spirit and reviving the ancient life and consciousness by going back in
thought to old Athens, we have started anew the vibrations which
resulted in the beauty of Greek art and life. Then here in the Club
where but rarely any discordant note arises, but where we come together
in harmony there comes an indescribable something that leaves its
impress on the heart, of peace and joy and at the same time a sense of
courage and unconquerable energy to carry on this work that our beloved
H. P. B. and the Chief began. This is a peculiar time at the end of the
century, of such vast importance that is scarcely realized by any.”
_The Professor._—“It has been a century of unrest, and nothing is more
needed than that this keynote of harmony should be struck at this time,
it is in this that lies the hope of the future, and it is in this spirit
of harmony that actuates the workers to-day that lies the guarantee that
the work will be carried into the next century, though one here and
there, unable to go forward in the new age, must be left behind.”
_Dr. Wyld._—“Madam Purple, will you not tell us more about Æschylus’
purpose in writing his plays, for, like Shakespeare’s, I would declare
them to be ‘not of an age, but for all time.’”
_Madam Purple._—“Yes, I think Æschylus and Shakespeare may well be
compared, for each taught the truths of life, though each veiled them in
forms suited to the times in which they wrote. It is perfectly evident
to the deep student that there is an inner meaning to the plays of
Æschylus, and it may be that in his earnestness and endeavor to instruct
the people and bring out these truths he became so enthused that he
introduced some features of the Inner Mysteries, and although these
could only be recognized and interpreted by Initiates, yet the story is
he was condemned to death for this. It is true the inner meaning had to
be clothed in a form adapted to the tastes of the people. In those days
Greece had begun to retrograde, and the true idea of religion had become
obscured in the minds of the masses. It had begun to take on a gruesome
aspect, and that which had the greatest hold upon them was fear and the
dread of punishment. Æschylus, like all great teachers, adapted his
teachings to the mind of his hearers. Instead of taking them so high
that they could find no foothold, he used their ordinary conception of
religion and took them forward one step at a time. To have brought out
the teaching in all its power and grandeur would perhaps have dazzled
them, and being beyond their grasp would have seemed to them to be a
tearing down of their present conceptions and ideals, and thus have
thrown them back and into rebellion.”
_The Professor._—“There are plenty of evidences of this in modern life,
of would-be teachers who, ignorant of the laws of growth and
development, seek to tear down and at the same time to dazzle their
hearers with knowledge which they themselves have not half-digested, and
instead of bringing light and freedom, they but imprison and fetter the
mind more closely. It is just as though to hasten the growth of a tender
plant a gardener would bring it out of a cool and shady spot into the
full glare of the sun. Its life would be burned out by that which is the
very source of its life.”
_Madam Purple._—“But in Æschylus the teaching is there, though veiled.
The wise teacher does not tear down until a new foothold has been found.
He builds, constructs and educates, thus slowly leading to a higher
level, disengaging the minds gradually from error by instilling a higher
conception of truth. The inner teaching runs through it all like a
golden thread in a many colored tapestry, now appearing, now apparently
lost, but in reality only hidden from the casual observer yet present
still to him who has eyes to see.
“A great effort was made by the Initiates at about the time of Æschylus
to revive in the heart of the Greeks a love for the ancient wisdom which
they had received originally from Egypt. Æschylus himself had been
instructed by teachers not known to the world and had been prepared to
take part in this work long before he appeared openly as a teacher and a
writer. Those who had the best interests of the people at heart and who
were ‘called’ to serve as spiritual teachers were ever seeking to
educate them not according to what the people demanded of them but
according to their needs. Among these was Æschylus. He made no great
claims for himself but was a stranger to fear, and so deeply was he
imbued with the love of humanity and his desire to serve it that he
became indifferent to criticism, and dared to step out into the arena of
life with a boldness that to those who see only through the small
glasses of vanity and ambition and who could not understand him, may
have seemed egotism. But those who can follow the inner meaning of his
writings and can see his great purpose, recognize him as a true servant
and lover of humanity. What cared he for the hatred and opposition of
those who loved personal power and sought to keep the people in
ignorance, who saw that his grand work for helping humanity would thwart
their designs and block their selfish paths. It was these who persecuted
him and caused him to be condemned—not his fellow-initiates and comrades
or those who truly loved wisdom and freedom.
“The chief of the persecutors of Æschylus was one who had the ambition
to hold the place that he had in the hearts of the people and not
succeeding in this sought to destroy him. Yet in spite of his many
trials and persecutions his works and memory still live as a monument to
his aspirations and noble efforts. Yet even to-day he is only partly
understood and like many other teachers will have to wait for the
revolutions of the times and the further evolution of man before the
grander meaning of his great work is made manifest.
“But it has ever been so in the history of man. History but repeated
herself in the case of Æschylus, in the case of H. P. B. and many
another. Those who would help humanity know of a surety what to expect,
yet they falter not, nay, they even gain new courage and endurance under
the persecution, for is there not in their hearts the Light of Truth and
the love of all true comrades of the Ages to cheer their path? The
devotion of one faithful heart outweighs in the balance a multitude of
persecutors.”
[In future accounts of the Sokratic Club some of the characters will
appear under other names, but some of our readers who are interested
will doubtless be able to tell the identity.—Solon.]
STUDENTS’ COLUMN.
THE BASIS OF ETHICS.
In the December number of UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD the question is asked:
“Whence arises the sense of duty? In what does it originate?” The
answers given are good; and V. F. touches the key-note in the words “he
owes it to _himself_,” etc.
The question and the discussions recalled to my mind the answer given to
the same question by Dr. Hickok of Union College in his treatise on
Moral Science, which was published in 1853, and used as a text-book in
the University of Vermont a few years later.
It is too often taken for granted that a Christian must find a new basis
of ethics and a new rule of right in order to justify his acceptance of
the Theosophical teachings. This is far from the case, even assuming for
the sake of the argument what is not true in fact, that theosophy
rejects the Bible; for the great majority of Christian writers on this
subject have not founded their systems on the Bible, or upon any
religious system whatever, but have, so far as they discuss religious
duties, treated them as a part of some greater ethical whole. Such is
the case in the manual of Dr. Hickok. He only needs to bring out more
clearly the unity of finite spirits in Absolute Spirit, and to note the
proper distinction between personality and individuality and between
individuality and the One Life—a distinction that is logical rather than
metaphysical—and to enlarge his view so as to include the tenet of
reincarnation with its correlative doctrines, to make his system very
good Theosophy. His foundation is impregnable; but by overlooking the
unity of the finite in the infinite, and by clinging to the notion of a
personal God distinct from the Higher Self, he brings that God into
judgment before the finite spirit of man. This makes the Second Part of
his treatise, on Divine Government, weak and halting in comparison with
the First Part, on Pure Morality. His work would have been simplified
and strengthened beyond measure could he have seen that the self before
whom man stands in the inner sanctuary of his being is the Higher Self
of our teachings, and is one with the highest Deity. I quote Dr.
Hickok’s statement of the basis of ethics and of the source of our sense
of duty.
“Whether absolute or finite spirit, there is to each an inner world of
conscious prerogative—revealed to itself completely, and to itself only,
except as the absolute includes the finite—and from which comes forth
perpetually the imperative, that every action be restrained by that
which is due to its own dignity. It is this consciousness of the
intrinsic excellency of spiritual being, which awakens the reverence
that every man is forced to feel when he is brought fairly to stand
alone in the presence of his own spirit. As if another and a divine self
scanned and judged every purpose and thought of the acting self, so is
every man when arraigned before his own personality, and made to hear
with uncovered head his sentence of self-justification or
self-condemnation. There is an awful sanctuary in every immortal spirit,
and man needs nothing more than to exclude all else, and stand alone
before himself, to be made conscious of an authority he can neither
dethrone nor delude. From its approbation comes self-respect; from its
disapprobation, self-contempt. A stern behest is ever upon him, that he
do nothing to degrade the real dignity of his spiritual being. He is a
law to himself, and has both the judge and executioner within him and
inseparable from him. The claim of this intrinsic excellency of
spiritual being, as apprehended by the reason may be known as the
_objective_ Rule of right.
“We may call this the imperative of reason, the constraint of
conscience, or the voice of God within him; but by whatever terms
expressed, the real meaning will be, that every man has consciously the
bond upon him _to do that, and that only, which is due to his spiritual
excellency_. The motive to this is not any gratification of a want, not
any satisfying of a craving, and thus to be done for a price in
happiness; but it is solely that he may _be_ just what the intrinsic
excellency of his own spirit demands that he _should be_. Enough for
him, that he _is_, in the sight of his own spirit, and of all spirits,
worthy of spiritual approbation. Not only would he not sell this
worthiness of character for any price, but he has not attained it for
the sake of a reward beyond it. That it was not the end, but a means to
a further end, would make it wholly mercenary, and the very worthiness
he speaks of would be profaned to a marketable commodity. He willingly
then would be anything else if he could get equal wages for it. To be
thus worthy of spiritual approbation is the attainment of the highest
dignity, and may be called the _subjective_ end of ethics, and is a
_moral good_.
“This is the ultimate end of rational being; the end of all ends. As
worthy of happiness, this may now righteously be _given_, and
righteously _taken_, but not righteously _paid_ as a price nor _claimed_
as wages. The _good_ is the _being worthy_, not that he is to get
something for it. The highest good—the SUMMUM BONUM—is _worthiness of
spiritual approbation_.”
The italics and capitals are Dr. Hickok’s. “As if another and a divine
self scanned and judged every purpose and thought of the acting self,”
could hardly be improved by any of our theosophical writers.
G. A. MARSHALL.
DARLINGTON, Wis., Dec. 29, 1898.
YOUNG FOLKS’ DEPARTMENT.
THE WESTON TEN.
BY MARGARET S. LLOYD.
I. STILL POOL.
Weston, Massachusetts, is a beautiful little New England town, with the
cheerful, home-like air that is almost always found in the villages of
that State. It is situated in a pleasant, green valley, surrounded by
hills, and one can see the mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont from
the main street of the village. The Connecticut River flows past the
western part of the town and there are many pleasant walks in the
neighborhood.
The children of Weston, and there are many children in this pretty
village, love best to go down to the river, or else to take the long
walk to Quan Glen.
After leaving the long main street of the village, with its rows of
comfortable-looking big white houses, and double row of elm trees, a
turn to the north brings one, after a half-hour’s walk, to Quan Glen. It
is a lovely little place, always green even in the severe winter, for it
is sheltered on either side by high banks of pine, birch, and other
trees, that on the north side of the Glen lead away into deep woods. The
bottom of the Glen is covered with a soft carpet of mosses and ferns,
and through the middle runs a clear stream of water, which makes a
pleasant murmur as it ripples and plashes over the white pebbles which
compose its bed.
It was on a hot day in August when a party of children came through the
woods and prepared to descend the high bank leading down to the Glen.
Out of the hot sunshine and into the cool green of the shade trees made
a delightful change after their long walk, and they pushed forward
through the branches and tall grass and ferns. There were ten children,
four boys and six girls. The eldest of the children was Phœbe Allen, a
tall, slender girl of fourteen who seemed to be a sort of little queen
among the others, as they were constantly appealing to her and running
up to show some new flower or especially nice fern they had found. Tommy
Jones was the youngest member of the party. He was seven years old and
still wore the queer over-all blue checked apron which little boys and
girls alike wore at this period, thirty years ago. The apron made a
splendid play-dress and was really very comfortable, although our friend
Tommy was a quaint-looking little figure as he trotted along, the ruffle
of his apron forming a big collar around his neck, from which his head
stood out like some new kind of a daisy—a daisy with bright yellow hair
and dreamy grey eyes!
Tommy was jolly and full of fun and laughter, but he had his periods of
being quiet and this afternoon was one of them. At such times his
playmates had learned to leave him alone. For they knew it was just one
of “Tommy’s silent times,” and that by and by he would be as merry as
the others. He went along with the other children, holding Phœbe’s hand
and keeping close to her until they reached the bottom of the glen. Then
the others scattered, leaving him and Phœbe to walk on together. The
other boys amused themselves by throwing pebbles in the brook and trying
to find a minnow, while the little girls wandered about the glen in
search of flowers.
Phœbe Allen walked slowly along with Tommy at her side, and after a few
minutes she said: “I’m ever so glad we came to the glen to-day. It’s
just lovely here isn’t it, little Tommy?”
“Yes, I guess ’tis.”
He continued, “Phœbe, don’t you like the summer time the best of all?
The woods are so cool and green and there’s so many flowers.”
“Oh, yes, I do love it. But I think I like the spring time best because
I think the little flowers, so pale and tender, are the very dearest of
all. The summer flowers are so strong and bright. I love the little
spring flowers the best, and best of all the big, beautiful purple
violet.”
Tommy thought a while and then he said:
“I know. I guess you mean that we love the things that aren’t strong the
best. It wouldn’t hurt a daisy or a big mullein or a clover blossom one
bit if it was to rain hard. Would it? But the wee spring flowers
couldn’t stand so much, could they?”
“Yes, that’s it. Then, you see, I always think all the flowers are real
people, just as real as you and I are, only different, and of all the
Flower People—I always call them the Flower People when I think of
them—it seems to me that the spring Flower People are the loveliest. For
they come to us almost before the winter’s gone and while it is still
very cold and we haven’t any other flowers.”
“I think so too,” said Tommy. “You always ’splain to us children and
tell us lots of nice things to think about, Phœbe. But I like it best of
all when you ’splain things to just me, for then I can understand real
easy.”
The children soon came to a big chestnut tree and Phœbe sat down under
it to rest awhile. Tommy walked on. Phœbe looked around her. She could
hear the children laughing and chattering up the glen. She watched
Tommy. He walked along, stopping every now and then to watch a butterfly
or to peer into the waters of the brook as it rippled along the side of
his path.
Phœbe sat quiet for some time. The voices of the other children sounded
farther away until they scarcely reached her. She saw Tommy’s little
figure far down the glen, beside the Still Pool. “I wonder what he is
looking at,” she thought, “he has been standing beside the pool such a
long time.” She called, “Tommy, Tommy,” but he did not turn his head.
She waited a moment and then started toward him. As she came near him
she saw that he was gazing into the waters of Still Pool as though he
saw something very wonderful in it.
Still Pool was a beautiful little well of water at the northern end of
the glen. It was formed by water from the brook which had some time gone
out of its course and left here this deep, clear pool, all surrounded by
ferns and water cress. It was almost always so clear that you could look
right down to the bottom of it and see the white pebbles there. The
children had always called it the “Still” pool, because it seemed so
very quiet in this part of the glen and the pool was the stillest of
all.
Phœbe came up to Tommy. He did not hear her; he was looking into the
pool. So she came behind him very softly and laid her hand on his
shoulder.
“What are you looking at, little Tommy?” she asked.
“I have called and called you, but you never turned your head. I don’t
believe you even saw me as I came up here.”
Tommy turned around and looked at her. His big, dreamy eyes looked up
into her soft brown ones. “Oh, Phœbe,” he said, “I suppose I must have
been dreaming. I’m hardly awake yet. I saw something so wonderful in
Still Pool.”
Phœbe looked at the child with deep interest. “You saw a beautiful Face
there, didn’t you?”
Tommy looked at her with astonishment. “Why, how did you know? Then I
must really, truly have seen the Face.”
Phœbe laid her cool hand on his hot forehead and brushed his hair back.
Then she took his hand and said softly:
“Come to my chestnut tree before the other children come back and you
can tell me all about it. Or, if you don’t feel like talking, we will
just rest under the tree awhile, and when the others come we will all go
home together.”
Tommy grasped Phœbe’s hand tightly and walked along. Neither said
anything until they had sat under the tree for some time. Tommy’s eyes
still wore their far-away look. He laid his head on Phœbe’s lap, and the
young girl stroked his yellow hair and waited until he should be ready
to talk.
At last the little boy sat up and said:
“I saw a very queer thing while I was at Still Pool. I was just looking
into the water and thinking how white the pebbles were, when all at once
I couldn’t see the pebbles any more. The water looked all gray, and
then, while I was looking and wondering, I saw a beautiful, beautiful
face! I really did, Phœbe, honest and true!”
Phœbe looked at the earnest little boy. She answered nothing, but her
face was transformed as she listened to his story. Her beautiful brown
eyes grew more gentle looking and her face seemed to have a light
shining behind it.
“Honest, Phœbe, I did see a beautiful, lovely face. A _real_ face.”
“I am sure you did, Tommy,” said Phœbe. She saw that the child was ready
to cry at his fear that perhaps Phœbe did not understand him. “I know
you saw the Face. I have seen such a beautiful Face more than once.”
Tommy drew a deep breath. “It was the loveliest face you could think
about. It was just shiny, and it had deep, deep kind eyes, and it looked
right up at me and smiled. Oh, I felt my heart grow big all at once, and
I was just as still as could be for fear the beautiful thing would go
away. But the first thing I knew you laid your hand on my shoulder and I
sort of felt as if I was just waking up. But I know the face was real
and true!”
“Of course it was, Tommy.”
“It makes a little boy feel very strange to have such things happen,”
continued Tommy. “But it’s just like my very own thoughts. Sometimes I
think and think and think until the air seems all shiny, and then I feel
oh, so happy! So very, very happy! But I never can make it into words.”
“No, dearie, you can’t make it into words now, but you will be able to
some day. Do you know what I think? I think that nature made you a Poet
when you were born, and so, as you grow, the beautiful thoughts will
grow and grow as you do, until some time, when you are a big man, you
will be able to tell all that you have thought about, all the lovely
dreams, if you call them dreams, that you ever have had, and all these
lovely shining things will grow into beautiful words and be printed in
books. Then they will be read by men and women and little boys and
girls, too, and it will help them all to be good and more happy than
they ever were before.”
Tommy gazed with loving, wondering eyes while Phœbe spoke. He felt as
though he understood all she meant as he watched her face. For while she
talked it absolutely shone and she looked as though she saw, far in the
distance, little Tommy, grown to be a man and a wonderful poet.
After a while Tommy said, suddenly: “Oh, Phœbe, I know what the lovely
face in the pool was!”
“What, dearie?”
“Don’t you remember the other day when all us children were in your
house and you were telling us those nice stories? Don’t you remember how
you told us there was a shining boy or girl in each one of us? I
remember all you told us about it and you said it was the real, true
self. Our own best self; our bestest goodie. I believe the face in the
pool was my bestest goodie; it must have been!”
“Perhaps it was, Tommy. But why do you say ‘bestest goodie’?”
“'Cause ‘bestest’ is the very, _very_ best, and ‘goodie’ is the very
nicest, _goodest_ thing. So ‘bestest goodie’ is the very loveliest thing
of all!”
“Well, the Shining One is all that, dearie. You have found a very good
name for it. Our Shining Self is our ‘Bestest Goodie.’”
Soon the other children came up to Phœbe and Tommy and the party started
for home. All the boys and girls had bunches of ferns and flowers and
the boys whistled as they walked. The little girls walked along more
sedately, all of them clustering around Phœbe who laughed and chatted
with them, as gay as the gayest. Tommy, too, was full of fun, as he
hopped along, holding on to Phœbe’s hand. All the quiet, sober thought
was put aside, and again they were just two happy children with the
others.
As the party reached the main street of Weston once more, it was
decided, before breaking up, that the ten children—the Weston Ten, as
they call themselves—should meet in Phœbe’s house to spend the afternoon
two days from that time.
NOTICES.
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Madison Ave., was established the business of the Theosophical Society
and the Publishing Co. was transacted through a Post-office Box, but Mr.
Judge gave up this box upon removal to the Headquarters at 144 Madison
Ave., six years ago, and never afterwards used it. The Theosophical
Publishing Co., which was founded by Mr. Judge, is still at 144 Madison
Ave., to which address all mail should be directed.
The Theosophical Publishing Co.,
E. A. Neresheimer.
Manager.
Mr. Edwin H. Clarke has been selected to assume charge of the
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Those desiring information as to rates, etc., as well as all matters
pertaining to this department should address
Edwin H. Clark,
Advertising Department,
144 Madison Ave.,
New York.
The Theosophical Publishing Co.,
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BROTHERHOOD ACTIVITIES.
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