the others. It is, that the great Helpers of Humanity--those who have
reached up to what perfection this period of evolution and this solar
system will allow--are living veritable facts, and not abstractions
cold and distant. They are, as our old H. P. Blavatsky so often said_,
LIVING MEN. _These Helpers as living facts and high ideals will fill
the soul with hope, will themselves help all who wish to raise the
human race._
_Let us not forget these three great ideas._
WILLIAM Q. JUDGE
THE THEOSOPHICAL PATH
MONTHLY ILLUSTRATED
EDITED BY KATHERINE TINGLEY
NEW CENTURY CORPORATION, POINT LOMA, CALIFORNIA, U. S. A.
Entered as second-class matter July 25, 1911, at the Post Office at
Point Loma, California under the Act of March 3, 1879
Copyright, 1911, by Katherine Tingley
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VOL. I NO. 4 CONTENTS OCTOBER 1911
Scene from _The Aroma of Athens_ _Frontispiece_
Karma, Reincarnation, and Immortality
H. T. Edge, B. A. (Cantab.) 243
Scenes from _The Aroma of Athens_ (_illustrations_)
246-247, 254-255, 266-267
Poetry and Criticism Kenneth Morris 247
"The Music of the Spheres" H. Coryn, M. D., M. R. C. S. 258
Does Nirvâna mean Annihilation? T. H. 261
Cathedrals in Ancient Crete A Student 262
The World of Womanhood Grace Knoche 264
"Magnetons," Force and Matter H. Travers 267
The Natural History Museum, London (_illustrated_) 270
Scenes in Geneva and near Champéry, Switzerland (_illustrations_) 271
Was H. P. Blavatsky a Plagiarist? H. T. Edge, B. A. (Cantab.) 271
A Farmhouse on the Norfolk Broads, England (_illustration_) 274
Buckingham Palace, London (_illustrated_) 275
The Golden Chain of Platonic Succession
F. S. Darrow, A. M., PH. D. (Harv.) 276
Classical Cyrene Ariomardes 280
Killarney, Ireland (_illustrated_)
F. J. Dick, M. INST. C. E., M. INST. C. E. I. 282
The Vrbas Defile, Bosnia (_illustrated_) F. J. B. 286
Rocking-Stone Pinnacle, Tasmania (_illustration_) 287
Astronomical Notes C. J. Ryan 287
St. Paul's Cathedral from Ludgate Hill (_illustrated_) Carolus 293
Who Made the Eucalypts? (_illustrated_) Nature-Lover 295
Australian Marsupials (_illustrated_) Nature-Lover 296
Hoa-Haka-Nana-Ia (_illustrated_) P. A. Malpas 299
Sun-Life and Earth-Life Per Fernholm, M. E. (Stockholm) 300
The Spade of the Archaeologist Ariomardes 303
The Lands now Submerged Durand Churchill 305
Scene in Amsterdam. Oil Creek Falls, Alberta, Canada
(_illustrations_) 306-307
Book Reviews: _Il est ressuscité_ (Charles Morice) H. A. Fussell 307
[Illustration: Copyright by Katherine Tingley, 1911 Lomaland Photo. and
Engraving Dept. SCENE FROM "THE AROMA OF ATHENS," AS PRESENTED IN THE
GREEK THEATER, INTERNATIONAL THEOSOPHICAL HEADQUARTERS, POINT LOMA,
CALIFORNIA, APRIL 17, 1911 PROCLAMATION OF THE PELOPONNESIAN WAR BY
MELESIPPOS, THE SPARTAN HERALD]
THE THEOSOPHICAL PATH
KATHERINE TINGLEY, EDITOR
VOL. I OCTOBER, 1911 NO. 4
HE who thinks himself holier than another, he who has any pride in his
exemption from vice or folly, he who believes himself wise, or in any
way superior to his fellow-men, is incapable of discipleship.--_Light
on the Path_
KARMA, REINCARNATION, AND IMMORTALITY: by H. T. Edge, B. A. (Cantab.)
People habitually discuss the past and the future of the human race
with a zeal and interest that clashes strangely with their professed
views on the subject of immortality; for what living interest could we
have in the drama and prospects of a world if our appearance on the
stage were actually limited to the term of a single mortal life? This
constitutes the strongest kind of argument against the conventional
views, theological or otherwise. It would seem that we are really
conscious, though in a dim and undefined way, of our immortality--or,
rather, of the immortality of our essence. The same conviction also
arises when we consider the readiness with which people will face
death, sooner than sacrifice some ideal of love or duty; a readiness
quite inconsistent with professed beliefs.
While most of that which goes to make up a man has grown together
during the period since his birth, and will fall asunder again when he
dies, there is an immortal seed which was before and shall be again.
What is needed is to make our philosophy agree with our inner
convictions, instead of contradicting them. If the consciousness of
immortality in the young were preserved, and not destroyed by wrong
teachings, the old would not have to spend so much time and energy
in trying to solve problems that would never have arisen. We do not
sufficiently realize what we owe to centuries of theological dogmatism
and other forms of materialism; and consequently we underestimate the
effect which would be produced if the rising generations were guided on
higher, broader, and more generous lines of thought.
Theosophy justly claims that its philosophy enables us to interpret our
own intuitions. Its teachings do not contradict our innate conviction
of the justice of universal law. Theosophy may be called a science,
inasmuch as it interprets nature, studying the effects and unraveling
their causes, finding explanations that will account for the facts. It
might also be called rationalism, since it imposes no dogmas but points
out facts. But both science and reason must be understood in a vastly
wider sense than the conventional one. Nature is not limited to her
external manifestations; for the body is but the vesture of the soul
within--whether in man or in the earth. Nor can the function of science
be limited to physics.
The justice and harmony of a human life cannot be discerned if we
regard that life separately--apart from its sequel and apart from that
of which it is the sequel. This circumstance accounts for most of the
strivings and strainings to reconcile faith with experience and to
find a place for God in philosophy. But the idea of Reincarnation is
so unfamiliar to Western culture and habits of thought that reasonable
as it is it will take some time to win its appeal. The process of
familiarizing this truth is rendered slower by the fact that much
nonsense is talked about it, and reasonable inquirers thereby warned
off. Yet it is possible to speak of Reincarnation in a sane and serious
way.
What people most often forget is to distinguish properly between
that which survives and that which does not, and this may lead them
to expect proofs of a kind that cannot logically be demanded. They
also confound memory with recollection, assuming, quite illogically,
that where there is no recollection there can be no memory. But it is
conceivable that memories may be stored up beyond our present reach,
and yet be accessible to stronger efforts which we may be able to
make at some future time. It may be true that we do not _recollect_
our past lives, but we are not warranted in inferring that the memory
is obliterated or that there never was any such record made. The
recollection of past lives is a question of memory training; but it is
probably unnecessary to say that anyone who should venture on such a
task in the expectation of achieving speedy results by his own unaided
efforts would be liable to disappointment and delusion. For this
attainment lies a long way ahead of us on the Path.
If people were habituated from birth to regard their present life as
only one of a series, a great benefit would accrue. The fear of death
would disappear; in time it might come to be looked upon as a mere
incident. The haste to achieve disproportionate material prosperity
would be seen to be needless. There could never be any ground for the
philosophy, "Let us eat, drink, and be merry; for tomorrow we die!"
But, more important still, confidence and courage would be restored.
It would never be too late to mend; the oldest man might begin a new
study or enterprise. Things left undone in this life could confidently
be left for completion in the future. Failings not entirely overcome
would be left behind, and a clean start would be in prospect. We do
indeed already act as though we believed in Reincarnation; for old
men begin new studies, and in many other ways people behave as though
they were not going to die for good. Our intuitions are better than
our philosophy; they tell us true, but we give them the lie; hence we
marvel at our "inconsistency" or say that "God moves in a mysterious
way," when it is ourselves who are moving in a mysterious way, our
wonders to perform. How much more reasonable it would be, if we could
give up these dogmas and mold our philosophy into harmony with our
inner perceptions. And, speaking of dogmas, be it remembered that there
are dogmas and dogmas; and one of the latter is that nothing is true
unless it can be shown to follow from certain arbitrary rules of reason.
Another mistake made in thinking of immortality consists in regarding
it merely in relation to time. Yet the Soul exists all the time; and
while the personality is living its temporal life, the Soul, free from
the limitations of time and sense, is living its eternal life. Hence we
may truly be said to be experiencing immortality while in the flesh;
and though we but faintly realize it, we do so in different degrees,
some people more than others.
A useful comparison is that between death and sleep, between a lifetime
and a day. During the period of a day we pass through successive
phases similar to youth, maturity, and old age. At night we cheerfully
lay down our work, confident that we shall resume it. Each day is
determined to a large extent by preceding days, and is in its turn the
parent of following days. In every day our free initiative works amid
conditions imposed by our actions on preceding days, and here we find
an analogy with the workings of the law of Karma during a lifetime. If
we but regard a lifetime as a longer day, the analogy will clear up
many difficulties.
Continuing this analogy further, we find that as regards the successive
days of our lifetime, our mind is conscious of them all; in fact our
mind is in the same position with regard to the days as the Higher Mind
is with regard to the successive lives. Knowing this, we do not make
the mistake of scolding Providence for conditions which we know we have
created ourselves. The only difference, in the case of a lifetime, is
that we are not yet cognizant of the continuity of our existence, and
find ourselves in circumstances whose origin we have forgotten. Yet
these circumstances are the logical consequence of past actions. The
opportunities we enjoy and the drawbacks under which we suffer were
made by ourselves.
It is maintained by Theosophists that the doctrines of Karma and
Reincarnation are perfectly adaptable to ordinary life; that they are
not mere theories such as a scholar might amuse himself with; that they
represent actual facts and constitute an interpretation--indeed the
only logical interpretation--of things as they are. It may be regarded
as certain that these tenets will eventually become generally adopted;
there is great vitality behind them, and the human mind is at present
in a fluid condition, during which it is rapidly assimilating new
ideas. The future may be forecast by a comparison of present ideas with
those of a few years ago. The important thing is to provide that the
pure teachings, and not any absurd travesty of them, shall prevail.
It is a solemn and oft-repeated truth that no real reform in human
circumstances can be made unless the characters of the people are
reformed. And how can these be reformed so long as there is such a
chaos of beliefs and non-beliefs, theological dogmas that teach us
to fear ourselves, so-called "scientific" theories that magnify our
animal nature and animal heredity? What is needed is views of life
based upon common sense, views which dignify man and inspire him with
self-confidence of the right kind. The Theosophical teachings as to
Karma, Reincarnation, and the sevenfold nature of man can achieve this;
but they need to be seriously studied, and above all made the basis of
action. Theosophist is who Theosophy does.
[Illustration: Copyright by Katherine Tingley, 1911 Lomaland Photo. and
Engraving Dept. THE CROWNING OF HOMER A TABLEAU PRESENTED IN THE GREEK
THEATER, INTERNATIONAL THEOSOPHICAL HEADQUARTERS ON APRIL 17, 1911, IN
THE GREEK PLAY "THE AROMA OF ATHENS"]
[Illustration: Copyright by Katherine Tingley, 1911 Lomaland Photo. and
Engraving Dept. IRIS ADVISING PRIAM TO RANSOM HEKTOR'S BODY ANOTHER
TABLEAU PRESENTED IN "THE AROMA OF ATHENS"]
[Illustration: Copyright by Katherine Tingley, 1911 Lomaland Photo. and
Engraving Dept. CHILDREN'S SCENE IN "THE AROMA OF ATHENS"]
[Illustration: Copyright by Katherine Tingley, 1911 Lomaland Photo. and
Engraving Dept. ANOTHER CHILDREN'S SCENE IN "THE AROMA OF ATHENS"]
POETRY AND CRITICISM: by Kenneth Morris
I
Matthew Arnold will have it that the function of Poetry is the
Criticism of Life; and the work of a poet will be important, according
to him, only in so far as it throws light on human life and character.
But in the work of all poets there is a kind of cream that may be
skimmed off (_provided that there is a cream_, and that it was not all
sky-blue wretchedness from the first); and when it has been so skimmed,
one may say that the poetry is the cream, and the criticism of life
the skim-milk. "Such and such a lyric, by so and so," says your poet
or poetry-lover, "is of equal value with Hamlet or the Odyssey, all
three being absolute in their beauty." "Gammon!" says your man of the
world in letters; "there is the criticism of life to be thought of.
How shall ten lines be equal to ten thousand?" Which is right? The
second will get all the votes; which is no great argument, perhaps.
The epic took longer in the writing; but one never knows what may lie
behind the lyric. The didactic or philosophic poem, the work full
of this criticism, will influence the thought of the world; and if
thinking is to be the judge, it will win unquestionably. But the lyric
will be singing itself through thousands of minds, in the sunshine,
in the mines, over the washtub, heaven knows where: without noise, it
will shed its brightness through a million eyes, its sweetness on a
million tempers, its clearness and magic on a million imaginations.
To the writer of the most perfect lyric, I am not sure that we do not
owe as much gratitude as to the writer of the greatest epic or drama:
I am almost positive that we owe him more than to the best writer of
criticism of life; though it be a dozen lines against a dozen volumes.
Most of the English-writing poets have been also, and many of them
mainly, philosophers; writing their thought in verse form, and perhaps
sprinkling it from the spice-box of pure poetry, and perhaps not.
Often and often we find stories or philosophic disquisitions in verse,
that might have been told as well in prose; although it has been
said rather wisely that nothing should have verse form that could be
told honorably without metre. There is a class of idea that journeys
leisurely and step by step through the mind; this should be reserved
for prose. There are other classes that have the sweep and charge of
cavalry, and you build epics and all heroic poetry of them; others
that soar singing like the skylark, or that wander from bloom to bloom
droning out a magical and honey-laden monody, secrets of a learning
incomprehensible to the minds of men. These will be the right stuff for
your pure lyrics, these bees and birds in the golden regions west of
thought. Their revelations are more esoteric than philosophy; they home
to deeper places.
But one cannot deal with all poetry or all life in one article; and it
is the intention here to consider narrative poetry alone. Narrative
poetry, when it is anything more than a ballad, is epic: and epic is
heroic poetry; not by any convention, I believe, but in accordance
with deep-seated law. There is room for nothing personal or limited
here; for no dissection of personal characteristics, no consideration
or criticism of problems of exterior life. Those things all belong to
prose; poetry proclaims the actions and perceptions of the soul. Heroic
or epic poetry tells of the soul as hero, warrior, redeemer; as Sigurd
going out against Fafnir, Arthur ferried in a dark barge to The Island
of the Apples; as Satan unconquered in the lake of flame; as Christ on
Golgotha, or Prometheus on Caucasus. It has to show forth the glory,
the indomitableness, the magnanimity of the soul, dwelling in those
lofty regions and letting who will come to it for general strength
and inspiration. It is the Mountain; it will not descend from itself
for any Mohammed. For this reason is its aloofness, its tendency to
concern itself with periods _apparently_ in the far past, but really
in the eternal. That atmosphere all narrative poetry must retain,
under penalty of sinking into berhymed or bemetred prose; or into the
ballad--which, indeed, can be good, at its best, but not supremely
good. Yet how many stories there are, beautifully written in verse,
which are neither epic in spirit nor ballad in form; which are, if the
truth should be told, novels strayed from their proper fold of prose,
valley wanderers by no means at home on the mountain.
One thinks, for example, of such a work as Mrs. Browning's _Aurora
Leigh_. If she had only written it in prose! With that faultlessness of
expression, that delicate insight and unerring justness of criticism
which mark it, it would have become a classic; we should have said,
"Why, this is a prose poem, a literary treasure among novels." But
being in verse, it remains, however beautiful, only versified prose;
and it is to be feared that we neglect it; to be feared, but hardly to
be wondered at. If she had only written it in prose!
Or one thinks of nearly all Tennyson's narrative poetry. The aim, one
feels, was nearly always criticism of life, the life of all these
myriads of personalities; not poetry, which is the illumination of
the hidden life of the soul. It was for this reason that _Idylls of
the King_, although flaming up here and there with such poetry as has
not been excelled in any known literature, perhaps--yet fails as a
whole to be a great poem. The Nineteenth Century was too insistent,
and the troubles and problems of the day. Milton, dealing with matters
beyond the crystalline and the brink of time, achieved the epic; but
even Milton, coming down to Eden, heaven, and the familiar things of
dogmatic theology, attained only to be ... Well, well, all honor to
him; he deserves that all that should be lost and forgotten. Poetry and
personality cannot be blended; they are a veritable God and Mammon.
Then there are those charming stories of Tennyson's: _Dora_, _Enoch
Arden_, _Almer's Field_, _The Princess_. He dignified them all with
his own high gift of style; stamped on every line his own noble and
melodious manner; adorned them all richly, and with consummate taste,
with the best color of English rural life. Yet they remain essentially
of the nature of prose; and we should not have been lured into thinking
them poetry, but for the wonderful genius with which Tennyson handled
them. The matter is the matter of the novel; and the style--what a
wonderful style it is!--is rather the polished style that reflects
light, the style of prose, than the white-hot luminosity of the genuine
epic.
Let us take, for example, _The Princess_, perhaps the most romantic
and beautiful of this series, the one it takes the greatest temerity
to speak of as not really poetic. Its aim is to throw light on, or
to consider, or discuss, a certain present-day problem, that of the
"emancipation of women"; and who shall say that that might not be done
in prose? Is poetry to throw no light on our modern problems, or on
contemporary problems, then? Turn to your Milton for an answer:
Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword
To force our consciences that Christ set free,
And ride us with a classic hierarchy
Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rutherford?
Men whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul
Must now be named and printed heretics
By shallow Edwards and Scotch What-d'ye-call!
But we do hope to find out all your tricks.
Poetry? By heaven, yes! And on a contemporary problem? Look at
the title of it: "On the New Forcers of Conscience under the Long
Parliament"; and the date given, too; 1646. But does he discuss? Does
he consider? Indeed he does not. He flames forth from the standpoint of
the soul; he is still God's Warrior, and you dare not mention truce to
him. So those prosaic names, that "mere A. S. and Rutherford," "shallow
Edwards," and above all the ridiculous "Scotch What-d'ye-call," become
flaming and terrible poetic utterances on his lips; he blasts with them
the fools that dare stand up against the liberty and supremacy of the
soul. But suppose, instead of this terse, burning sonnet so entirely
free from the atmosphere of argumentation, he had written a long story
designed to thrash the matter out from the standpoint of pure reason?
Some one might do so; and the work might be one of great value; but it
would not be poetic; it could not be Miltonic; it would be a novel with
a purpose, not an epic poem.
There are problems and problems; those which poetry may specifically
handle, are, I think, the same yesterday, today and forever. Who is
to hinder her handling what problems she likes; will you set down
rules for her? Heaven forbid! it were more profitable to build a fence
about the cuckoo. But the fact remains that she will touch these, and
will not touch those others. Charm you never so wisely, she will not
come from her own ground. For all your birdlime of earnestness, of
enthusiasm, of excellent purpose, it is some masquerading jackdaw you
will have captured, not the Bird of Paradise; unless it is the trees of
Paradise you have limed. Poetry hardly deals with any historic period,
old or new; she leaves those to the historians, and has a period of her
own, which is eternal. What then, you say, of those "New Forcers of
Conscience in the Long Parliament?" This! that that parliament is so
long that it has been sitting any time this two thousand years, and is
sitting now, in all our towns and villages. "New Presbyter is but old
Priest writ large"; A. S. and Rutherford, Shallow Edwards and Scotch
What-d'ye-call--they all preach in a thousand pulpits every Sunday.
For they are prototypal figures, and plot and persecute wherever there
is bigotry or ecclesiastical dominance. Against them, and, so far as
one has been able to discover, against them _only_, does poetry ever
come forth armed, enangered, utterly ruthless. It is she that has pity
and pardon for the Magdalene and the publican; but a whip of bitter
small chords for those that have made her Father's house into a den
of thieves. Do you doubt it? Then find some passage where anger is
expressed, not in rhetoric, not in mere fustian bombast, but with the
sublime music and undertone, the ring of genuine poetry; perhaps an
anger without mercy, a declaration of utter war; and see whether it is
not directed _always_ against this same ecclesiasticism.