The title prefixed to the following observations may well have suggested
a more metaphysical treatment of the subject than can be attempted on
the present occasion. The doctrine of the trinity, or trichotomy of
man, which distinguishes soul from spirit, comes to us with such
weighty, venerable, and even sacred authority, that we may well be
content, for the moment, with confirmations that should be intelligible
to all, forbearing the abstruser questions which have divided minds of
the highest philosophical capacity. We will not now inquire whether the
difference is one of states or of entities; whether the phenomenal or
mind consciousness is merely the external condition of one indivisible
Ego, or has its origin and nature in an altogether different principle;
the Spirit, or immortal part of us, being of Divine birth, while the
senses and understanding, with the consciousness--Ahankara--thereto
appertaining, are from an Anima Mundi, or what in the Sankhya philosophy
is called Prakriti. My utmost expectations will have been exceeded if
it should happen that any considerations here offered should throw even
a faint suggestive light upon the bearings of this great problem. It
may be that the mere irreconcilability of all that is characteristic of
the temporal Ego with the conditions of the superior life--if that can
be made apparent--will incline you to regard the latter rather as the
Redeemer, that has indeed to be born within us for our salvation and our
immortality, than as the inmost, central, and inseparable principle of
our phenomenal life. It may be that by the light of such reflections
the sense of identity will present no insuperable difficulty to the
conception of its contingency, or to the recognition that the mere
consciousness which fails to attach itself to a higher principle is no
guarantee of an eternal individuality.
It is only by a survey of individuality, regarded as the source of all
our affections, thoughts, and actions, that we can realize its intrinsic
worthlessness; and only when we have brought ourselves to a real and
felt acknowledgment of that fact, can we accept with full understanding
those "hard sayings" of sacred authority which bid us "die to
ourselves," and which proclaim the necessity of a veritable new birth.
This mystic death and birth is the key-note of all profound religious
teaching; and that which distinguishes the ordinary religious mind from
spiritual insight is just the tendency to interpret these expressions as
merely figurative, or, indeed, to overlook them altogether.
Of all the reproaches which modern Spiritualism, with the prospect it is
thought to hold out of an individual temporal immortality, has had to
encounter, there is none that we can less afford to neglect than that
which represents it as an ideal essentially egotistical and borne. True
it is that our critics do us injustice through ignorance of the enlarged
views as to the progress of the soul in which the speculations of
individual Spiritualists coincide with many remarkable spirit teachings.
These are, undoubtedly, a great advance upon popular theological
opinions, while some of them go far to satisfy the claim of Spiritualism
to be regarded as a religion. Nevertheless, that slight estimate of
individuality, as we know it, which in one view too easily allies itself
to materialism, is also the attitude of spiritual idealism, and is
seemingly at variance with the excessive value placed by Spiritualists
on the discovery of our mere psychic survival. The idealist may
recognise this survival; but, whether he does so or not, he occupies a
post of vantage when he tells us that it is of no ultimate importance.
For he, like the Spiritualist who proclaims his "proof palpable of
immortality," is thinking of the mere temporal, self-regarding
consciousness--its sensibilities, desires, gratifications, and
affections--which are unimportant absolutely, that is to say, their
importance is relative solely to the individual. There is, indeed, no
more characteristic outbirth of materialism than that which makes a
teleological centre of the individual. Ideas have become mere
abstractions; the only reality is the infinitely little. Thus
utilitarianism can see in the State only a collection of individuals
whose "greatest happiness," mutually limited by nice adjustment to the
requirements of "the greatest numbers," becomes the supreme end of
government and law. And it cannot, I think, be pretended that
Spiritualists in general have advanced beyond this substitution of a
relative for an absolute standard. Their "glad tidings of great joy"
are not truly religious. They have regard to the perpetuation in time
of that lower consciousness whose manifestations, delights, and activity
are in time, and of time alone. Their glorious message is not
essentially different from that which we can conceive as brought to us
by some great alchemist, who had discovered the secret of conferring
upon us and upon our friends a mundane perpetuity of youth and health.
Its highest religious claim is that it enlarges the horizon of our
opportunities. As such, then, let us hail it with gratitude and relief;
but, on peril of our salvation, if I may not say of our immortality, let
us not repose upon a prospect which is, at best, one of renewed labours,
and trials, and efforts to be free even of that very life whose only
value is opportunity.
To estimate the value of individuality, we cannot do better than regard
man in his several mundane relations, supposing that either of these
might become the central, actuating focus of his being--his "ruling
love," as Swedenborg would call it--displacing his mere egoism, or
self-love, thrusting that more to the circumference, and identifying
him, so to speak, with that circle of interests to which all his
energies and affections relate. Outside this substituted Ego we are to
suppose that he has no conscience, no desire, no will. Just as the
entirely selfish man views the whole of life, so far as it can really
interest him solely in relation to his individual well-being, so our
supposed man of a family, of a society, of a Church, or a State, has no
eye for any truth or any interest more abstract or more individual than
that of which he may be rightly termed the incarnation. History shows
approximations to this ideal man. Such a one, for instance, I conceive
to have been Loyola; such another, possibly, is Bismarck. Now these
men have ceased to be individuals in their own eyes, so far as concerns
any value attaching to their own special individualities. They are
devotees. A certain "conversion" has been effected, by which from mere
individuals they have become "representative" men. And we--the
individuals--esteem them precisely in proportion to the remoteness from
individualism of the spirit that actuates them. As the circle of
interests to which they are "devoted" enlarges--that is to say, as the
dross of individualism is purged away--we accord them indulgence,
respect, admiration and love. From self to the family, from the family
to the sect or society, from the sect or society to the Church (in no
denominational sense) and State, there is the ascending scale and
widening circle, the successive transitions which make the worth of an
individual depend on the more or less complete subversion of his
individuality by a more comprehensive soul or spirit. The very modesty
which suppresses, as far as possible, the personal pronoun in our
addresses to others, testifies to our sense that we are hiding away some
utterly insignificant and unworthy thing; a thing that has no business
even to be, except in that utter privacy which is rather a sleep and a
rest than living. Well, but in the above instances, even those most
remote from sordid individuality, we have fallen far short of that ideal
in which the very conception of the partial, the atomic, is lost in the
abstraction of universal being, transfigured in the glory of a Divine
personality. You are familiar with Swedenborg's distinction between
discrete and continuous degrees. Hitherto we have seen how man--the
individual--may rise continuously by throwing himself heart and soul
into the living interests of the world, and lose his own limitations by
adoption of a larger mundane spirit. But still he has but ascended
nearer to his own mundane source, that soul of the world, or Prakriti,
to which, if I must not too literally insist on it, I may still resort
as a convenient figure. To transcend it, he must advance by the
discrete degree. No simple "bettering" of the ordinary self, which
leaves it alive, as the focus--the French word "foyer" is the more
expressive--of his thoughts and actions; not even that identification
with higher interests in the world's plane just spoken of, is, or can
progressively become, in the least adequate to the realization of his
Divine ideal. This "bettering" of our present nature, it alone being
recognized as essential, albeit capable of "improvement," is a
commonplace, and to use a now familiar term a "Philistine," conception.
It is the substitution of the continuous for the discrete degree. It is
a compromise with our dear old familiar selves. "And Saul and the
people spared Agag, and the best of the sheep, and of the oxen, and of
the fatlings, and the lambs, and all that was good, and would not
utterly destroy them; but everything that was vile and refuse, that
they destroyed utterly." We know how little acceptable that compromise
was to the God of Israel; and no illustration can be more apt than this
narrative, which we may well, as we would fain, believe to be rather
typical than historical. Typical of that indiscriminate and radical
sacrifice, or "vastation," of our lower nature, which is insisted upon
as the one thing needful by all, or nearly all,* the great religions of
the world. No language could seem more purposely chosen to indicate
that it is the individual nature itself, and not merely its accidental
evils, that has to be abandoned and annihilated. It is not denied that
what was spared was good; there is no suggestion of a universal
infection of physical or moral evil; it is simply that what is good and
useful relatively to a lower state of being must perish with it if the
latter is to make way for something better. And the illustration is the
more suitable in that the purpose of this paper is not ethical, but
points to a metaphysical conclusion, though without any attempt at
metaphysical exposition. There is no question here of moral
distinctions; they are neither denied nor affirmed. According to the
highest moral standard, 'A' may be a most virtuous and estimable person.
According to the lowest, 'B' may be exactly the reverse. The moral
interval between the two is within what I have called, following
Swedenborg, the "continuous degree." And perhaps the distinction can be
still better expressed by another reference to that Book which we
theosophical students do not less regard, because we are disposed to
protest against all exclusive pretensions of religious systems.
--------
* Of the higher religious teachings of Mohammedanism I know next to
nothing, and therefore cannot say if it should be excepted from the
statement.
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The good man who has, however, not yet attained his "son-ship of God" is
"under the law"--that moral law which is educational and preparatory,
"the schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ," our own Divine spirit, or
higher personality. To conceive the difference between these two states
is to apprehend exactly what is here meant by the false, temporal, and
the true, eternal personality, and the sense in which the word
personality is here intended to be understood. We do not know whether,
when that great change has come over us, when that great work* of our
lives has been accomplished--here or hereafter--we shall or shall not
retain a sense of identity with our past, and forever discarded selves.
In philosophical parlance, the "matter" will have gone, and the very
"form" will have been changed. Our transcendental identity with the 'A'
or 'B' that now is** must depend on that question, already disclaimed in
this paper, whether the Divine spirit is our originally central
essential being, or is an hypostasis. Now, being "under the law" implies
that we do not act directly from our own will, but indirectly, that is,
in willing obedience to another will.
--------
* The "great work," so often mentioned by the hermetic philosophers, and
which is exactly typified by the operation of alchemy, the conversion of
the base metals to gold, is now well understood to refer to the
analogous spiritual conversion. There is also good reason to believe
that the material process was a real one.
** "A person may have won his immortal life, and remained the same inner
self he was on earth, through eternity; but this does not imply
necessarily that he must either remain the Mr. Smith or Brown he was on
earth, or lose his individuality."--Isis Unveiled, vol. 1. p. 316.
----------
The will from which we should naturally act--our own will--is of course
to be understood not as mere volition, but as our nature--our "ruling
love," which makes such and such things agreeable to us, and others the
reverse. As "under the law," this nature is kept in suspension, and
because it is suspended only as to its activity and manifestation, and
by no means abrogated, is the law--the substitution of a foreign will--
necessary for us. Our own will or nature is still central; that which
we obey by effort and resistance to ourselves is more circumferential or
hypostatic. Constancy in this obedience and resistance tends to draw
the circumferential will more and more to the centre, till there ensues
that "explosion," as St. Martin called it, by which our natural will is
for ever dispersed and annihilated by contact with the divine, and the
latter henceforth becomes our very own. Thus has "the schoolmaster"
brought us unto "Christ," and if by "Christ" we understand no
historically divine individual, but the logos, word, or manifestation of
God in us--then we have, I believe, the essential truth that was taught
in the Vedanta, by Kapila, by Buddha, by Confucius, by Plato, and by
Jesus. There is another presentation of possibly the same truth, for a
reference to which I am indebted to our brother J.W. Farquhar. It is
from Swedenborg, in the "Apocalypse Explained," No. 57:--"Every man has
an inferior or exterior mind, and a mind superior or interior. These
two minds are altogether distinct. By the inferior mind man is in the
natural world together with men there; but by the superior mind he is
in the spiritual world with the angels there. These two minds are so
distinct that man so long as he lives in the world does not know what is
performing within himself in his superior mind; but when he becomes a
spirit, which is immediately after death, he does not know what is
performing in his mind." The consciousness of the "superior mind," as
the result of mere separation from the earthly body, certainly does not
suggest that sublime condition which implies separation from so much
more than the outer garment of flesh, but otherwise the distinction
between the two lives, or minds, seems to correspond with that now under
consideration.
What is it that strikes us especially about this substitution of the
divine-human for the human-natural personality? Is it not the loss of
individualism? (Individualism, pray observe, not individuality.) There
are certain sayings of Jesus which have probably offended many in their
hearts, though they may not have dared to acknowledge such a feeling to
themselves: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?" and those other
disclaimers of special ties and relationships which mar the perfect
sympathy of our reverence. There is something awful and
incomprehensible to us in this repudiation of individualism, even in its
most amiable relations. But it is in the Aryan philosophies that we see
this negation of all that we associate with individual life most
emphatically and explicitly insisted on. It is, indeed, the
impossibility of otherwise than thus negatively characterizing the soul
that has attained Moksha (deliverance from bonds) which has caused the
Hindu consummation to be regarded as the loss of individuality and
conscious existence. It is just because we cannot easily dissociate
individuality from individualism that we turn from the sublime
conception of primitive philosophy as from what concerns us as little as
the ceaseless activity and germination in other brains of thought once
thrown off and severed from the thinking source, which is the
immortality promised by Mr. Frederick Harrison to the select specimens
of humanity whose thoughts have any reproductive power. It is not a
mere preference of nothingness, or unconscious absorption, to limitation
that inspires the intense yearning of the Hindu mind for Nirvana. Even
in the Upanishads there are many evidences of a contrary belief, while
in the Sankhya the aphorisms of Kapila unmistakably vindicate the
individuality of soul (spirit). Individual consciousness is maintained,
perhaps infinitely intensified, but its "matter" is no longer personal.
Only try to realize what "freedom from desire," the favourite phrase in
which individualism is negated in these systems, implies. Even in that
form of devotion which consists in action, the soul is warned in the
Bhagavad-Gita that it must be indifferent to results.
Modern Spiritualism itself testifies to something of the same sort.
Thus we are told by one of its most gifted and experienced champions,
"Sometimes the evidence will come from an impersonal source, from some
instructor who has passed through the plane on which individuality is
demonstrable." (M.A. (Oxon.), "Spirit Identity," p. 7.) Again, "And if
he" (the investigator) "penetrates far enough, he will find himself in a
region for which his present embodied state unfits him: a region in
which the very individuality is merged, and the highest and subtlest
truths are not locked within one breast, but emanate from representative
companies whose spheres of life are interblended." (Id., p. 15.) By
this "interblending" is of course meant only a perfect sympathy and
community of thought; and I should doubtless misrepresent the author
quoted were I to claim an entire identity of the idea he wishes to
convey, and that now under consideration. Yet what, after all, is
sympathy but the loosening of that hard "astringent" quality (to use
Bohme's phrase) wherein individualism consists? And just as in true
sympathy, the partial suppression of individualism and of what is
distinctive, we experience a superior delight and intensity of being, so
it may be that in parting with all that shuts us up in the spiritual
penthouse of an Ego--all, without exception or reserve--we may for the
first time know what true life is, and what are its ineffable
privileges. Yet it is not on this ground that acceptance can be hoped
for the conception of immortality here crudely and vaguely presented ill
contrast to that bourgeois eternity of individualism and the family
affections, which is probably the great charm of Spiritualism to the
majority of its proselytes. It is doubtful whether the things that "eye
hath not seen, nor ear heard," have ever taken stronghold of the
imagination, or reconciled it to the loss of all that is definitely
associated with the Joy and movement of living. Not as consummate bliss
can the dweller on the lower plane presume to command that transcendent
life. At the utmost he can but echo the revelation that came to the
troubled mind in "Sartor Resartus," "A man may do without happiness, and
instead thereof find blessedness." It is no sublimation of hope, but
the necessities of thought that compel us to seek the condition of true
being and immortality elsewhere than in the satisfactions of
individualism. True personality can only subsist in consciousness by
participation of that of which we can only say that it is the very
negation of individuality in any sense in which individuality can be
conceived by us. What is the content or "matter" of consciousness we
cannot define, save by vaguely calling it ideal. But we can say that in
that region individual interests and concerns will find no place. Nay,
more, we can affirm that only then has the influx of the new life a free
channel when the obstructions of individualism are already removed.
Hence the necessity of the mystic death, which is as truly a death as
that which restores our physical body to the elements. "Neither I am,
nor is aught mine, nor do I exist," a passage which has been well
explained by a Hindu Theosophist (Peary Chand Mittra), as meaning "that
when the spiritual state is arrived at, I and mine, which belong to the
finite mind, cease, and the soul, living in the universum and
participating in infinity with God, manifests its infinite state." I
cannot refrain from quoting the following passage from the same
instructive writer:--
Every human being has a soul which, while not separable from the brain
or nerves, is mind or jivatma, or sentient soul, but when regenerated or
spiritualized by yoga, it is free from bondage and manifests the divine
essence. It rises above all phenomenal states--joy, sorrow, grief,
fear, hope, and in fact all states resulting in pain or pleasure, and
becomes blissful, realizing immortality, infinitude and felicity of
wisdom within itself. The sentient soul is nervous, sensational,
emotional, phenomenal, and impressional. It constitutes the natural
life and is finite. The soul and the non-soul are thus the two
landmarks. What is non-soul is prakriti, or created. It is not the lot
of every one to know what soul is, and therefore millions live and die
possessing minds cultivated in intellect and feeling, but not raised to
the soul state. In proportion as one's soul is emancipated from
prakriti or sensuous bondage, in that proportion his approximation to
the soul state is attained; and it is this that constitutes disparities
in the intellectual, moral, and religious culture of human beings and
their consequent approximation to God.--Spiritual Stray Leaves,
Calcutta, 1879.
He also cites some words of Fichte, which prove that the like conclusion
is reached in the philosophy of Western idealism: "The real spirit which
comes to itself in human consciousness is to be regarded as an
impersonal pneuma--universal reason, nay, as the spirit of God Himself;
and the good of man's whole development, therefore, can be no other than
to substitute the universal for the individual consciousness."
That there may be, and are affirmed to be, intermediate stages, states,
or discrete degrees, will, of course, be understood. The aim of this
paper has been to call attention to the abstract condition of the
immortalized consciousness; negatively it is true, but it is on this
very account more suggestive of practical applications. The connection
of the Theosophical Society with the Spiritualist movement is so
intimately sympathetic, that I hope one of these may he pointed out
without offence. It is that immortality cannot be phenomenally
demonstrated. What I have called psychic survival can be, and probably
is. But immortality is the attainment of a state, and that state the
very negation of phenomenal existence. Another consequence refers to
the direction our culture should take. We have to compose ourselves to
death. Nothing less. We are each of us a complex of desires, passions,
interests, modes of thinking and feeling, opinions, prejudices, judgment
of others, likings and dislikings, affections, aims public and private.
These things, and whatever else constitutes, the recognizable content of
our present temporal individuality, are all in derogation of our ideal
of impersonal being--saving consciousness, the manifestation of being.
In some minute, imperfect, relative, and almost worthless sense we may
do right in many of our judgments, and be amiable in many of our
sympathies and affections. We cannot be sure even of this. Only people
unhabituated to introspection and self-analysis are quite sure of it.
These are ever those who are loudest in their censures, and most
dogmatic in their opinionative utterances. In some coarse, rude fashion
they are useful, it may be indispensable, to the world's work, which is
not ours, save in a transcendental sense and operation. We have to
strip ourselves of all that, and to seek perfect passionless
tranquillity. Then we may hope to die. Meditation, if it be deep, and
long, and frequent enough, will teach even our practical Western mind to
understand the Hindu mind in its yearning for Nirvana. One
infinitesimal atom of the great conglomerate of humanity, who enjoys the
temporal, sensual life, with its gratifications and excitements, as much
as most, will testify with unaffected sincerity that he would rather be
annihilated altogether than remain for ever what he knows himself to be,
or even recognizably like it. And he is a very average moral specimen.
I have heard it said, "The world's life and business would come to an
end, there would be an end to all its healthy activity, an end of
commerce, arts, manufactures, social intercourse, government, law, and
science, if we were all to devote ourselves to the practice of Yoga,
which is pretty much what your ideal comes to." And the criticism is
perfectly just and true. Only I believe it does not go quite far
enough. Not only the activities of the world, but the phenomenal world
itself, which is upheld in consciousness, would disappear or take new,
more interior, more living, and more significant forms, at least for
humanity, if the consciousness of humanity was itself raised to a
superior state. Readers of St. Martin, and of that impressive book of
the late James Hinton, "Man and his Dwelling-place," especially if they
have also by chance been students of the idealistic philosophies, will
not think this suggestion extravagant. If all the world were Yogis, the
world would have no need of those special activities, the ultimate end
and purpose of which, by-the-by, our critic would find it not easy to
define. And if only a few withdraw, the world can spare them. Enough of
that.
Only let us not talk of this ideal of impersonal, universal being in
individual consciousness as an unverified dream. Our sense and
impatience of limitations are the guarantees that they are not final and
insuperable. Whence is this power of standing outside myself, of
recognizing the worthlessness of the pseudo--judgments, of the
prejudices with their lurid colouring of passion, of the temporal
interests, of the ephemeral appetites, of all the sensibilities of
egoism, to which I nevertheless surrender myself so that they indeed
seem myself? Through and above this troubled atmosphere I see a being,
pure, passionless, rightly measuring the proportions and relations of
things, for whom there is, properly speaking, no present, with its
phantasms, falsities, and half-truths; who has nothing personal in the
sense of being opposed to the whole of related personalities: who sees
the truth rather than struggles logically towards it, and truth of which
I can at present form no conception; whose activities are unimpeded by
intellectual doubt, un-perverted by moral depravity, and who is
indifferent to results, because he has not to guide his conduct by
calculation of them, or by any estimate of their value. I look up to
him with awe, because in being passionless he sometimes seems to me to
be without love. Yet I know that this is not so; only that his love is
diffused by its range, and elevated in abstraction beyond my gaze and
comprehension. And I see in this being my ideal, my higher, my only
true, in a word, my immortal self.
--C.C. Massey