In the Gospels of the only Divine Friend this world has ever had or
ever will have, we read of a Voice, a 'Voice in the Wilderness.' There
have been thousands of such Voices;--most of them ineffectual. All
through the world's history their echoes form a part of the universal
record, and from the very beginning of time they have sounded forth
their warnings or entreaties in vain. The Wilderness has never cared to
hear them. The Wilderness does not care to hear them now.
Why, then, do I add an undesired note to the chorus of rejected appeal?
How dare I lift up my voice in the Wilderness, when other voices, far
stronger and sweeter, are drowned in the laughter of fools and the
mockery of the profane? Truly, I do not know. But I am sure that I am
not moved by egotism or arrogance. It is simply out of love and pity
for suffering human kind that I venture to become another Voice
discarded--a voice which, if heard at all, may only serve to awaken the
cheap scorn and derision of the clowns of the piece.
Yet, should this be so, I would not have it otherwise, I have never at
any time striven to be one with the world, or to suit my speech
pliantly to the conventional humour of the moment. I am often attacked,
yet am not hurt; I am equally often praised, and am not elated. I have
no time to attend to the expression of opinions, which, whether good or
bad, are to me indifferent. And whatever pain I have felt or feel, in
experiencing human malice, has been, and is, in the fact that human
malice should exist at all,--not for its attempted wrong towards
myself. For I, personally speaking, have not a moment to waste among
the mere shadows of life which are not Life itself. I follow the
glory,--not the gloom.
So whether you, who wander in darkness of your own making, care to come
towards the little light which leads me onward, or whether you prefer
to turn away from me altogether into your self-created darker depths,
is not my concern. I cannot force you to bear me company. God Himself
cannot do that, for it is His Will and Law that each human soul shall
shape its own eternal future. No one mortal can make the happiness or
salvation of another. I, like yourselves, am in the 'Wilderness,'--but
I know that there are ways of making it blossom like the rose!
Yet,--were all my heart and all my love outpoured upon you, I could not
teach you the Divine transfiguring charm,--unless you, equally with all
your hearts and all your love, resolutely and irrevocably WILLED to
learn.
Nevertheless, despite your possible indifference,--your often sheer
inertia--I cannot pass you by, having peace and comfort for myself
without at least offering to share that peace and comfort with you.
Many of you are very sad,--and I would rather you were happy. Your ways
of living are trivial and unsatisfactory--your so-called 'pleasant'
vices lead you into unforeseen painful perplexities--your ideals of
what may be best for your own enjoyment and advancement fall far short
of your dreams,--your amusements pall on your over-wearied
senses,--your youth hurries away like a puff of thistledown on the
wind,--and you spend all your time feverishly in trying to live without
understanding Life. Life, the first of all things, the essence of all
things,--Life which is yours to hold and to keep, and to RE-CREATE over
and over again in your own persons,--this precious jewel you throw
away, and when it falls out of your possession by your own act, you
think such an end was necessary and inevitable. Poor unhappy mortals!
So self-sufficient, so proud, so ignorant! Like some foolish rustic,
who, finding a diamond, sees no difference between it and a bit of
glass, you, with the whole Universe sweeping around you in mighty
beneficent circles of defensive, protective and ever re-creative
power,--power which is yours to use and to control--imagine that the
entire Cosmos is the design of mere blind unintelligent Chance, and
that the Divine Life which thrills within you serves no purpose save to
lead you to Death! Most wonderful and most pitiful it is that such
folly, such blasphemy should still prevail,--and that humanity should
still ascribe to the Almighty Creator less wisdom and less love than
that with which He has endowed His creatures. For the very first lesson
in the beginning of knowledge is that Life is the essential Being of
God, and that each individual intelligent outcome of Life is deathless
as God Himself.
The 'Wilderness' is wide,--and within it we all find ourselves,--some
wandering far astray--some crouching listlessly among shadows, too
weary to move at all--others, sauntering along in idle indifference,
now and then vaguely questioning how soon and where the journey will
end,--and few ever discovering that it is not a 'Wilderness' at all,
but a garden of sweet sights and sounds, where every day should be a
glory and every night a benediction. For when the veil of mere
Appearances has been lifted we are no longer deceived into accepting
what Seems for what Is. The Reality of Life is Happiness;--the Delusion
of Life, which we ourselves create by improper balance and imperfect
comprehension of our own powers, must needs cause Sorrow, because in
such self-deception we only dimly see the truth, just as a person born
blind may vaguely guess at the beauty of bright day. But for the Soul
that has found Itself, there are no more misleading lights or shadows
between its own everlastingness and the everlastingness of God.
All the world over there are religions of various kinds, more or less
suited to the various types and races of humanity. Most of these forms
of faith have been evolved from the brooding brain of Man himself, and
have nothing 'divine,' in them. In the very early ages nearly all the
religious creeds were mere methods for terrorising the ignorant and the
weak--and some of them were so revolting, so bloodthirsty and brutal,
that one cannot now read of them without a shudder of repulsion.
Nevertheless, from the very first dawn of his intelligence, man appears
always to have felt the necessity of believing in something stronger
and more lasting than himself,--and his first gropings for truth led
him to evolve desperate notions of something more cruel, more
relentless, and more wicked than himself, rather than ideals of
something more beautiful, more just, more faithful and more loving than
he could be. The dawn of Christianity brought the first glimmering
suggestion that a gospel of love and pity might be more serviceable in
the end to the needs of the world, than a ruthless code of slaughter
and vengeance--though history shows us that the annals of Christianity
itself are stained with crime and shamed by the shedding of innocent
blood. Only in these latter days has the world become faintly conscious
of the real Force working behind and through all things--the soul of
the Divine, or the Psychic element, animating and inspiring all visible
and invisible Nature. This soul of the Divine--this Psychic element,
however, is almost entirely absent from the teaching of the Christian
creed to-day, with the result that the creed itself is losing its
power. I venture to say that a very small majority of the millions of
persons worshipping in the various forms of the Christian Church really
and truly believe what they publicly profess. Clergy and laity alike
are tainted with this worst of all hypocrisies--that of calling God to
witness their faith when they know they are faithless. It may be asked
how I dare to make such an assertion? I dare, because I know! It would
be impossible to the people of this or any other country to honestly
believe the Christian creed, and yet continue to live as they do. Their
lives give the lie to their avowed religion, and it is this daily
spectacle of the daily life of governments, trades, professions and
society which causes me to feel that the general aspect of Christendom
at the present day, with all its Churches and solemn observances, is
one of the most painful and profound hypocrisy. You who read this
page,--(possibly with indignation) you call yourself a Christian, no
doubt. But ARE you? Do you truly think that when death shall come to
you it is really NOT death, but the simple transition into another and
better life? Do you believe in the actual immortality of your soul, and
do you realise what it means? You do? You are quite sure? Then, do you
live as one convinced of it? Are you quite indifferent to the riches
and purely material advantages of this world?--are you as happy in
poverty as in wealth, and are you independent of social esteem? Are you
bent on the very highest and most unselfish ideals of life and conduct?
I do not say you are not; I merely ask if you ARE. If your answer is in
the affirmative, do not give the lie to your creed by your daily
habits, conversation and manners; for this is what thousands of
professing Christians do, and the clergy are by no means exempt.
I know very well, of course, that I must not expect your appreciation,
or even your attention, in matters purely spiritual. The world is too
much with you, and you become obstinate of opinion and rooted in
prejudice. Nevertheless, as I said before, this is not my concern. Your
moods are not mine, and with your prejudices I have nothing to do. My
creed is drawn from Nature--Nature, just, invincible, yet
tender--Nature, who shows us that Life, as we know it now, at this very
time and in this very world, is a blessing so rich in its as yet unused
powers and possibilities, that it may be truly said of the greater
majority of human beings that scarce one of them has ever begun to
learn HOW to live.
Shakespeare, the greatest human exponent of human nature at its best
and worst,--the profound Thinker and Artist who dealt boldly with the
facts of good and evil as they truly are,--and did not hesitate to
contrast them forcibly, without any of the deceptive 'half-tones' of
vice and virtue which are the chief stock-in-trade of such modern
authors as we may call 'degenerates,'--makes his Hamlet exclaim:--
"What a piece of work is man!--how noble in
reason!--how infinite in faculty!--in form and moving
how express and admirable!--in action how like an
angel!--in apprehension how like a god!"
Let us consider two of these designations in particular: 'How infinite
in faculty!'--and 'In apprehension how like a god!' The sentences are
prophetic, like so many of Shakespeare's utterances. They foretell the
true condition of the Soul of Man when it shall have discovered its
capabilities. 'Infinite in faculty'--that is to say--Able to do all it
shall WILL to do. There is no end to this power,--no hindrance in
either earth or heaven to its resolute working--no stint to the
life-supplies on which it may draw unceasingly. And--'in apprehension
how like a god!' Here the word 'apprehension' is used in the sense of
attaining knowledge,--to learn, or to 'apprehend' wisdom. It means, of
course, that if the Soul's capability of 'apprehending' or learning the
true meaning and use of every fact and circumstance which environs its
existence, were properly perceived and applied, then the 'Image of God'
in which the Creator made humanity, would become the veritable likeness
of the Divine.
But, as this powerful and infinite faculty of apprehension is seldom if
ever rightly understood, and as Man generally concentrates his whole
effort upon ministering to his purely material needs, utterly ignoring
and wilfully refusing to realise those larger claims which are purely
spiritual, he presents the appearance of a maimed and imperfect
object,--a creature who, having strong limbs, declines to use the same,
or who, possessing incalculable wealth, crazily considers himself a
pauper. Jesus Christ, whom we may look upon as a human Incarnation of
Divine Thought, an outcome and expression of the 'Word' or Law of God,
came to teach us our true position in the scale of the great Creative
and Progressive Purpose,--but in the days of His coming men would not
listen,--nor will they listen even now. They say with their mouths, but
they do not believe with their hearts, that He rose from the dead,--and
they cannot understand that, as a matter of fact, He never died, seeing
that death for Him (as for all who have mastered the inward
constitution and commingling of the elements) was impossible. His real
LIFE was not injured or affected by the agony on the Cross, or by His
three days' entombment; the one was a torture to His physical frame,
which to the limited perception of those who watched Him 'die,' as they
thought, appeared like a dissolution of the whole Man,--the other was
the mere rest and silence necessary for what is called the 'miracle' of
the Resurrection, but which was simply the natural rising of the same
Body, the atoms of which were re-invested and made immortal by the
imperishable Spirit which owned and held them in being. The whole life
and so-called 'death' of Christ was and is a great symbolic lesson to
mankind of the infinite power of THAT within us which we call
SOUL,--but which we may perhaps in these scientific days term an
eternal radio-activity,--capable of exhaustless energy and of
readjustment to varying conditions. Life is all Life. There is no such
thing as Death in its composition,--and the intelligent comprehension
of its endless ways and methods of change and expression, is the Secret
of the Universe.
It appears to be generally accepted that we are not to know this
Secret,--that it is too vast and deep for our limited capacities,--and
that even if we did know it, it would be of no use to us, as we are
bound hard and fast by certain natural and elemental laws over which we
have no control. Old truisms are re-stated and violently
asserted--namely, that our business is merely to be born, to live,
breed and arrange things as well as we can for those who come after us,
and then to die, and there an end,--a stupid round of existence not one
whit higher than that of the silkworm. Is it for such a monotonous,
commonplace way of life and purpose as this, that humanity has been
endowed with 'infinite faculty'? Is it for such poor aims and ends as
these that we are told in the legended account of the beginning of
things, to 'Replenish the earth and subdue it'? There is great meaning
in that command--'Subdue it!' The business of each one of us who has
come into the knowledge and possession of his or her own Soul, is to
'subdue' the earth,--that is, to hold it and all it contains under
subjection,--not to allow Its forces, whether interior or exterior, to
subdue the Soul. But it may perhaps be said:--"We do not yet understand
all the forces with which we have to contend, and in this way they
master us." That may be so,--but if it is so with any of you, it is
quite your own fault. Your own fault, I say,--for there is no power,
human or divine, that compels you to remain in ignorance. Each one of
you has a master--talisman and key to all locked doors. No State
education can do for you what you might do for yourselves, if you only
had the WILL. It is your own choice entirely if you elect to live in
subjection to the earth, instead of placing the earth under subjection
to your dominance.
Then, again, you have been told to 'Replenish the earth'--as well as to
subdue it. In these latter days, through a cupidity as amazing as
criminal, you are not 'replenishing' so much as impoverishing the
earth, and think you that no interest will be exacted for your reckless
plunder? You mistake! You complain of the high taxes imposed upon you
by your merely material and ephemeral Governments,--but you forget that
the Everlasting Government of all Worlds demands an even higher rate of
compensation for such wrong or injurious uses as you make of this
world, which was and is intended to serve as a place of training for
the development and perfection of the whole human race, but which,
owing to personal greed and selfishness, is too often turned into a
mere grave for the interment of faulty civilisations.
In studying the psychic side of life it should be well and distinctly
understood that THERE IS AN EVER LIVING SPIRIT WITHIN EACH ONE OF
US;--a Spirit for which there is no limited capacity and no
unfavourable surroundings. Its capacity is infinite as God,--and its
surroundings are always made by Itself. It is its own Heaven,--and once
established within that everlasting centre, it radiates from the Inward
to the Outward, thus making its own environment, not only now but for
ever. It is its own Life,--and in the active work of perpetually
re-generating and re-creating itself, knows nothing of Death.
* * *
* *
*
I must now claim the indulgence of those among my readers who possess
the rare gift of patience, for anything that may seem too personal in
the following statement which I feel it almost necessary to make on the
subject of my own "psychic" creed. I am so often asked if I believe
this or that, if I am "orthodox," if I am a sceptic, materialist or
agnostic, that I should like, if possible, to make things clear between
myself and these enquirers. Therefore I may say at once that my belief
in God and the immortality of the Soul is absolute,--but that I did not
attain to the faith I hold without hard training and bitter suffering.
This need not be dwelt upon, being past. I began to write when I was
too young to know anything of the world's worldly ways, and when I was
too enthusiastic and too much carried away by the splendour and beauty
of the spiritual ideal to realise the inevitable derision and scorn
which are bound to fall upon untried explorers into the mysteries of
the unseen; yet it was solely on account of a strange psychical
experience which chanced to myself when I stood upon the threshold of
what is called 'life' that I found myself producing my first book, "A
Romance of Two Worlds." It was a rash experiment, but it was the direct
result of an initiation into some few of the truths behind the veil of
the Seeming Real. I did not then know why I was selected for such an
'initiation'--and I do not know even now. It arose quite naturally out
of a series of ordinary events which might happen to anyone. I was not
compelled or persuaded into it, for, being alone in the world and more
or less friendless, I had no opportunity to seek advice or assistance
from any person as to the course of life or learning I should pursue.
And I learned what I did learn because of my own unwavering intention
and WILL to be instructed.
I should here perhaps explain the tenor of the instruction which was
gradually imparted to me in just such measures of proportion as I was
found to be receptive. The first thing I was taught was how to bring
every feeling and sense into close union with the spirit of Nature.
Nature, I was told, is the reflection of the working-mind of the
Creator--and any opposition to that working-mind on the part of any
living organism It has created cannot but result in disaster. Pursuing
this line of study, a wonderful vista of perpetual revealment was
opened to me. I saw how humanity, moved by gross egoism, has in every
age of the world ordained laws and morals for itself which are the very
reverse of Nature's teaching--I saw how, instead of helping the wheel
of progress and wisdom onward, man reverses it by his obstinacy and
turns it backward even on the very point of great attainment--and I was
able to perceive how the sorrows and despairs of the world are caused
by this one simple fact--Man working AGAINST Nature--while Nature, ever
divine and invincible, pursues her God-appointed course, sweeping her
puny opponents aside and inflexibly carrying out her will to the end.
And I learned how true it is that if Man went WITH her instead of
AGAINST her, there would be no more misunderstanding of the laws of the
Universe, and that where there is now nothing but discord, all would be
divinest harmony.
My first book, "A Romance of Two Worlds," was an eager, though crude,
attempt to explain and express something of what I myself had studied
on some of these subjects, though, as I have already said, my mind was
unformed and immature, and, therefore, I was not permitted to disclose
more than a glimmering of the light I was beginning to perceive. My own
probation--destined to be a severe one--had only just been entered
upon; and hard and fast limits were imposed on me for a certain time. I
was forbidden, for example, to write of radium, that wonderful
'discovery' of the immediate hour, though it was then, and had been for
a long period, perfectly well known to my instructors, who possessed
all the means of extracting it from substances as yet undreamed of by
latter-day scientists. I was only permitted to hint at it under the
guise of the word 'Electricity'--which, after all, was not so much of a
misnomer, seeing that electric force displays itself in countless
millions of forms. My "Electric Theory of the Universe" in the "Romance
of Two Worlds" foreran the utterance of the scientist who in the
"Hibbert Journal" for January, 1905, wrote as follows:--"The last years
have seen the dawn of a revolution in science as great as that which in
the sphere of religion overthrew the many gods and crowned the One.
Matter, as we have understood it, there is none, nor probably anywhere
the individual atom. The so-called atoms are systems of ELECTRONIC
corpuscles, bound together by their mutual forces too firmly for any
human contrivance completely to sunder them,--alike in their electric
composition, differing only in the rhythms of their motion. ELECTRICITY
is all things, and all things are ELECTRIC."
THIS WAS PRECISELY MY TEACHING IN THE FIRST BOOK I EVER WROTE. I was
ridiculed for it, of course,--and I was told that there was no
'spiritual' force in electricity. I differ from this view; but
'radio-activity' is perhaps the better, because the truer term to
employ in seeking to describe the Germ or Embryo of the Soul, for--as
scientists have proved--"Radium is capable of absorbing from
surrounding bodies SOME UNKNOWN FORM OF ENERGY which it can render
evident as heat and light." This is precisely what the radio-activity
in each individual soul of each individual human being is ordained to
do,--to absorb an 'unknown form of energy which it can render evident
as heat and light.' Heat and Light are the composition of Life;--and
the Life which this radio-activity of Soul generates IN itself and OF
itself, can never die. Or, as I wrote in "A Romance of Two Worlds
"--"Like all flames, this electric (or radiant) spark can either be
fanned into a fire, or allowed to escape in air,--IT CAN NEVER BE
DESTROYED." And again, from the same book: "All the wonders of Nature
are the result of LIGHT AND HEAT ALONE." Paracelsus, as early as about
1526, made guarded mention of the same substance or quality, describing
it thus:--"The more of the humour of life it has, the more of the
spirit of life abounds in that life." Though truly this vital
radio-active force lacks all fitting name. To material science radium,
or radium chloride, is a minute salt crystal, so rare and costly to
obtain that it may be counted as about three thousand times the price
of gold in the market. But of the action of PURE radium, the knowledge
of ordinary scientific students is nil. They know that an infinitely
small spark of radium salt will emit heat and light continuously
without any combustion or change in its own structure. And I would here
quote a passage from a lecture delivered by one of our prominent
scientists in 1904. "Details concerning the behaviour of several
radio-active bodies were detected, as, for example, their activity was
not constant; it gradually grew in strength, BUT THE GROWN PORTION OF
THE ACTIVITY COULD BE BLOWN AWAY, AND THE BLOWN AWAY PART RETAINED ITS
ACTIVITY ONLY FOR A TIME. It decayed in a few days or weeks,--WHEREAS
THE RADIUM ROSE IN STRENGTH AGAIN AT THE SAME RATE THAT THE OTHER
DECAYED. And so on constantly. It was as if a NEW FORM of matter was
constantly being produced, and AS IF THE RADIO-ACTIVITY WAS A
CONCOMITANT OF THE CHANGE OF FORM. It was also found that radium kept
on producing heat de novo so as to keep itself always a fraction of a
degree ABOVE THE SURROUNDING TEMPERATURE; also that it spontaneously
PRODUCED ELECTRICITY."
Does this teach no lesson on the resurrection of the dead? Of the
'blown away part' which decays in a few days or weeks?--of the 'Radia'
or 'Radiance' of the Soul, rising in strength again AT THE SAME RATE
that the other, the Body, or 'grown portion of the activity,' decays?
Of the 'new form of matter' and the 'radio-activity as a concomitant of
the CHANGE OF FORM'? Does not Science here almost unwittingly verify
the words of St. Paul:--"It is sown a natural body; it is raised a
spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual
body"? There is nothing impossible or 'miraculous' in such a
consummation, even according to modern material science,--it is merely
the natural action of PURE radio-activity or that etherical composition
for which we have no name, but which we have vaguely called the SOUL
for countless ages.
To multitudes of people this expression 'the Soul' has become
overfamiliar by constant repetition, and conveys little more than the
suggestion of a myth, or the hint of an Imaginary Existence. Now there
is nothing in the whole Universe so REAL as the Vital Germ of the
actual Form and Being of the living, radiant, active Creature within
each one of us,--the creature who, impressed and guided by our Free
Will, works out its own delight or doom. The WILL of each man or woman
is like the compass of a ship,--where it points, the ship goes. If the
needle directs it to the rocks, there is wreck and disaster,--if to the
open sea, there is clear sailing. God leaves the WILL of man at perfect
liberty. His Divine Love neither constrains nor compels. We must
Ourselves learn the ways of Right and Wrong, and having learned, we
must choose. We must injure Ourselves. God will not injure us. We
invite our own miseries. God does not send them. The evils and sorrows
that afflict mankind are of mankind's own making. Even in natural
catastrophes, which ruin cities and devastate countries, it is well to
remember that Nature, which is the MATERIAL EXPRESSION of the mind of
God, will not tolerate too long a burden of human iniquity. Nature
destroys what is putrescent; she covers it up with fresh earth on which
healthier things may find place to grow.
I tried to convey some hint of these truths in my "Romance of Two
Worlds." Some few gave heed,--others wrote to me from all parts of the
world concerning what they called my 'views' on the subjects treated
of,--some asked to be 'initiated' into my 'experience' of the
Unseen,--but many of my correspondents (I say it with regret) were
moved by purely selfish considerations for their own private and
particular advancement, and showed, by the very tone of their letters,
not only an astounding hypocrisy, but also the good opinion they
entertained of their own worthiness, their own capabilities, and their
own great intellectuality, forgetful of the words:--"Except ye become
as little children, ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven."
Now the spirit of a little child is receptive and trustful. It has no
desire for argument, and it is instinctively confident that it will not
be led into unnecessary difficulty or danger by its responsible
guardians. This is the spirit in which, if we are sincere in our
seeking for knowledge, we should and must approach the deeper
psychological mysteries of Nature. But as long as we interpose the
darkness of personal doubt and prejudice between ourselves and the
Light Eternal no progress can be made,--and every attempt to penetrate
into the Holy of Holies will be met and thrust back by that 'flaming
Sword' which from the beginning, as now, turns every way to guard the
Tree of Life.
Knowing this, and seeing that Self was the stumbling-block with most of
my correspondents, I was anxious to write another book at once, also in
the guise of a romance, to serve as a little lamp of love whereby my
readers might haply discover the real character of the obstacle which
blocked their way to an intelligent Soul-advancement. But the publisher
I had at the time (the late Mr. George Bentley) assured me that if I
wrote another 'spiritualistic' book, I should lose the public hearing I
had just gained. I do not know why he had formed this opinion, but as
he was a kindly personal friend, and took a keen interest in my career,
never handing any manuscript of mine over to his 'reader,' but always
reading it himself, I felt it incumbent upon me, as a young beginner,
to accept the advice which I knew could only be given with the very
best intentions towards me. To please him, therefore, and to please the
particular public to which he had introduced me, I wrote something
entirely different,--a melodramatic tale entitled: "Vendetta: The Story
of One Forgotten." The book made a certain stir, and Mr. Bentley next
begged me to try 'a love-story, pur et simple' (I quote from his own
letter). The result was my novel of "Thelma," which achieved a great
popular success and still remains a favourite work with a large
majority of readers. I then considered myself free to move once more
upon the lines which my study of psychic forces had convinced me were
of pre-eminent importance. And moved by a strong conviction that men
and women are hindered from attaining their full heritage of life by
the obstinate interposition of their merely material Selves, I wrote
"Ardath: The Story of a Dead Self." The plan of this book was partially
suggested by the following passages from the Second Apocryphal Book of
Esdras:--
"Go into a field of flowers where no house is builded. And pray unto
the Highest continually, then will I come and talk with thee. So I went
my way into the field which is called Ardath, like as he commanded me,
and there I sat among the flowers."
In this field the Prophet sees the vision of a woman.
"And it came to pass while I was talking with her, behold her face upon
a sudden shined exceedingly and her countenance glistened, so that I
was afraid of her and mused what it might be. And I looked, and behold
the woman appeared unto me no more, but there was a city builded, and a
large place showed itself from the foundations."
On this I raised the fabric of my own "Dream City," and sought to
elucidate some of the meaning of that great text in Ecclesiastes which
contains in itself all the philosophy of the ages: "That which Hath
Been is Now; and that which is To Be hath already Been; and God
requireth that which is Past."
The book, however, so my publisher Mr. Bentley told me in a series of
letters which I still possess, and which show how keen was his own
interest in my work, was 'entirely over the heads of the general
public.' His opinion was, no doubt, correct, as "Ardath" still remains
the least 'popular' of any book I have ever written. Nevertheless it
brought me the unsought and very generous praise of the late Poet
Laureate, Alfred Lord Tennyson, as well as the equally unsought good
opinion and personal friendship of the famous statesman, William Ewart
Gladstone, while many of the better-class literary journals vied with
one another in according me an almost enthusiastic eulogy. Such
authorities as the "Athenaeum" and "Spectator" praised the whole
conception and style of the work, the latter journal going as far as to
say that I had beaten Beckford's famous "Vathek" on its own ground.
Whatever may now be the consensus of opinion on its merits or demerits,
I know and feel it to be one of my most worthy attempts, even though it
is not favoured by the million. It does not appeal to anything 'of the
moment' merely, because there are very few people who can or will
understand that if the Soul or 'Radia' of a human being is so forgetful
of its highest origin as to cling to its human Self only (events the
hero of "Ardath" clung to the Shadow of his Former Self and to the
illusory pictures of that Former Self's pleasures and vices and
vanities) then the way to the eternal Happier Progress is barred. There
is yet another intention in this book which seems to be missed by the
casual reader, namely,--That each human soul is a germ of SEPARATE and
INDIVIDUAL spiritual existence. Even as no two leaves are exactly alike
on any tree, and no two blades of grass are precisely similar, so no
two souls resemble each other, but are wholly different, endowed with
different gifts and different capacities. Individuality is strongly
insisted upon in material Nature. And why? Because material Nature is
merely the reflex or mirror of the more strongly insistent
individuality of psychic form. Again, psychic form is generated from a
divinely eternal psychic substance,--a 'radia' or emanation of God's
own Being which, as it progresses onward through endless aeons of
constantly renewed vitality, grows more and more powerful, changing its
shape often, but never its everlasting composition and quality.
Therefore, all the experiences of the 'Soul' or psychic form, from its
first entrance into active consciousness, whether in this world or in
other worlds, are attracted to itself by its own inherent volition, and
work together to make it what it is now and what it will be hereafter.
That is what "Ardath: The Story of a Dead Self" seeks to explain, and I
have nothing to take back from what I have written in its pages. In its
experimental teaching it is the natural and intended sequence of "A
Romance of Two Worlds," and was meant to assist the studies of the many
who had written to me asking for help. And despite the fact that some
of these persons, owing to an inherent incapacity for concentrated
thought upon any subject, found it too 'difficult' as they said, for
casual reading, its reception was sufficiently encouraging to decide me
on continuing to press upon public attention the theories therein set
forth. "The Soul of Lilith" was, therefore, my next venture,--a third
link in the chain I sought to weave between the perishable materialism
of our ordinary conceptions of life, and the undying spiritual quality
of life as it truly is. In this I portrayed the complete failure that
must inevitably result from man's prejudice and intellectual pride when
studying the marvellous mysteries of what I would call the Further
World,--that is to say, the 'Soul' of the world which is hidden deeply
behind its external Appearance,--and how impossible it is and ever must
be that any 'Soul' should visibly manifest itself where there is undue
attachment to the body. The publication of the book was a very
interesting experience. It was and is still less 'popular' than
"Ardath"--but it has been gladly welcomed by a distinctly cultured
minority of persons famous in art, science and literature, whose good
opinion is well worth having. With this reward I was perfectly content,
but my publisher was not so easily pleased. He wanted something that
would 'sell' better. To relieve his impatience, therefore, I wrote a
more or less 'sensational' novel dealing with the absinthe drinkers of
Paris, entitled "Wormwood," which did a certain amount of good in its
way, by helping to call public attention to the devastation wrought by
the use of the pernicious drug among the French and other Continental
peoples--and after this, receiving a strong and almost imperative
impetus towards that particular goal whither my mind was set, I went to
work again with renewed vigour on my own favourite and long studied
line of argument, indifferent alike to publisher or public. Filled with
the fervour of a passionate and proved faith, I wrote "Barabbas: A
Dream of the World's Tragedy,"--and this was the signal of separation
from my excellent old friend, George Bentley, who had not the courage
to publish a poetic romance which introduced, albeit with a tenderness
and reverence unspeakable, so far as my own intention was concerned,
the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Christ. He wrote to me expressing
his opinion in these terms:--"I can conscientiously praise the power
and feeling you exhibit for your vast subject, and the rush and beauty
of the language, and above all I feel that the book is the genuine
outcome of a fervent faith all too rare in these days, but--I fear its
effect on the public mind." Yet, when urged to a given point in the
discussion, he could not deny that 'the effect on the public mind' of
the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau is generally impressive and helpful,
while he was bound to admit that there was something to be said for the
introduction of Divine personages in the epic romances of Milton and
Dante. What could be written in poetic verse did not, however, seem to
him suitable for poetic prose, and I did not waste words in argument,
as I knew the time had come for the parting of the ways. I sought my
present publisher, Mr. Methuen, who, being aware, from a business point
of view, that I had now won a certain reputation, took "Barabbas"
without parley. It met with an almost unprecedented success, not only
in this country but all over the world. Within a few months it was
translated into every known European language, inclusive even of modern
Greek, and nowhere perhaps has it awakened a wider interest than in
India, where it is published in Hindustani, Gujarati, and various other
Eastern dialects. Its notable triumph was achieved despite a hailstorm
of abuse rattled down upon me by the press,--a hailstorm which I,
personally, found welcome and refreshing, inasmuch as it cleared the
air and cleaned the road for my better wayfaring. It released me once
and for all from the trammels of such obligation as is incurred by
praise, and set me firmly on my feet in that complete independence
which to me (and to all who seek what I have found) is a paramount
necessity. For, as Thomas a Kempis writes: "Whosoever neither desires
to please men nor fears to displease them shall enjoy much peace." I
took my freedom gratefully, and ever since that time of unjust and
ill-considered attack from persons who were too malignantly minded to
even read the work they vainly endeavoured to destroy, have been
happily indifferent to all so-called 'criticism' and immune from all
attempts to interrupt my progress or turn me back upon my chosen way.
From henceforth I recognised that no one could hinder or oppose me but
myself--and that I had the making, tinder God, of my own destiny. I
followed up "Barabbas" as quickly as possible by "The Sorrows of
Satan," thus carrying out the preconceived intention I had always had
of depicting, first, the martyrdom which is always the world's guerdon
to Absolute Good,--and secondly, the awful, unimaginable torture which
must, by Divine Law, for ever be the lot of Absolute Evil.
The two books carried their message far and wide with astonishing
success and swiftness, and I then drew some of my threads of former
argument together in "The Master Christian," wherein I depicted Christ
as a Child, visiting our world again as it is to-day and sorrowfully
observing the wickedness which men practise in His Name. This book was
seized upon by thousands of readers in all countries of the world with
an amazing avidity which proved how deep was the longing for some clear
exposition of faith that might console as well as command,--and after
its publication I decided to let it take its own uninterrupted course
for a time and to change my own line of work to lighter themes, lest I
should be set down as 'spiritualist' or 'theosophist,' both of which
terms have been brought into contempt by tricksters. So I played with
my pen, and did my best to entertain the public with stories of
everyday life and love, such as the least instructed could understand,
and that I now allude to the psychological side of my work is merely to
explain that these six books, namely: "A Romance of Two Worlds,"
"Ardath: The Story of a Dead Self," "The Soul of Lilith," "Barabbas,"
"The Sorrows of Satan" and "The Master Christian" ARE THE RESULT OF A
DELIBERATELY CONCEIVED PLAN AND INTENTION, and are all linked together
by the ONE THEORY. They have not been written solely as pieces of
fiction for which I, the author, am paid by the publisher, or you, the
reader, are content to be temporarily entertained,--they are the
outcome of what I myself have learned, practised and proved in the
daily experiences, both small and great, of daily life.
You may probably say and you probably WILL say--"What does that matter
to us? We do not care a jot for your 'experiences'--they are
transcendental and absurd--they bore us to extinction." Nevertheless,
quite callous as you are or may be, there must come a time when pain
and sorrow have you in their grip--when what you call 'death' stands
face to face with you, and when you will find that all you have
thought, desired or planned for your own pleasure, and all that you
possess of material good or advantage, vanishes like smoke, leaving
nothing behind,--when the world will seem no more than a small receding
point from which you must fall into the Unknown--and when that "dread
of something after death, The undiscovered country from whose bourn No
traveller returns, PUZZLES THE WILL." You have at present living among
you a great professing scientist, Dr. Oliver Lodge, who, wandering
among mazy infinities, conceives it even possible to communicate with
departed spirits,--while I, who have no such weight of worldly
authority and learning behind me, tell you that such a thing is out of
all natural law and therefore CAN NEVER BE. Nature can and will unveil
to us many mysteries that seem SUPER-natural, when they are only
manifestations of the deepest centre of the purest natural--but nothing
can alter Divine Law, or change the system which has governed the
Universe from the beginning. And by this Divine Law and system we have
to learn that the so-called 'dead' are NOT dead--they have merely been
removed to fresh life and new spheres of action, under which
circumstances they cannot possibly hold communication with us in any
way unless they again assume the human form and human existence. In
this case (which very frequently happens) it takes not only time for us
to know them, but it also demands a certain instinctive receptiveness
on our parts, or willingness to recognise them. Even the risen Saviour
was not at first recognised by His own disciples. It is because I have
been practically convinced of this truth, and because I have learned
that life is not and never can be death, but only constant change and
reinvestment of Spirit into Form, that I have presumed so far as to
allude to my own faith and experience,--a 'personal' touch for which I
readily apologise, knowing that it cannot be interesting to the
majority who would never take the trouble to shape their lives as I
seek to shape mine. Still, if there are one or two out of a million who
feel as I do, that life and love are of little worth if they must end
in dark nothingness, these may perhaps have the patience to come with
me through the pages of a narrative which is neither 'incidental' nor
'sensational' nor anything which should pertain to the modern 'romance'
or 'novel,' and which has been written because the writing of it
enforced itself upon me with an insistence that would take no denial.
Perhaps there will be at least one among those who turn over this book,
who will be sufficiently interested in the psychic--that is to say the
immortal and, therefore, the only REAL side of life--to give a little
undivided attention to the subject. To that one I address myself and
say: Will you, to begin with, drop your burden of preconceived opinions
and prejudices, whatever they are? Will you set aside the small cares
and trifles that affect your own material personality? Will you detach
yourself from your own private and particular surroundings for a space
and agree to THINK with me? Thinking is, I know, the hardest of all
hard tasks to the modern mind. But if you would learn, you must
undertake this trouble. If you would find the path which is made fair
and brilliant by the radiance of the soul's imperishable summer, you
must not grudge time. If I try, no matter how inadequately, to show you
something of the mystic power that makes for happiness, do not shut
your eyes in scorn or languor to the smallest flash of light through
your darkness which may help you to a mastery of the secret.
I say again--Will you THINK with me? Will you, for instance, think of
Life? What is it? Of Death? What is it? What is the primary object of
Living? What is the problem solved by Dying? All these questions should
have answer,--for nothing is without a meaning,--and nothing ever HAS
BEEN, or ever WILL BE, without a purpose?
In this world, apparently, and according to our surface knowledge of
all physical and mental phenomena, it would seem that the chief
business of humanity is to continually re-create itself. Man exists--in
his own opinion--merely to perpetuate Man. All the wonders of the
earth, air, fire and water,--all the sustenance drawn from the teeming
bosom of Nature,--all the progress of countless civilisations in ever
recurring and repeated processional order,--all the sciences old and
new,--are solely to nourish, support, instruct, entertain and furnish
food and employment for the tiny two-legged imp of Chance, spawned (as
he himself asserts) out of gas and atoms.
Yet,--as he personally declares, through the mouth of his modern
science,--he is not of real importance withal. The little planet on
which he dwells would, to all seeming, move on in its orbit in the same
way as it does now, without him. In itself it is a pigmy world compared
with the rest of the solar system of which it is a part. Nevertheless,
the fact cannot be denied that his material surroundings are of a
quality tending to either impress or to deceive Man with a sense of his
own value. The world is his oyster which he, with the sword of
enterprise, will open,--and all his natural instincts urge him to
perpetuate himself in some form or other incessantly and without stint.
Why? Why is his existence judged to be necessary? Why should he not
cease to be? Trees would grow, flowers would bloom, birds would sing,
fish would glide through the rivers and the seas,--the insect and
animal tribes of field and forest would enjoy their existence
unmolested, and the great sun would shine on ever the same, rising at
dawn, sinking at even, with unbroken exactitude and regularity if Man
no longer lived. Why have the monstrous forces of Evolution thundered
their way through cycles of creation to produce so infinitesimal a
prodigy?
Till this question is answered, so long must life seem at its best but
vague and unsatisfactory. So long over all things must brood the shadow
of death made more gloomy by hopeless contemplation. So long must
Creation appear something of a cruel farce, for which peoples and
civilisations come into being merely to be destroyed and leave no
trace. All the work futile,--all the education useless,--all the hope
vain. Only when men and women learn that their lives are not
infinitesimal but infinite--that each of them possesses within himself
or herself an eternal, active, conscious individual Force,--a Being--a
Form--which in its radio-active energy draws to itself and accommodates
to its use, everything that is necessary for the accomplishment of its
endeavours, whether such endeavours be to continue its life on this
planet or to remove to other spheres; only then will it be clearly
understood that all Nature is the subject and servant of this Radiant
Energy--that Itself is the god-like 'image' or emanation of God, and
that as such it has its eternal part to perform in the eternal movement
towards the Eternal Highest.
I now leave the following pages to the reader's attentive or
indifferent consideration. To me, as I have already stated, outside
opinion is of no moment. Personally speaking, I should perhaps have
preferred, had it been possible, to set forth the incidents narrated in
the ensuing 'romance' in the form of separate essays on the nature of
the mystic tuition and experience through which some of us in this
workaday world have the courage to pass successfully, but I know that
the masses of the people who drift restlessly to and fro upon the
surface of this planet, ever seeking for comfort in various forms of
religion and too often finding none, will not listen to any spiritual
truth unless it is conveyed to them, as though they were children, in
the form of a 'story.' I am not the heroine of the tale--though I have
narrated it (more or less as told to me) in the first person singular,
because it seemed to me simpler and more direct. She to whom the
perfect comprehension of happiness has come with an equally perfect
possession of love, is one out of a few who are seeking what she has
found. Many among the world's greatest mystics and philosophers have
tried for the prizes she has won,--for the world possesses Plato, the
Bible and Christ, but in its apparent present ways of living has
learned little or nothing from the three, so that other would-be
teachers may well despair of carrying persuasion where such mighty
predecessors have seemingly failed. The serious and REAL things of life
are nowadays made subjects for derision rather than reverence;--then,
again, there is unhappily an alarmingly increasing majority of
weak-minded and degenerate persons, born of drunken, diseased or
vicious parents, who are mentally unfit for the loftier forms of study,
and in whom the mere act of thought-concentration would be dangerous
and likely to upset their mental balance altogether; while by far the
larger half of the social community seek to avoid the consideration of
anything that is not exactly suited to their tastes. Some of our most
respected social institutions are nothing but so many self-opinionated
and unconscious oppositions to the Law of Nature which is the Law of
God,--and thus it often happens that when obstinate humanity persists
in considering its own ideas of Right and Wrong superior to the Eternal
Decrees which have been visibly presented through Nature since the
earliest dawn of creation, a faulty civilisation sets in and is
presently swept back upon its advancing wheels, and forced to begin
again with primal letters of learning. In the same way a faulty Soul,
an imperfect individual Spirit, is likewise compelled to return to
school and resume the study of the lessons it has failed to put into
practice. Nevertheless, people cannot bear to have it plainly said or
written down, as it has been said and written down over and over again
any time since the world began, that all the corrupt government, wars,
slaveries, plagues, diseases and despairs that afflict humanity are
humanity's own sins taking vengeance upon the sinners, 'even unto the
third and fourth generation.' And this not out of Divine cruelty, but
because of Divine Law which from the first ordained that Evil shall
slay Itself, leaving room only for Good. Men and women alike will
scarce endure to read any book which urges this unalterable fact upon
their attention. They pronounce the author 'arrogant' or 'presuming to
lay down the law';--and they profess to be scandalised by an encounter
with honesty. Nevertheless, the faithful writer of things as they Are
will not be disturbed by the aspect of things as they Seem.
Spirit,--the creative Essence of all that is,--works in various forms,
but always on an ascending plane, and it invariably rejects and
destroys whatever interrupts that onward and upward progress. Being in
Itself the Radiant outflow of the Mind of God, it is the LIFE of the
Universe. And it is very needful to understand and to remember that
there is nothing which can properly be called SUPER-natural, or above
Nature, inasmuch as this Eternal Spirit of Energy is in and throughout
all Nature. Therefore, what to the common mind appears miraculous or
impossible, is nevertheless actually ordinary, and only seems
EXTRA-ordinary to the common mind's lack of knowledge and experience.
The Fountain of Youth and the Elixir of Life were dreams of the ancient
mystics and scientists, but they are not dreams to-day. To the Soul
that has found them they are Divine Realities.