mrs. Jones has said, though I am sorry the poor woman should make such bad karma. I absolutely decline to think of it or of her. I have my work to do, and have no time to waste in thinking of foolish gossip.” Or it may be that forebodings of coming evil are constantly thrusting themselves into his brain: “Perhaps next year I may lose my position; perhaps I shall be starving; perhaps I shall be bankrupt; perhaps I may lose the affection of some friend.” This also should be met firmly: Perhaps all these things may happen, but also perhaps they may not, and it is useless to try to cross a bridge before one come to it. I shall take all reasonable precautions, and when that is done I decline to think further of the matter. Worrying cannot affect whatever may be coming, but it can and certainly will make me unfit to meet it. Therefore I refuse to worry; I definitely turn my back on the whole subject.”

Another common form of worry which leads to the most serious results is the folly of taking offense at something which somebody else says or does. Ordinarily common-sense would lead a man to avoid this mistake, and yet those who do avoid it are few. It needs only that we should think dispassionately about the matter, and we shall see that what the other man has said or done cannot make any difference to us. If he has said something which has hurt our feelings, we may be sure that in nine cases out of ten he has not meant it to be offensive; why then should we allow ourselves to be disturbed about the matter? Even in the rare cases when a remark is intentionally rude or spiteful, where a man has said something purposely to wound another, it is still exceedingly foolish of that other to allow himself to feel hurt. If the man had an evil intention in what he said, he is much to be pitied, for we know that under the law of divine justice he will certainly suffer for his foolishness. What he has said need in no way affect us, for, if we think of it, no effect whatever has really been produced. The irritating word does not in any way injure us, except in so far as we may choose to take it up and injure ourselves by brooding over it or allowing ourselves to be wounded in our feelings. What are the words of another, that we should let our serenity be disturbed by them? They are merely a vibration in the atmosphere; if it had not happened that we heard them, or heard of them, would they have affected us? If not, then it is obviously not the words that have injured us, but the fact that we heard them. So if we allow ourselves to care about what a man has said, it is we who are responsible for the disturbance treated in our astral bodies, and not he. The man has done and can do nothing that can harm us; if we feel hurt and injured and thereby make ourselves a great deal of trouble, we have only ourselves to thank for it. If a disturbance arises within our astral bodies in reference to what he has said, that is merely because we have not yet gained control over those bodies; we have not yet developed the calmness which enables us to look down as soul upon all this, and go on our way and attend to our own work without taking the slightest notice of foolish or spiteful remarks made by other men. This is the merest common-sense, yet not one in a hundred will act upon it. That fact is that any one who wished to become a student of occultism must not have any personal feelings that can be offended under any circumstances whatever. A man who has them is still thinking of himself; whereas our duty is to forget ourselves in order to remember the good of others. Nothing can offend you if you have resolved not to be offended — if you are thinking only how to help the other man, and not at all of yourself. Another variant of the disease is less personal and therefore is so far less blame-worthy, but hardly less prejudicial to progress. It is the habit of fussing over trifles in business or in household affairs. This always involves a lack of discrimination and of the sense of perspective. It is quite true that a household or a business must be orderly, that things must be done punctually and exactly; but the way to achieve this is to set up a high ideal and press steadily towards it — not to irritate every one by ceaseless, useless worry. The person who is so unfortunate as to be afflicted with a disposition of this kind should make a most determined fight against it, for until he conquers it he will be a force working always for friction and not for peace, and so will be of little real use in the world. His symptoms differ slightly from those of the more personal worrier; in his case there are fewer of the carbuncular vortices, but there is a perpetual tremor, an unrest of the whole astral body which is equally disquieting to others, equally subversive of happiness and advancement for the fusser himself. The man must learn to be master of his mind and his feelings, and steadily reject every thought and emotion which his highest self does not approve. A chaos of petty emotions is unworthy of a rational being, and it is to the last degree undignified that man, who is a spark of the Divine, should allow himself to fall under the sway of his desire-elemental — a thing that is not even a mineral yet. I have already said that this disastrous astral confusion is often prejudicial to physical health; but it is invariably worse than prejudicial to progress on the path — it is absolutely fatal to it. One of the first great lessons to be learnt on that path is perfect self-control, and a long stage on the way to that is complete absence of worry. At first, from mere habit, the matter of the astral body will still be swept readily into unnecessary vortices, but every time that happens the man must firmly obliterate them, and restore the steady swing of the feelings which he, as an ego, really desires to have. Let him fill himself so entirely with the divine love that it may be ever pouring from him in all directions in the shape of love for his fellow-men, and then there will be no room for unnecessary vibrations; he will have no time to worry over trifling personal matters if his whole life is spent in the service of the LOGOS, in trying to help forward the evolution of the world. To make any real progress or to do any real work a man must turn from the lower and reach towards the higher; he must come out of our world into Theirs — out of the restlessness into the peace which passeth understanding.

title: The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/IX


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Boyes, Edward Taylor


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Bracken, Thomas