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THE
MYSTIC WAY
BY
RAYMUND
ANDREA
Author of
The Technique of the Master,
and
The Technique of the Disciple
The Modern Mystics Library
No. 2
London:
KING,
LITTLEWOOD
& KING LIMITED
SIX
BEAR STREET,
LEICESTER
SQUARE,
W.C.2
1938
_________
PRINTED
IN GREAT
BRITAIN
BY THE GARDEN CITY PRESS LTD.
AT
LETCHWORTH, HERTFORDSHIRE.
_________
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
The author of this book is known to thousands of students of mysticism.
His
name is as familiar in the United
States,
in Denmark,
France
and even
in the Orient as it is in this country. His literary reputation rests
upon two
important books,--precursors to some extent of the present volume,--The
Technique of the Master, and The Technique of the
Disciple, both of
which have a ready sale in two continents. The reason for their
popularity
among students of mysticism is based upon an extraordinary and unique
gift, the
genius of being able to discourse upon the titles of his books in a
manner with
which no fault can be found by the most tenacious or dogmatic follower
of any
particular mystical or occult sect. This in itself is a tremendous
achievement.
And this result is not obtained by begging any questions, or by
artfully
skating round debatable points. It is obtained because of an inherent,
never-failing instinct for correctly anticipating the requirements of
students.
Very few men are equipped psychologically for the exacting task of
guiding the
neophyte and student through early studies and their attendant,
physical,
mental and spiritual crises. The mentor of such must possess unusual
qualifications. These, Mr. Andrea has in generous measure.
And in addition, the author possesses an excellent literary style. In
science,
in the arts, and in general literature there are to be found a number
of
stylists, but since Blavatsky, the literature of the Occult has lacked
its
artists. Andrea's style is more related to that of Emerson than any
other, and
it is possible, occasionally, to trace the influence of the American
master.
This little book should find favour with two classes of mystics; with
those who
feel, no matter what their age, either in years or in study, that the
face of
wisdom is always lovely, and those others who, full of knowledge
themselves,
have not been vouchsafed the inestimable grace of guiding the
uninitiated.
N. V.
Dagg.
MYSTICAL KNOWLEDGE: ITS
PARAMOUNT
VALUE
Mysticism has been in the world long enough to justify us in regarding
it as a
fact in world history. It is no longer considered as the crazy belief
of a few
fanatics of erratic mind and irresponsible action. It is recognised as
a branch
of knowledge and a way of life. At one time the exclusive study and
practice of
a privileged circle whose members were scattered here and there in many
lands
through the centuries, it has come to be a subject of ardent pursuit of
students in every grade of society attracted by the higher culture of
the
present time. Half a century ago books on the subject in the west were
comparatively rare, so far as the general public was concerned: to-day,
no
interested student need want for them. The recondite treatises of the
old
masters have been resurrected and republished, commentaries on them
exist in
abundance, and those who have specialised in the subject add their
personal
testimony to the growing corpus of mystical literature. The mystical
renaissance is in full tide.
Paradoxical as it may appear, the church has been one of the first
public
institutions to recognise this renaissance. We are quick to recognise
that
which is destined to diminish or supersede our value. That is why the
church
has recognised mysticism. The institution which, above all others,
should have
been the very temple of mysticism, the watchful guardian and able
exponent of
its science and practice, has recognised and--ignored it. Hence the
great anomaly
of modern times: the mystical church of Christ is abroad in the world;
and the
house of institutional religion that rejected it, mourns its loss of
influence
upon the advancing mind which has done for ever with creed and dogma.
The
evolving mind has always made short work of institutions. The Master
Himself
did, because He was the supreme mystic. The mystic of to-day dares to
follow
His example. In olden times he did so, but persecution dogged his
footsteps,
and he had to hide his light and his knowledge or lose both in an
ignominious
death. Not so today. The ranks are reinforced on every hand. The
awakening mind
is asserting its freedom and its prerogative, and neither church nor
state can
dictate to or shackle it. The state, through the instrumentality of its
laws,
has wisely never attempted to run counter to the free thinking of the
subject.
The church, on the other hand, sensible that it stands publicly at the
bar of
intellectual judgment, resents its undignified position and, though
fully
conscious of its misrepresentation, refuses to make just discrimination
and
loudly arraigns all and sundry outside its precincts as of irreligious
habit.
This much it is necessary to say, if only once more to point the fact
that the
church has lost its hold upon the modern mind. It is necessary to say
it to
encourage those who have had the confidence to follow the light of
their own
aspiring souls and demonstrate the Christ-consciousness fearlessly in
their own
lives. That is the keynote of the new age. Mysticism looks to no creed,
acknowledges no concocted articles of religion, gives no allegiance to
church
or theologian, ignores the imposing authority of men and priests, and
makes
humble obeisance to one, and one only, the living, energising spirit
within the
temple of the soul.
The mystical renaissance dawned in the early years of the present
century. It
dawned rather suddenly. The Psychic Research Company and the New
Thought
movement simultaneously let loose across the world a flood of
literature which
arrested the attention and interest of thinking people everywhere,
opening out
the possibilities of individual development through application of the
thought
forces in business and everyday life. Hypnotism and magnetism, healing,
magic
and personal influence, and many allied subjects, comprised a large
section of
this literature; and no doubt a good deal of it has been applied to
questionable ends. Nevertheless, this literature marked a definite
epoch in the
evolution of mind. It struck the note of individual mental freedom from
bondage
to church, school and science, and every other bloated authority. It
turned the
eyes of the individual upon himself, emphasised his responsibility and
his
possibility in the scheme of things, and drove home the needed truth
that to himself
he must look for the evolution of his innate powers and for achievement
and
success in the world.
A large section of this literature, as said, was devoted specifically
to the
means and methods of worldly success. That was enough to secure its
instant and
keen reception; and it has been well employed. But a portion of this
literature
was of a very different character. It was no less devotedly directed to
the
possibilities of the spiritual evolution of the individual. Then it was
that
mysticism began to come into its own. To thousands it meant nothing
less than a
rebirth in consciousness. Within a few years societies and groups of
spiritual
culture sprang up on every hand, inaugurated by those who, ahead of the
general
evolution and aided by Karmic privilege, were already well advanced on
the
mystic path, and who, through personal teaching or written word,
disseminated
the ancient truth in acceptable form to thousands of earnest seekers
who were
literally hungering for true guidance, hitherto lacking, in their
spiritual
life.
I have a vision of this host of seekers, as they then were: men and
women, a
large percentage of them, of ripe general culture and high attainments
in
music, literature and science, who had sounded the depths and shoals of
the philosophies
of the west and had been repelled by the crude, earthbound findings of
glorified science in spite of all its wonders, bored to silence and
indifference by the humdrum platitudes of stagnant theologies, all
looking
towards the far-off horizon and knowing in their hearts there must be a
way out
and beyond the bounds within which they thought, dreamed and aspired.
And
countless others standing behind them, not so privileged in culture and
achievement, but sound and eager in mind and heart, carrying the same
burden of
life and hoping for the advent of some new light and leading they knew
not
whence, to throw a meaning upon life and interpret them to themselves,
conscious all the while of a guiding hand toward some unknown goal.
Then came
the mystical dawn and the whole host moved forward, as if a door of the
temple
had been opened to them, to the portals of which they had been
unconsciously
led through the years. Upon these seekers a light broke as from another
world;
it was indeed from another world, on the threshold of which they had
been long
waiting. None had dared hither to speak of it, in church, college or
lecture
room. Some knew yet feared to speak: it might have soiled their
reputation. I
recall a minister of the gospel to whom I gave some of this literature,
hoping
it might add value to his ministry, and who returned it with the remark
that he
was too rational and, moreover, all these ideas were in Plato. Perhaps
they
were, as they were also wrapped up, or enigmatically revealed, in the
scriptures
of India
and Egypt.
There
they remained for the academicians to juggle with and isolated adepts
to
demonstrate. Academicians still juggle with them and ecclesiastics
expatiate;
while from the advancing host of seekers potential adepts are emerging
to usher
in the new age.
When a new idea arrests and possesses the waiting mind,
it is
never lost,
and the mind moves on. It was so when the idea of the mystical
adventure as a
way of life entered the field of thought. The waiting had been too long
and
poignant for the idea to be accepted passively and dismissed. It was
seized
upon with inordinate zeal and became at once an active principle in
consciousness and a subject of profound contemplation. It was placed
alongside
philosophy and orthodox belief, investigated deeply and tenaciously
applied,
and found to fulfil a human need where those had signally failed. As
for the
intellectualists and the scientists, who had sat so long in the seat of
authority and delivered their oracles, far from inspired ones, with
measured
rhetoric to quiescent followers, the advent of the new idea proved a
sore trial
to them. They were right up to a point and within a very limited
sphere, and
they have been factors in education. They are wrong in so far as, a
greater
idea than they had conceived, with all its potent adjuncts, having cut
across
their chosen fields and upset from foundation to summit, their
carefully
erected edifice of theory and discovery, they refuse to acknowledge
possibilities for humanity beyond their own mundane vision. Moreover,
the new
idea dealt a sharp blow to the intellectual pride of these eminent
authorities.
But, until that is dissipated--and it is one phase of the world
illusion which
has to go before spiritual liberation is possible--evolution beyond the
plane
of mind is at a standstill. So that, holding fast to their pride of
logic and
mental acumen, and fearing a loss of reputation through a change of
ground and
countenancing unprofessional innovation, the impersonal and independent
seeker
is actually a world ahead of them in theory and in practice.
New ideas impinging upon the public consciousness differ considerably
in
strength and development. New historical and political ideas, for
instance, are
often of tardy acceptance and growth. They enter a field of settled and
accepted maxims and experience, and are at once brought to the bar of
authority, subjected to examination and jealous scrutiny, and violently
opposed
it may be for threatening the judgment or adding to the knowledge of
those who
have said the last word in their respective provinces. Those who are
responsible for the innovations know what to expect and are prepared
for it.
Fierce controversy ensues, but the idea stands there in the full light
of day,
offspring of a mind that has dared to question the canons of orthodoxy
or had
the boldness to strike an unexpected blow in the cause of humanity, and
there
is no getting rid of it. We have seen many instances of this, and it
gives us
faith in the secret omniscience of man and the intrinsic goodness of
his heart.
But for the existence of a few bold innovators on this planet, the
customs and
institutions of men, materialistic philosophies and deadening
theologies, even
science itself and statutes and common law, would crucify and damn the
very soul
of man. These innovators do not despise what is; they recognise the
value of
what has been; but they will not allow things to remain as they are.
They are
born enemies of the stagnation which arrests development and prevents
amelioration. They are rebels against all that binds, holds and slays
the
innate power of thought. In former times they paid dearly for their
originality
and were placed behind bars or sent to the stake. To-day, they startle
and
raise much opposition; but no sooner have they spoken than they raise a
following stronger than the opposition and are respected even when not
fully
understood. That is because they bring what is needed and awaited. The
new idea
passes like a beam of light into the public consciousness: there it
stays to germinate
and grow, and in a shorter or longer time, contingent upon its specific
value
and energy, opens out a fresh horizon of discovery and hope.
The dawn of the present mystical cycle was analogous to this. The idea
was
really a very old one, destined to emerge in a new form. It appeared in
a shape
exactly suited to the exigencies of the people to which it came. The
time was
propitious, for thousands were waiting for it. In its simplest
presentation it
voiced the urgent truth that there was a way of life within man which,
in a
materialistic age, he had entirely overlooked. It stressed the truth
that here
and now, in the living and suffering heart of a longing humanity, there
existed
the mystic lamp of the spirit which, with careful nurture, would
illumine the
dark temple of pain and sorrow, disperse the shadows of perplexity and
error,
and raise the mortal self into alignment with the divine. It
encountered
opposition, but of a tempered character, and mainly from the orthodox
religionists. They decried it because, they asserted, it turned man
from the
worship of and reliance upon God and sought to make him self-sufficient
and
presumptuously his own saviour. A crude argument, and not worth
discussion. But
the redeeming idea grew apace and struck root in every stratum of
society. Even
a religious teacher here and there could not resist the appeal and
enriching
influence of it, and instead of an exponent of the word became an
oracle of the
spirit. But ecclesiastical law is not abrogated with impunity, and they
soon
passed away. Having a vital and immortal life, the idea gathered
momentum
through the years and expanded into a literature of immense range and
influence. The east, the home for centuries of mystic lore and
practice, aware
of the awakening of the west to the science of the soul, gave ample
proof of
its interest and co-operation in augmenting the literature that taught
the
mystic way and widening the pathway of mutual understanding between
them. Hence
it is, that to-day no interested seeker need lack instruction and
guidance; for
mysticism has placed its indelible insignia upon western thought,
openly
challenged the strongholds of orthodoxy, and occupies the vanguard of
spiritual
culture and advancement.
It is claimed that mysticism is a fact in world history. To bring the
fact
closer to us, let it be said that mysticism is the most important
branch of
knowledge in the literature of the western world. It is far in advance
of the
technique of science, for, with all the wealth of discovery to its
credit, science
relies entirely upon the operation and function of the intellect and
the senses
for its conquests. It is far in advance of institutional religion, for
the
latter is directed mainly towards moral culture, which is the
refinement and
elevation of the emotional life. Theology has nothing to teach it, for
it is
man's intellectual and formal interpretation of his relationship to
God, and of
Christ as an historical character who assumes and liquidates in some
nebulous
way the sins of frail and perishing humanity. Materialistic philosophy
is an
effort of the reasoning mind to give a logical explanation of the
objective
world, and is, therefore, a twin brother of theology in its
objectiveness. Thus
science thrives on the intellect and the senses: theology lives by
faith:
speculation is the soul of philosophy. Mysticism is spiritual insight
and
transcends all of them. It unfolds the meaning of man's existence,
invests him
with a mission in life, places upon him individual responsibility at
every step
in thought and action, and points the fact that his spiritual
redemption is in
his own hands and relies absolutely upon the clear recognition of his
obligations to himself and his fellow men and in meeting those
obligations.
Science consists in the classification of facts and the observation of
their
correlation, sequence and relative significance, the discovery of laws
and
self-criticism. Mysticism surpasses the scientific method and occupies
itself
with the technique of spiritual laws operating in the world and in man.
Theology is a system of scientifically critical, historical and
psychological
patterns and theories, as objective in character as the science of
geology or
astronomy. Mysticism passes beyond forms and theories and reveals the
inner way
of union and communion with the Christ Consciousness within man through
an
experimental ascension of consciousness. Materialistic philosophy is
the study
of the interconnection of the sciences and their ramifications as part
of an
organic whole, and the theory of knowledge. Mysticism penetrates to the
world
of underlying spiritual causes and unfolds the rationale of all
knowledge and
phenomena. The essential difference between these objective and
speculative
interpretations and the method of mysticism is summed up in a luminous
phrase
of the Mundaka-Upanisad: "It is not apprehended by
the eye, not by
speech, not by the other senses, not by devotion or rites; but he,
whose
intellect is purified by the light of knowledge, beholds him who is
without
parts, through meditation."
This simple declaration brings the mind to rest in the basic method of
mysticism, that of spiritual meditation which unfolds the inner nature
of the
soul and evolves that self-knowledge which reveals man as a spiritual
entity in
a world of silent and potent spiritual forces in which he lives and
moves and
has his being, to which alone he is responsible and through whose aid
alone he
can "attain the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ."
_________
CHAPTER
II
MYSTIC MEDITATION
Meditation is variously defined as an extension of concentration; a
deep,
continued reflection upon a religious theme; and, perhaps most aptly,
as a
process of creation in the silence. The subject abounds in
technicalities, if
we choose to make it difficult by an elaborate consideration of them.
But for
the present they are quite unnecessary. I question whether one student
in a
thousand entering upon this subject is in doubt about the fact or act
of
meditation, or the value of it, or regards it as a mysterious or
exceptional
practice. By the time the majority of us reach manhood we have been
driven to
meditate often and deeply enough to attain any worthy objective, or to
get
through life at all. Such is my experience; and as I am writing chiefly
for the
seeker and aspirant, it is my own experience, whatever its value may
be, that I
propose to consult in an attempt to help him.
I remember that the first teaching I met with on the mystical life was
of the
simplest character. There were no technicalities and no mystery about
it. It
pointed the main facts of the mind and the soul; the objective was to
educate
the former, through a process of alignment, to a recognition of the
latter. It
advocated the daily visualisation of a quality of character or a
condition of
life needful to the student, which developed steady concentration of
thought
upon a specific subject. Thence he passed on in time to brief intervals
of
suspension of mentation, or pure concentration, an arresting of mind
action in
order to induce a condition of inward quietude and calmness. Then
followed a
meditative process, consisting in turning the mind in an unbroken wave
upon the
realisation of the nature of the soul, which is love. The cumulative
results of
this practice did as much, and perhaps a good deal more, than the many
technical procedures offered by many teachers could have achieved. I
derogate
nothing from elaborate forms of meditation for specific ends. I know
their
value; but they belong to an advanced stage of the subject. Here we are
clearing
the ground for the aspirant for a simple ascent from the everyday,
objective
consciousness to a more interior condition. That is the object of all
meditation. He needs a change of heart to tread the mystic way, and the
first
steps towards it is a change of mind action. There are many steps, and
meditation is a process of ascent, up to the inspirational life of the
Christ
consciousness, which is the altitude of the mystic way.
The object of meditation is to make conscious contact with the life of
the
soul. The soul has been designated as an entity which is the offspring
of
Spirit and Matter, an embodied Son of God, incarnated for the purpose
of
revealing the quality of the nature of God which is love. Hence will be
seen
the peculiar value of the above-mentioned meditation as a preliminary
technique
for releasing the essential nature of the soul. It puts aside all
unessentials,
all technicalities, all the paraphernalia of theory and speculation,
and
directs the mind, concentrated and dedicated, forthwith to the
realisation of
the soul by saturating itself in meditation with that quality at the
heart of
all, impersonal and illuminating love. In the Bhagavad Gita, the
Upanisads, and
other sacred books the aspirant is exhorted, but more ceremoniously and
with
lavish detail and technical references, to constant meditation upon the
soul as
the mystic way of illumination and freedom from bondage to mental
illusion and
the domination of the sense life. Realisation of the nature of the soul
is the
burden of the inspired themes of all these classics.
The aspirant's ascent on the mystic way is a twofold process of the
destruction
of form and the building of form, until he enters the life of the soul
which is
formless. He is imprisoned within the mental and emotional form which
his life
experience has created: his object is to transcend that form. He is a
captive
soul within the form which he has with pain, and perhaps all too
conscientiously, built for his own use. It is the complex form of
personality
which battles in the arena of life. If the form is sound, stable and
well
capacitated, it is fortunate; for then it is a vehicle of studied
proportion
and efficiency for specific uses and attainments in the world of form
in
contact with similar types. And in that contact it has its own specific
measure
of vibration and range of response whereby it acts upon and reacts to
other
types so functioning. But all advancement, even within the world of
form, is
made through a series of imperceptible destructions and rebuildings of
forms.
It is so in the physical and mental life. Constant change is the law.
On the
ascending arc of physical life a finer and more complicated apparatus
of
response is constantly replacing one of lower capacity and response, as
in the
mental life, until age or disease brings the cycle to its close. In the
majority this takes place without any speculation into the life of the
soul,
and the mental and emotional form binds till death. Nor, truly, can the
complete dominance of the soul arrest the progress of a life cycle. But
it can
alter it, unbelievably. The soul can pass beyond the life cycle still
captive
to the form for a future cycle; or the aspirant can set himself the
task of
taking the mystic way and, through an ascension of consciousness and
vibration
and power of repose, transcend the form which holds him prisoner on the
mental
and emotional level and build a finer form of rarer quality which will
afford
the soul a way of contact with the threefold personality.
Meditation upon the indwelling soul, the Son of love, is a process of
building
a form for ascent on the mystic way. We speak of destruction and
construction
of form. There is something suggestively harsh and drastic in the
terms. The
impression is unfortunate, but ordinary terms must be used in the
endeavour to
define and depict subtle inner transformations. But the process of
change here
is no less indiscernible than in the case of physical and mental
processes. It
is actually a re-polarisation of consciousness, a directing of the life
energy
inwards toward the deeper strata of being, instead of upon the purely
mental
and objective plane of thought and action. There is nothing mysterious
in this
idea of re-polarisation of consciousness. A little reflection will
convince the
aspirant how firmly held he is within the form of the personal self, of
the
mind with its opinions and views, its reasonings, and its continuous
subjection
to the influence and agitation of the sense life, if he recalls those
rare
moments which come when the mind is carried beyond itself into
momentary
contact with the life of the soul under the inspiration of the word or
action
of genius in the world of literature, music or art. Then it is that,
for a
brief moment, soul speaks to soul, recognises its own true nature
expressed in
others, and realises its own possibilities. It is a re-polarisation of
consciousness involuntarily made through the personal form having been
suddenly
transcended, its range of response extended, its normal vibrational
measure
raised to a larger dimension under the influence of inspirational
contact with
it of some kind emanating from a mind functioning from a higher sphere.
It is a
foretaste of what the technique of the mystic way will enable the
aspirant to
do consciously for himself at will. It proves conclusively to him that
mind
consciousness and soul consciousness are two distinct organisms, with
vastly
different values and possibilities. One functions within and is
circumscribed
by its self-imposed form: the other is formless and the source of
divine love
and of all inspiration. It is the bridging form between the two which
he is to
build in meditation, until the form of the personal self is surmounted
and free
access to the soul sphere is made. When, later on the way, the soul is
truly
dominant and inspires the whole personal life, the finer form used to
make this
contact will be no longer necessary and pass away; for then there is a
constant
interplay between mind and soul, and the afflatus which we ascribe to
genius
becomes a normal function of mystic soul communion.
Hugo expresses very pregnantly this contact with the soul through
meditation.
Himself an inspired writer of remarkable power and seership, this word
picture
depicts with singular clarity and truth the passing beyond the mental
form into
the soul through re-polarisation of consciousness, and the lasting
effect
registered in the mind through the process. "Every man has within him
his Patmos. He is
free to go, or not to go, out upon that
frightful promontory of thought from which one perceives the shadow. If
he does
not, he remains in the common life, with the common conscience, with
the common
virtue, with the common faith, or with the common doubt; and it is
well. For
inward peace it is evidently the best. If he goes out upon those
heights, he is
taken captive. The profound waves of the marvellous have appeared to
him. No
one views with impunity that ocean. Henceforth he will be the thinker,
dilated,
enlarged, but floating; that is to say, the dreamer. He will partake of
the
poet and of the prophet. Henceforth a certain portion of him belongs to
the
shadow. An element of the boundless enters into his life, into his
conscience,
into his virtue, into his philosophy. Having a different measure from
other
men, he becomes extraordinary in their eyes. He has duties which they
have not.
He lives in a sort of diffused prayer, and, strange indeed, attaches
himself to
an indeterminate certainty which he calls God. He distinguishes in that
twilight enough of the anterior life and enough of the ulterior life to
seize
these two ends of the dark thread, and with them to bind his soul to
life. Who
has drunk will drink, who has dreamed will dream. He will not give up
that
alluring abyss, that sounding of the fathomless, that indifference for
the world
and for this life, that entrance into the forbidden, that effort to
handle the
impalpable and to see the invisible; he returns to it, he leans and
bends over
it, he takes one step forward, then two; and thus it is that one
penetrates
into the impenetrable, and thus it is one finds the boundless release
of
infinite meditation."
Every aspirant has, indeed, within him his own Patmos.
What his resolve to discover and explore and dwell on it may entail,
may be
considered hereafter. Here we are considering the form he has to
transcend and
the form he has to build in order to make the discovery. It is being
put to him
in the simplest possible way. It can be made, and often is, a very
abstruse and
complicated matter through the importation of technical formulae, or by
obscuring the issue with symbolical and ritualistic references and
observances,
all which is perplexing and baffling in the extreme both to the
practical
student and to the uninitiated. The aspirant has the simple issue
before him of
electing to remain a prisoner, for a prisoner he is, within the mental
and
emotional form which experience in the objective world has compelled
him to
build for his manifold contact and use; or passing beyond the frontier
of a
circumscribed existence into the mystic realm of the soul which awaits
his
discovery. His decision in favour of the latter assumes that he accepts
the
basic truth of mysticism: that he is not a mental being searching for
some
nebulous and evasive entity known as the soul, but a spiritual entity
which is
the very centre of all his being, the maintaining, nourishing and
energising
force, unrecognised though it be, of his mental, emotional and physical
life.
It is this shifting of viewpoint from the periphery to the centre which
inaugurates the building of the new form, the line of communication and
transmission, which his meditation is to construct and stabilise and
bring into
daily use.
An example of the building of form in the mental life may further
clarify the
subject to the aspirant entering upon the way, and show how the line of
communication with the soul is established and vivified so that it
becomes a
vehicle of transmission of its potencies to the personal life. In this
hypothetical case the aspirant has a great love for music and the
desire to
emulate a great master of it. The master's work is an ideal of
transcendent
influence to the aspirant and a continuous source of meditation to him.
He
broods upon it and lives in it daily. It has an attractive force beyond
anything else in his life. Whenever his mind is free from occupation
with
mundane things it automatically reverts to this ideal world of artistic
science
and expression. So powerful is its influence upon him that his own
musical
character and execution manifest more and more the form in all its
characteristics of the ideal before him. He veritably builds in mental
and
emotional matter a line of communication between himself and his ideal.
He
projects himself to and thinks with and into it. His intense love for
it opens
a living way of response whereby his understanding is broadened, his
conceptual
powers are enlarged, his ability to compose and execute is developed,
and his
entire musical life enhanced through this process of sympathetic
intercourse
between his own world and that of the master artist.
So it is in building the form in meditation. The aspirant may take the
conception, fundamental to all his work, of himself as a spiritual
entity, the
soul of love at the centre of being, and dwell constantly in the
thought of
that essential love nature which he seeks to express in threefold
activity, on
the physical, emotional and mental planes. In so doing he will be
engaged in a
method of scientific accuracy and potency. The soul, which is a ray of
the one
Impersonal Love, the foundation of human existence, will respond to
recognition. That is the first point of discovery; the soul awaits
recognition
by the mind; it awaits release from the hiddenness and silence which
the
established form of personality imposes upon it. But as soon as the
line of
communication is open through recognition of and dwelling in the nature
of the
soul, a response will take place in the personal self, and
imperceptibly the
vibration of the latter will be heightened and cultured and take on the
tone
and colouring of that august influence. Repeated meditation will
strengthen the
line of communication, enlarge the channel of transmission, until the
mental
form has been outgrown and the note of the soul sounds permanently in
the
personality.
But is not this relinquishment of the form of personality a
surrendering of
mental values? By no means: no more assuredly than the musical aspirant
surrenders aught of value in surpassing himself through using the
devotional
form of access to the master work which is his ideal. Contrariwise, he
recognises at every step the reflex action of his devotion and knows
himself to
be fortified with new ideas and inspiration and becoming a centre of
attraction
for all that is responsive to his mental note in the world of his art.
It is so
with the student of meditation dwelling in the mystic and illuminating
love of
the soul. The influence of that communion is not confined within the
personality. It radiates to the four quarters of the earth, and like a
powerful
light attracts to himself all that is beneficent and uplifting in men
and
circumstances. All that is surrendered, or automatically passes away
from him,
is not worth keeping. That which comes to him has an eternal value and
raises
all he has and is to a new level of life and action. It is a simple
truth, but
so hard of acceptance for the dominating mind of the west. It is hard
to
realise how the harmless, compassionate nature of the soul can hold its
own
against, harder still that it can transcend, the dominant note of the
assertive
mental life; or, if so, of what use it can be. The aspirant is to put
it to the
test. Those who have done so can testify to the new values which have
come to
them.
The finer form is building: the soul responds: the vibration of the
personality
is heightened: re-polarisation of consciousness is gradually taking
place. The
personality feels the energising and life-giving force of the soul. The
influence of the subtle form silently impinges upon other souls and
attracts
the good in them; more than this, it has an awakening effect upon them.
That is
one of the most arresting facts observed by the aspirant who follows
the mystic
way. Those he contacts respond to the note of the life of the soul.
This is
because he no longer regards them merely as personalities, but as souls
in
evolution; and that attitude of approach to them calls forth a definite
note of
response. Nor is this strange, remembering that the soul is the same in
all and
subject to the same laws of evolution and expression. And intimately
associated
and at one, as it is, with the unseen hierarchy of Masters and Powers
who know
its life and watch its onward progress and earnest seizure of
opportunity
offered it for treading the way to conscious communion with Them, the
bridging
form not only assures the aspirant of the continuous co-operation of
the soul
within in all his activities, but brings him more and more within the
cognisance of these Higher Powers, who stand ready to assist the
process and
equip him eventually as a tried and proved aspirant with added senses
and
faculties for use in some form of world service.
_________
CHAPTER
III
THE CONTEMPLATIVE MIND
Through meditation the aspirant makes experimental contact with the
nature of
the soul. He opens up a direct line of communication between the
personality
and the spiritual entity which is basic and causal to his threefold
expression
on the physical, emotional and mental planes of life. Hitherto firmly
polarised
within this threefold form, he insensibly shifts the polarity of
consciousness
and lives consciously from a higher and more interior condition, the
meeting
ground of potent spiritual forces. The habit of meditation increases
the sense
of reality and purposive influence of the spiritual centre at the heart
of
life. Even the finer bridging form set up through meditation loses its
outline
and is finally relinquished as he rests in contemplation upon the life
of the
soul.
As meditation is an extension of concentration, so contemplation may be
considered as intensified meditation. Many text books draw a sharp
distinction
between meditation and contemplation. In the present connection it is a
distinction with very little difference. The simplest definition of
meditation
is, a serious contemplation of a subject or object; that of
contemplation,
meditativeness. Thus they are interchangeable terms. Meditation, again,
is
defined, in its spiritual application, as a close investigation and
analysis of
the inward life of its subject or object: contemplation, as a deep and
reposeful reception of what that inward life can impart. But we have
already
defined meditation as a process of making conscious contact with the
nature of
the soul. In contemplation, it is said, we are not concerned with form,
but
with the soul or life. Since that is our aim, to know the nature of the
soul,
contemplation can be rightly considered as an intensified form of
meditation.
It is interesting to note that in the famous "Spiritual Exercises" of
St. Ignatius, the terms meditation and contemplation are used
interchangeably,
to the end of an exhaustive exploration and realisation by the
exercitant of
the subjects set before him. He is given a series of daily
contemplations on
the Kingdom of Christ and enjoined to meditate along specific lines of
thought
bearing upon the life and ministry of Christ, all with the object of
recreating
and experiencing within himself in the act of devotion the beauty,
power and
passion of the Ideal Man. This, it will be observed, is somewhat
analogous to
what the aspirant is to do in building the finer bridging form from the
personality to the soul; except that, in the following of the
"Spiritual
Exercises," the exercitant is bound in his work by churchly and
theological beliefs and applications of a personal character, which
while they
do ennoble the life, yet fail to allow free expression of the soul.
Nevertheless, the fact remains that this manual which has been one of
the most
cherished systems of spiritual discipline in the Roman communion and
among
those of the monastic life for centuries, enjoins in its contemplations
that
the exercitant meditate point by point upon the historical events of
the life
of the Master as outlined in the scripture, until the meaning and
emotional
content of those events become living and present to the mind and heart
of the
meditator. "He is told to ask himself: 'Who is Christ? Why does He do
this? Why does He avoid that? What do His commands and example suppose
or
suggest?' In other words, he is made to do some deep personal thinking,
perhaps
for the first time in his life at least on such serious subjects.
Inevitably
his thoughts will be introspective and he will inquire why the
patience, the
humility, the meekness, the obedience and other virtues, which are so
vivid in
the personality of the Ideal Man, are so weak or perhaps non-existent
in his
own soul. The scrutiny of the conscience, which is nothing but
self-knowledge,
is one of the principal exercises, for it helps us to discover what
perhaps
never before struck us, namely that deep down in our natures there are
tendencies, inclinations, likes, dislikes, affections, passions which
most
commonly are the controlling and deciding forces of nearly all our
acts; and
that some of these tendencies or inclinations help, while others
hinder, growth
in virtue. Those that do not help, but on the contrary impede or
prevent, our
spiritual progress are called by St. Ignatius inordinate affections,
that is
tendencies, which are out of order, which do not go straight for the
completeness and perfection of a man's character, but on the contrary,
lead in
the opposite direction. The well-balanced mind will fight against such
tendencies, so as to be able to form its judgments and decide on its
course of
action both in the major and minor things of life without being moved
by the
pressure or strain or weight of the passions. It will look at facts in
the cold
light of reason and revealed truth, and will then bend every energy to
carry
out its purpose of spiritual advancement."
I have not quoted the above authority with the object of advocating the
"Spiritual Exercises" as a suitable method for the aspirant on the
path, but as an example of the logical and searching technique the
exercitant
employs in his contemplative life. Their unsuitability for the aspirant
lies also
in the fact that the procedure adopted is morbidly introspective and
fastens
the attention continuously and minutely upon the imperfections of mind
and
heart; and instead of stabilising consciousness in the soul, tends to
confine
it within the threefold form from which it is the intention of the
aspirant to
free himself. For while it is true that the contemplative life is
hindered by
the imperfections of the moral nature, the moral virtues do not belong
to the
contemplative life essentially, since the end of the contemplative life
is the
consideration of truth. The contemplative life has one act, which is
the
contemplation of truth. And it is to be remembered that the aspirant
does not
pass from the meditative term, during which he is building the finer
form for
entering into the nature of the soul, to the contemplative life in a
single
bound. During that term, while repolarisation of consciousness is
gradually
taking place, there is a life to be lived and much to be done of no
mean depth
and quality. It is then he is building in the moral virtues, the
essential
mystic qualities, upon which the contemplative life may securely rest.
It is
not to be expected that the threefold personal life which he brings to
the task
is fashioned ready to his hand to meet the exigencies of that keen
vibration
without discipline. It never is, no matter what the intellectual status
or
moral equipment of the aspirant may be. In fact, the more efficient and
stable
these factors are, the greater often is the necessity for breaking down
the established
form which is normal to both. Heretical and unpardonable as it may
appear, the
notoriously good man may have the most to do here. Has it ever occurred
to the
aspirant how a virtue can hinder and blind him? He will realize it on
the
mystic way as nowhere else. Introspection has its uses and can teach
him
something: it can also lead him to place such an emphasis upon his
virtues as
to overlook, not his vices, but his own selfishness. His meditative
term will
teach him that the love of the soul is beyond virtue and non-virtue;
that it is
compassion in action, and calls for a new standard of values, and a
different
code of ethics.
The aspirant will appreciate this beautiful mystical note: "The
contemplative mind tramples on all cares and longs to gaze on the face
of its
Creator." It is also written that, "in gazing, or even attempting to
gaze, on the ineffable mystery of his own higher nature, he himself
causes the
initial trial to fall on him." The trial is precipitated through the
influence
of the soul impinging more and more strongly on the personal life. The
aspirant
has passed beyond the form of the latter and now recognises its
limitations. He
stands a little in advance of his former self and becomes a critic of
that
self. That is a trial, for there is nothing so disconcerting as coming
to a
realisation of ourselves. Sometimes a student is so annoyingly
humiliated at
what the first attempt to gaze upon the reality of himself discloses,
that
nothing will induce him to go further, and he finishes with the good
work then
and there. He cannot bear to look upon his own weakness: his strength
is all;
and he retreats to the form where he is safe and undisturbed, until
some happy
catastrophe of life helps to break the illusion for him. In a case of
this nature,
the aspirant has usually entered upon the quest out of curiosity, or
under
persuasion of others, without a certain preparedness of mind which is
willing
to pay the price of advancement and knowledge. But it argues a poor
pupil
anywhere in life who is not prepared to accept the discomforts incident
to
readjustment which a necessary discipline entails. It is a curious
trait in
human nature, that a student devoted to an art or science will work and
deny
himself and suffer any privation to reach excellence in it, that his
personal
life may be enriched and shine with a borrowed lustre, yet will
question the
value or retreat from a more interior discipline which will lead him to
the
very fount of inspiration and genius within him. For nothing less than
this is
the aim and end of the contemplative life. But it has its own price and
exacts
a discipline no less crucial and painstaking, yet far more subtle and
reactive,
than that demanded for any intellectual acquisition. An aspirant does
not
usually go this way with whole-hearted intent, and rarely passes into
true
contemplation, until he has come to the end of his mental resources.
Consider
the fact. A peculiar strength is required and must have generated in
the
personality before a man is ready to seek the peace and rest, and bear
the
force, tension and inspiring domination of the soul. "The contemplative
life is sweetness exceedingly lovable." That sounds very antithetical
to
the active life demanded of the practical mystic. But note this: "Those
who wish to hold the fortress of contemplation, must first of all train
in the
camp of action." That is the complementary note. It is the keen life of
action which fits the aspirant to pay the price of discipline which
enables him
to hold the fortress of contemplation. And it is just because some
aspirants
start away with high hopes from dabbling in the mysterious and magical
without
any sound moral and mental background to lean upon, and attempt to
storm the
holy precincts of the soul without due preparation, that they are
thrown back
as by unseen and violent hands upon their own unpreparedness and taught
that
they cannot invoke the sacred guardian of their own immortal self with
impunity.
In building the finer form through meditation for access to the soul,
the
guardian of the entrance is invoked. The voice of conscience sounds in
the
personal life with startling emphasis. It indicates a new standard of
values
which are at cross purposes with life within the threefold form he
seeks to
transcend. Meditation sounds the chord of dissonance between the two.
The
contemplative life is to resolve that chord into one of harmonious
attunement.
The soul has a vibration, a tempo, out of proportion to that of the
personality. The two cannot become one, or we should be translated
beyond any
further contact with mundane things. But the contemplative life demands
an
approximation, a re-orientation of the personal life, a degree of
fineness and
spiritual culture, a basic and vibrant goodness of heart and mind, to
bear and
use sanely and unselfishly the powerful vibration of the soul. Where
this is
not the case there is danger, because the meditative form invites the
energy of
the soul into the personality; and if the latter does not, through the
force of
aspiration, right interpretation and proper adjustment, raise and
employ its
life and faculties on the terms and after the law of that down-pouring
and
quickening energy, the increased stimulation will accentuate the mental
and
emotional expression in undesirable ways within the old form. Then we
have an
instance of an aspirant, engaged upon the mystical novitiate, but
giving the
unpleasant impression of a person overwrought, out of control, erratic,
proud
and egotistic, autocratic and domineering, with all the elements of an
unprepared and uncultured personality life urged to expression in their
worst
form. That is why physical age and world experience play a far more
important
part in the preparation for the mystic way than many think. I have
known
aspirants in their third decade lament the fact that they have not
grasped and
been able to apply the technique of the higher stages of the way. It
has been
well for them: they had neither the judgment, breadth of understanding,
nor the
common sense to apply what they already knew. They were building the
meditative
form, the soul was transmitting its impressions to the mind, but the
brain
lacked the strength and flexibility, which only varied activity and
experience
could give, to interpret and apply correctly what was imparted.
The history of practically all mystics of note reveals that they have
been
individuals of strong character and ample experience, who have sounded
the
depths of life and reached a constitutional matureness. Yet it is often
thought
that these are chosen souls whom God has kept apart and sheltered from
the
common way of life for a special work. That they were destined for
special work
may be true: it is not true that they were saved from deep immersion in
common
life experience. They were pre-eminently those who had been thrust into
the
furnace of life and made to suffer the keenest. That is why, when the
fire had
done its work in them, the light of the love of the soul shone through
them so
radiantly. They laid their lives upon the altar with both hands and the
purifying fire separated the gold from the dross with all intensity and
purpose. Let the aspirant ponder on that. I ask him whether it has ever
occurred to him that his virtues can hinder and blind him? Well, when
he comes
to his meditative form he brings all his set virtues and principles
with him,
the standard of his mental and emotional life: but the soul has a
different set
of values. They do not discountenance his moral standard or oppose his
mental
integrity; but they show how these can limit him. It is not difficult
to see
why this should be. The form of personality is a self-erected structure
of
being and doing in accordance with a relative standard of correctitude
and
expression; a structure of opinion, belief and living built up mainly
from
family, religious, professional or other human contacts, and conforming
to an
accepted ritual of respectability and good report. The soul is
formless, knows
nothing of respectability or conformity, and heaves opinions, beliefs
and
formalities headlong. The mystical scripture says that the disciple
must
renounce the idea of individual rights and the pleasant consciousness
of
self-respect and virtue. Now, this is a profound truth which the
contemplative
life will prove to the aspirant. It will so upset the narrow platform
of his
formal life, that if he has not brought with him the well-tried
strength of
large experience and the high resolve of spiritual adventure, he will
believe
he is losing his soul instead of finding it. Think how we are hedged in
by what
we believe, what we are, what others think we should be; how we watch
our good
name and reputation because others have given them to us, with what
animal
ferocity we fight to score a point, to what lengths we go to win a
little
prestige, and withal, the pride we have in our self-righteousness which
keeps
us a world apart from a soul towering far above us. The love of the
soul which
the contemplative life awakens is a flaming sword which destroys all
this. If
aught of this lives within the form when the awakening comes, it will
have to
go.
The meditative form opens the way to this; and during the building of
it the
aspirant will have ample time to study the direction in which it is
leading
him. It is not a swift and spectacular process. The personality form is
not one
that surrenders easily its life and character; therefore there will be
ample
time to count the cost before he is called upon to pay it. Nevertheless
the law
is, that what he seriously meditates upon and contemplatively dwells
in, will
react upon him proportionably to the intentness of his effort. If he
evokes the
soul, the influence of the superphysical world in which it inheres will
impress
and seek to dominate the personality, and the degree in which the
latter is out
of alignment, whether in the assertion of virtue or non-virtue, will
determine
the extent and rigour of the task of surmounting the form which hinders
him.
There are then three major steps which lead the aspirant on from the
personal
to the impersonal, from the form life of the personality to the
formless life
of the soul, from consciousness stabilised and confined within the
mental and
emotional selfhood to a translated, a repolarised consciousness
impregnated and
inspired by the life of the soul. Concentration enables him to focus
the
thought forces with intentness and purpose: meditation builds the finer
form
and opens a line of communication between mind and soul: emergence of
the love
force of the soul as a consequence induces the attitude of
contemplation in the
aspiring consciousness, which seeks to transcend the limits of form.
The same
stages are also mystically interpreted respectively as, cogitation,
meditation
and contemplation. Cogitation comprises perceptions of the senses in
taking
cognizance of effects, visualisations of the imagination, and the
reason's
discussion of that which conduces to the truth in view; in a word it is
any
actual operation of the intellect, and has been pertinently called "the
mind's glance which is prone to wander." Meditation is "the survey of
the mind while occupied in searching for the truth." Contemplation is
the
simple act of gazing on the truth; "the soul's clear and free dwelling
upon the object of its gaze." It is the second stage which begins to
try
out the aspirant and determines his fitness for the mystic way. It is
the stage
when the soul, mind and brain are being brought into alignment. The
mind
responds to the soul's vibration, which quickens its own through the
downflow
of force and impressions of a larger and spiritual life; and the brain,
accustomed to a settled mode of response and action, has much to
overcome. If
the mind can accept the truth released from the soul, a flexible brain
will
soon fall into line and become the obedient instrument for the
expression of
it. But this is rarely the case, except in those of very mature inward
growth.
Much of the difficulty of the way lies just there, when the powerful
life of
the soul is drawing the mind consciousness upward from its accustomed
seat of
cognition and operation to a higher and inclusive vision of men and
circumstances. It is just there that the cry of loneliness and
separation and
misunderstanding arises in the history of those who have become
contemplative.
They perforce had to leave so much behind which at the time seemed so
very
precious to them; much which they would have retained if they could,
because it
had been a source of legitimate pleasure and comfort and had fostered
harmonious relationships in their environment; much that was orthodox
and good
in its place and which gave them a reputation for judgment and worldly
sense
and easy good fellowship with others. But the values of the soul do not
lie in
these things. They emanate from the law of the soul which is
indifferent to
relative goodness, relationships and personal reputation. These are,
admittedly, hard sayings. But the inspiring inflow of the impersonal
and
inclusive love of the soul alters all things. It brings new ideas which
antagonise the old, different ideals which prompt to new fields of
endeavour, a
spiritual knowledge which tests old friendships severely and often
leads to
estrangement. It alienates sympathies which the ties of years have made
dear to
us. It reveals weakness where we thought we were strongest. The stable
balance
of the whole life within form is disturbed and has to strike a new
poise. All
this the contemplative mind brings upon itself through the force of its
own
aspiration. It is the inevitable accompaniment of the release from form
and
passing into the life of the soul. And if the aspiration is strong and
the will
resolved, nothing else matters; neither pain, nor loss, nor
disappointment,
ridicule or any other obstacle or hindrance, will deflect the
aspirant's firm
step and progress on the mystic way.
_________
CHAPTER
IV
MYSTIC INSPIRATION
When we know that "the contemplative life is sweetness exceedingly
lovable," we have experimental knowledge of the nature of the soul. It
is
a condition of quiet enjoyment of spiritual love and peace, wherein the
voice
of personality is silenced and the life of form transcended. It may
also
suggest a condition so alien and remote from modern existence as to be
regarded
askance by all but a few of privileged development, and circumstances.
Yet such
is the condition, and the mystic way invites to it. It is regarded
askance by
the majority because they are so immersed within the life of
form--necessarily
and unavoidably in the circumstances it may be, but that is not the
point--and
can only think and act in accordance with the rhythm established
therein, that
consequently any idea of a larger rhythm beyond form which is grounded
upon
love and repose and finds its greatest power in quiet self-containment,
is to
them either a negation of life or a renunciation of its most important
values.
Nor can a different attitude be expected in them until those values
lose their
compulsive attraction through failing them at critical junctures of
life and
they turn with wise reflection to consider the one stable factor of
existence,
the soul and the meaning and purpose of its incarnation.
"Meantime within man," said Emerson, "is the soul of the whole;
the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and
particle is
equally related; the eternal One." In that realisation the "sweetness
exceedingly lovable" is touched, impregnates the aspirant, in mystic
contemplation. Thence may arise mystic inspiration. The term usually
denotes
the action of the creative impulse as manifested in high artistic
achievement;
but in its present application it might be more particularly denoted as
the
divine afflatus. It is this peculiar, distinctive and urgent influence
of the
soul which comes to fruition in special instances in the contemplative
state on
the mystic way. Not a little curiosity and speculation are awakened in
those
who observe the results of this superphysical contact in an initiate of
mysticism. But he who has it is usually at a loss to define it. Why?
Not only
because the spontaneous expression of the soul defies adequate
definition, but
because, unless soul speaks to soul, misunderstanding is inevitable. If
we
asked a great artist how he produced the grand effects he does with
such
magical ease and sureness and the absence of all apparent effort, he
would be
unable to give us the formula. There is no formula. He could point
undoubtedly
to unremitting labour and crucifying attention to detailed procedure in
the
past; but that is only the way of preparation, as is the technique of
the
mystic way for the aspirant who now expresses with abandon the life of
the
soul. In both cases the same agency is at work. The vehicles of
expression are
prepared through endless toil for the purpose in view; then the form of
preparation is surpassed and the inspiration of the soul dominates the
artist's
work, as the mystic afflatus descends upon the dedicated aspirant and
prompts
him to being and doing better than he knows. From that complete
surrender of
himself to the life of God within him, from the silence in which he
lives when
the personal self has lost character and voice, comes the infallible
guidance
and moving influence of the divine monitor which touches with its
genius the
work of his hands.
This divine creativeness is the highest function of the soul. There are
many
states and graces of the mystical life, each of individual value and
beauty in
its own domain and bearing witness to the awakening and supremacy of
the soul
in man; but it is submitted that there is none that surpasses in
divinity and
worth the creative attribute which instils into the contemplative mind
representative types of divine wisdom for the enlightenment and
inspiration of
humanity. But there is need for careful discrimination in this matter
on the
part of the aspirant. It is true that ardent natures often go farthest;
they
also pay sharp penalties for their enthusiasm. Some aspirants are so
possessed
with their own sense of efficiency when once they take the mystic way,
that
they lose both the judgment and the discrimination customary to them in
ordinary life and make the most extravagant claims of an inspirational
character.
It cannot be too often affirmed that if the creative life of the soul
is to
find expression through the aspirant and be of real service in the
world, it
must have a well ordered mind at its disposal. Nevertheless, the belief
is
common, even when thinking of the Masters of the path, that the latter
because
of some special privilege or evolution demonstrate their technical
brilliancy
through an act of grace; that so ordinary a function as the intellect
in the
exercise of its various faculties is not in requisition and, indeed, is
not
necessary; that by supernal prerogative they exercise their
multifarious
abilities spontaneously and with scant reliance upon the vehicles of
expression
on which we have to rely. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Should the
aspirant reach a stage of pupilage under a Master, he will receive one
of the
most impressive lessons the mystic way can teach him. He will witness a
demonstration in the intricacies of personality technique as applied to
the
threefold life which will astound him. Not only in the direction of
spiritual
exaltation, insight and prescience, but in the knowledge and exercise
of
faculties and powers in the purely mental realm he will see an example
of
developed and organised forces which might well thoroughly dishearten
him, but
that the fact of witness to it is a promise of tuition to like mastery.
That
demonstration of Master inspiration is a dialectic of the soul; but it
is based
upon the logic of an organised mind. The latter must come first. There
must be
an architectural order and symmetry in the mental life, a logicalness
and
depth, precision and clear-sightedness, which are proof against
illusion and
glamour, if the truth of the soul is to be correctly recorded and
transmitted
in a form for human helpfulness. For under the accelerated vibration to
which
the aspirant is now subjected, if the substructure of the mental life
is not
deep and strong, balanced and formal--we cannot do without form; we but
transcend it to return and use it from a higher level of insight and
power--the
most inconsequential phenomena may haply be considered as of momentous
value.
It often is so. Hence we see among aspirants of indifferent preparation
many
instances of sentimental and incoherent outpourings of sub-conscious
accumulations
into a passive and ill-regulated mind which are believed to be nothing
less
than divine revelations. The history of spiritualism affords many
examples of
this: and so does that of pseudo-mysticism. I have had the privilege of
reading
some of these revelations, still awaiting publication, and no greater
travesty
of authentic mystic inspiration could well be imagined. True mysticism
dissociates itself absolutely from these scripts of automatic delivery
from
dark and doubtful sources.
Mystic inspiration is the voice of spiritual intensity and truth, of
the soul
itself in moments of high exaltation, and its utterance bears the stamp
of
originality and certitude. It does not derive from a condition of
passivity,
but from an altitude of positive receptiveness, in which the whole
living
organism is at high tension at a point of maturity of development in
all its
functions. It is, if one dare say it, a reflex action of the inner fire
following upon a prepared assault upon the Kingdom of God
within, and endows the aspirant with the ability to translate the
divine types
into language and action in world service. Note the implications of
this fact.
Lesser things than this may come on the way, but they are only the
alphabetical
articulations of the language of fire. It is pardonable if these
intimations
are mistaken by the aspirant for the afflatus itself. It is something
to enter
into the first fruits of the life contemplative, and there is no wish
to
disparage them. But they are little better in value than the high
moments of
the intellect in its best state. They are still within the life of
form. He
seeks the divine creativeness which emanates from the fire of the
resident
soul, dominant and active in its own formless realm. Comparatively few
attain
it because the term of discipline is long and exacts much. Therefore
many are
tempted to take the easier path of passive surrender and mediumship and
rest
content with the reflex communications of other minds no further
evolved,
perhaps a good deal less, than their own. Yet this is less than a
caricature of
mystic inspiration and never made an aspirant a teacher of men.
It is obvious that during the endeavour to enter upon the contemplative
stage
there will ensue certain reactions to the extension of consciousness
achieved,
and the awakening of the soul will announce itself in different ways
according
to the type of aspirant. Hence in some, emotional stresses are in
evidence and
voices or visions are concomitants. These phenomena are common among
aspirants.
Whether the voices come from without or within and what is the precise
interpretation of that which is sensed, are usually matters of
speculation; and
in the case of visions of various kinds, such as lights and colours,
geometrical figures and fugitive forms, these are unconnected
apparently with
anything in the objective life of the individual and become a common
source of
perplexity through the absence of any logical relationship or
interpretation.
In others, such phenomena as telepathy, psychometry and automatic
writing are
experienced; and whereas the two former are open to reasonable
explanation and
capable of test as to accuracy of results obtained, the latter is
usually a
symptom of mediumship which calls for positive mental interposition to
offset
it. The gift of tongues and the grace of prophecy have, in common with
the
above, been considered as of secondary importance and of little
objective
value; signs of morbid disorder and neuropathy and therefore rejected
by true
mysticism. But this assertion is open to objection. They may be classed
as
inferior gifts to, and possibly hindrances in the way of, that
condition of
mystical realisation wherein all objective life is transcended and
forgotten
and the mystic dwells in bliss and peace in the radiance of the soul.
Those are
rare moments of the super-life when the highest things we know or can
conceive
are not worth the having. If they come, it is well; but if they incline
the
aspirant to discountenance the instrumentalities of active service in
the
world, it is not well they should be frequent. The gift of tongues and
the
grace of prophecy are indeed possible emergencies of the mystic
inspiration of
the soul; so much so, that they are rarer than true inspiration itself
and
would probably only emerge for the purposes of special service.
Putting aside therefore both the phenomenal aspects of the mystical
pilgrimage,
and the exceptional gift of tongues and the grace of prophecy, let us
consider
the basic fact of inspiration, to which the former may be stepping
stones and
of which the latter may be emergencies for extraordinary service. Some
authorities assert that the inspirational condition on the mystic way
is of
comparatively rare attainment, and the majority of genuine aspirants
only reach
the phenomenal stages mentioned, or at most the condition of ecstasy. I
do not
think this statement is open to question. Those with experience of
various
classes of aspirants on the path would probably confirm it. I offer two
factors
for consideration in support of it. One is, that special and congenial
circumstances are requisite in which daily preparation can be followed
in order
to invite the mystic afflatus. This does not imply what is called
retirement
from the world, so much as certain favourable surrounding conditions
which are
peculiarly helpful in isolating the aura and rendering it
non-conductive of
disturbing vibrations from the world of form. If this is questioned,
let it be
remembered how much positive cancellation of intruding elements is
necessary
during the meditative term in order to attain the quietude and
non-resistance
in which alone the contemplative state can bear fruit in the life. But
of far
greater importance than this is the second factor; so much more
important that
it can considerably minimise the factor of circumstances and render it
almost
negligible. I refer to the degree of inward evolution of the aspirant.
Indeed
we touch very closely here the secret of mystic inspiration.
Let us consider two types of aspirant. One is taking methodically the
necessary
stages of the way, and every step is hard won ground. It is new ground:
he
brings no reserve of development with him. It is his first speculation
into the
life of the soul, and even years of study and meditation directed to
development have only just succeeded in changing somewhat the
established
rhythm of the personality and enabled him to recognise some response
from the
soul as an active force in his life. Certain phenomenal aspects of this
development may be vouchsafed him and are an indication that one or
other of
the psychic centres is functioning. Beyond that stage of mystical gift
or grace
he may not proceed far in the present cycle. There is a constitutional
accommodation to be made to give reliable effect to that new aspect of
consciousness. He cannot pile phenomena on phenomena at a rapid pace.
Fortunately this is so, for mental equilibrium and physical health are
of first
importance; and to force development at the expense of these is not the
aim of
a wise aspirant. And if this phenomenal stage has been reached for the
first
time in the course of his evolution, it is obvious, bearing in mind the
slow
processes of nature in consolidating a new condition of extraordinary
functioning in the constitution, that he will not supersede this
condition very
quickly and in one life. Nor do I think he would be anxious to do so;
for the
opening up of psychic avenues of contact and information will prove all
too
engrossing and demand all the ability of adjustment he can bring to it:
and it
is certainly better that he should endeavour to thoroughly understand
and
accommodate the personal life to that which is given, putting it to
such
legitimate uses as he can to enhance his technical grasp of the psychic
intricacies of his nature as they emerge. Therefore, in such a type as
this,
and authentic data show that the majority of students fall within this
category, it may well be doubted whether the flowering of the mystical
life,
which confers superior graces and among them possibly the special
creative
function of inspiration, will be attained in the present cycle.
In contrast with this is the rarer type, but of which there are a few
examples
to-day, as there have been many formerly. It is that of the aspirant
who takes
the mystic way with a burden of past knowledge and development to his
credit,
and who has passed through the preliminary stages in a former cycle.
Avoiding
technicalities, it may be briefly said that his psychic nature is well
developed, that the heart and head centres are aligned and functioning;
in
which case, the phenomenal aspects will be either rapidly revived and
retraced,
or transcended completely without conscious memory and review, and the
higher
life of the soul will be brought quickly into requisition. Then we may
have the
inspired teacher or doer, expressing the divine types of wisdom in some
form of
artistic comment or practical action in world service. But by no means
always.
It does not follow that, because of this maturity of development and
swift
alignment with the life of the soul, the mystic afflatus should
necessarily
become part of the aspirant's equipment. In my opinion, true mystic
inspiration
is only likely to appear in conjunction with mature inner development
and for a
very special purpose, as in some form of leadership or literary
expression. But
the higher stages of the way confer a diversity of gifts, and that
which is
given will be suitable to the type of recipient and that which he can
best use.
I have known many recipients of mystical gifts, but rarely one who
could claim
the surpassing gift of inspiration. Yet these aspirants have been of
marked
inner development and in a notable stage of pupilage. Practically all
of them
were contemplatives and manifested one or other mystical gift or grace,
yet
none showed the special gift of inspired utterance.
What does this fact reveal? Why is it that even among those who have
been long
on the way, have entered into the life of the soul and, moreover,
received
extraordinary graces and the gifts of lucidity, vision and divine love,
there
is wanting that climaxing gift of the inspired word which burns into
the souls
of men with irresistible force and persuasiveness and thereby proves
its
validity? It is because the personal life has not yet surrendered
itself so
completely to the compulsive fire of the informing soul as to forget
its formal
utterance and demand with utmost urgency that the voice of living truth
within
the veil shall take its place. If the aspirant would have an example of
the
mystic afflatus using a prepared and sanctified personality for the
blessing of
man, he would do well to peruse the "Imitation of Christ." It is a
classic example of the contemplative mind at the highest point of
exaltation,
wherein the fire of mystic inspiration has taken complete possession of
its
instrument and expressed through it a theme of commanding exhortation
and
instruction. Lofty and beautiful in conception, yet simple in diction,
the
compressed fervour of its spiritual cadence moves and incites heart and
mind as
do the words of Christ Himself. Let the aspirant ponder deeply upon the
fourth
chapter: "Of the king's high way of the holy cross" in that book, and
note how, in its brief, inclusive and pious comment, it surveys and
enunciates
with inspired vision the mystic way of ascension to union and communion
with
Christ as by a divine fiat. What does this fact
reveal? That the
disciple became as his Master and uttered the wisdom of His presence.
Therein
lies the secret of the mystic afflatus. That is why it is rarely
encountered,
even among those on the mystic way. What is lacking is the simplicity,
the
self-abandonment and the divine passion of the soul resurrected from
the dark
tomb of selfhood, consequent upon the realisation in the heart of the
heavy
burden which lies even now upon the heart of Christ in humanity. Until
that
realisation comes the aspirant may be contemplative and dwell in "the
sweetness exceedingly lovable," but the fire of the hidden temple will
not
become articulate in gracious utterance to enlighten and bless those
who stand
without.
_________
CHAPTER
V
THE AWAKENING FIRE
Much has been written, and a good deal indiscriminately, about the
spiritual
fire and its awakening in students on the path, as a means of
attainment of
supernormal powers and insight into supersensible life. Some writers
refer to
it briefly and with a note of warning, marking strongly the ill effects
which
are likely to follow any forced attempts to arouse the fire. Other
writers
give, without discrimination or note of caution, experimental
instruction of
various kinds for the specific purpose of bringing the fire into action
through
the agency of the psychic centres in the body and brain, with large
promise of
the highest rewards of development and demonstration if consistently
followed.
The yoga systems of the east, now widely disseminated in the west,
refer to
this attainment as a matter of course and are prolific in methods
relating to
the awakening of the fire. Indeed, they aver that the awakening is the
first
major step on the way for the demonstration of the singular powers with
which
the yogi is credited.
In that matter of the awakening fire, in which so many are interested,
students
fall mainly into two classes: those who confine themselves to sane and
safe
methods of study and meditation hoping that in good time when they are
inwardly
fitted for it, they will receive adept instruction in the actual
process of
awakening; and those who promptly seize upon any available methods
which
promise success and exploit them to the limit for good or ill, intent
as they
may be on high attainment. I do not propose to instruct the one class,
or to be
a critic of the other.
The technique of the inner life affords no sharp demarcation between
the
mystical and the occult aspects of experience. Occultism and mysticism
each has
its own literature, and there are certain differences between the
methods they
suggest: the former often emphasises, with a hint of superiority, that
it is
the way of the head; while the latter, equally conscious of a gracious
elevation, reminds us that it is the way of the heart. As a matter of
fact, the
rightly balanced and fully developed aspirant blends both in a fine
equipoise
and demonstrates the powers and graces of both in harmonious
conjunction. It is
well to remember that the Masters of the present cycle demand equally
in their
pupils the love and compassion of the heart and the organised mind and
will, to
carry out efficiently their work. And if, in the aspirant, either the
mystical
or the occult aspect is overdeveloped at the expense of the other, the
immediate object of his training will be a balanced and co-ordinated
expression
of both. There are phases of inner culture and experience and reactions
which
are common to both. The name we give them matters little: the aspirant
on the
way is our concern. If the mystic, in high emotional stress, disparages
the
logical thought structure of the occultist as professionalism, the need
of the
mystic is not far to seek. If the occultist, secure in his hard won
knowledge,
forgets that love must yet add fire to all his thought, the time is not
far
distant when the heart will rise through suffering to claim its own.
There is a
middle path, and it is that of the new age, which demands an equal
development
of the life of the heart and of the head; and though I write of the
mystic way,
there is no intention of giving to the term the limited application it
has in
the minds of many aspirants, which is that of undisturbed personal
enjoyment of
the secret heritage of the soul, with faint purpose to give it concrete
and
masterful expression in some form of service to the world.
I begin with this basic article of belief, and affirm that the aspirant
who is
consciously using the technique of the way within himself and in world
service,
is unconsciously awakening the spiritual fire and is subject to its
influence
in thought, speech and action. I further affirm that the technique, in
its true
form, is only to be found in those in whom some aspect of the fire is
awakened
and in action. There may appear to be exceptions to this; but in those
cases in
which the fire is prematurely awakened through methods of personal
experiment,
thus forcing them ahead of the normal evolution of the way, we shall
probably
find that the technique, as I have outlined it, has no place in the
life, or is
considered as of secondary importance. This may be for good or ill,
contingent
upon the health and balance and the objective of the experimenter. The
objective in such cases is usually one of phenomenal demonstration, and
this
can admittedly take place without any reference whatever to technical
achievement in the service of the Master.
I am not concerned here with these cases in which forced methods have
brought
the fire into operation for purposes of phenomenal demonstration. I
believe
that some danger attends indiscriminate development. I have no doubt
that some
individuals of sound constitution and mental equipment have made
considerable
progress in this way; while others, of indifferent health and unstable
mentality,
yet believing all things possible, have proved to be totally unequal to
the
strain imposed upon the body and brain, and the reactions have been
serious and
resulted in wrecked lives.
In the case of the aspirant who is using the technique of the Master, a
condition of far different import and value comes under consideration.
All is
normal here; that is, however abnormal his development and experience
may
appear from the average standpoint, they are consistent with the normal
treading of the way. In discussing the conditions of the technique I
mentioned
that the possession of it reveals a very special development which
brings the
aspirant into close co-operation with the Master in his work. He is
then no
longer an aspirant, but a disciple of the mystic way, aware of his
status upon
it and consciously using the technique in some kind of world service;
in which
case, he will be constantly passing into new experience of the ways and
means
of its application and making very important discoveries within himself
as he
pursues his appointed task.
What relation exists between the technique and the awakening fire? How
does the
operation of the technique lead to its awakening? What ground is there
for
affirming that the fire is in process of evolution in the disciple?
The relation between the technique and the fire is a subtle and
intricate one.
It is no less real, but as difficult to define, as is the magnetic
quality
which the great artist infuses into the execution of a masterpiece.
This
quality is a part of the latter's technical equipment. They develop
simultaneously and cannot be separated. If we could eliminate the
magnetic
quality of his work he would cease to be a master artist although he
may still
rank as a musician. If the fire is inactive in the disciple, he may be
a
disciple still, but not a technician of the way in the sense in which I
use the
term. As there are many grades of musical executants below that of the
supreme
artist of magnetic quality in execution, so there are many grades of
mystical discipleship;
but he whose technical expression bears testimony to the awakening fire
within
him belongs to a distinct and advanced grade.
Now, this magnetic quality in the artist's execution is of the nature
of the
very fire of the soul. It expresses itself in a rare combination of
elements
which we recognise as tone, magical in its beauty, depth and pathos,
religious
in its intensity and influence, simplicity, strength and naturalness,
which
carry us in spirit to the fount of creation itself. In like manner, the
spiritual fire, stirred to action in the disciple's constitution
through the
long prayer of devoted service to his fellowmen and the giving of his
life in
self-abnegation that thereby some might be raised to hope and conquest
in a
perplexing and suffering world, comes to stamp upon his life expression
the
fine nuances of spiritual sensitivity and creativeness which enable him
to
reflect the tone and pathos, the simplicity, strength and naturalness,
the
speaking interludes and divine silences of the presence of the Master.
His
thought is original in conception, swift, sure and dynamic in force and
direction; his speech, penetrating, concise and illuminative, carries
the
intonations of the mystic art of the soul; his action, considered,
mature and inspired,
is born of compassion and harmlessness. If this is not so, it is not
the ideal
that is out of drawing; the flower of the technique has not opened in
the soul.
We are dwelling upon the fragrance of that blossom which the suffering
and
experience of long probation has produced. This fragrance is the fiery
quality
in the technical equipment of the disciple, as the magnetic quality
pervades
and imparts illustrious character to the technique of the artist. In
both
instances, the soul has awakened within itself the chord of the
essential
harmony which is the fire of the divine life. It is difficult to
define, and is
so evasive of analysis except through the merest hints, as to be
recognised
only by those who stand near the precincts of its own secret domain.
How does the operation of the technique conduce to this awakening? The
work of
the advanced soul in evolution establishes a claim upon super-nature,
and under
the law of compensation that claim is met. There may be no
consciousness of
claim, or reward, but the law recognises the claim and there is reward.
The
technique works from out the realm of super-nature, and in the interest
of its
own efficiency it furnishes a basis of power and inspiration which
ensures the
advancement of itself. The mind, brain and nervous systems cannot of
themselves
give these. They are the instruments of inspiration, not the inspiring
agent.
They must be fortified by the fiery essence of the indwelling spiritual
self.
And the daily consecrated use of these instruments of the self in the
work of
raising and inspiring human life spontaneously releases this essence,
until
every aspect of their activity responds to the quickened vibration of
this
superior energy. If it is said that it is a matter of vibrational
impulses
acting upon the prepared vehicles of the disciple, we shall avoid the
bewildering technical terms of the textbooks which, scientific in
treatment as
they are, yet make the subjects abstruse and difficult of personal
application.
A simple illustration will suffice. Continuous physical or mental
application
to an exercise or study opens up a channel of invitation to new energy
and
thought leading to increased ability in either direction. The greater
the use
the larger the response. There is a demand upon energy and thought to
meet the
need of quickened action of body and brain in the interest of personal
power.
So with the disciple who is using the technique. Once the rhythm of it
is
established in the vehicles, there is a steady ascension of life
vibration
within the highly organised structure. The soul is dominant; its own
fiery
essence is in requisition and is drawn forth from its secret recesses
because
the hour of its need has come. The action of the technique eliminates
all need
for specific methods of awakening it. The soulful life of the disciple
is the
cause of the awakening and the guarantee of its safe manipulation.
What ground have we for affirming that the fire is in evolution in the
disciple? Let us think again of the musical artist. We have not a
moment's
doubt during his interpretation, that the genius of the soul is
awakened and in
action. It is so evident and arresting that, as we listen, our
attention is
often forcibly drawn away from the work to the personality of the
artist. His
magnetic quality opens to us the door to a realm of new creation. We
pass out
of ourselves, beyond the tyranny of sense and intellect to a rapt
contact with
the inspirational soul revealed through his work. Words fail us, or all
but
those that reflect admiration and gratitude for men who can speak the
language
of the soul which kindles in us the fire that flames at the heart of
life. Poor
indeed is the man who is not chastened and ennobled by this exhibition
of a
divine manifestation in the inspired artist. There are few who are not
moved by
it, even if true appreciation is lacking.
The awakening fire is the note of divinity in the disciple's life, and
every
avenue of that life's expression reveals it. It plays upon the
threefold
instrument of his constitution and sets its ineffaceble seal upon body,
mind
and soul in all their multifarious activities. We can be as sure of
this
pervading tone of the divine fire in the disciple's life as we can of
the
inspirational quality in the artist's work, if we have the open mind
and the seeing
eye. The quality in both is a manifestation of the same energising
agent,
though directed to different objectives.
But may not the objective of the artist be no less important than that
of the
disciple on the way? May he not be as beneficent in his intention, as
unselfish
in his work, and in his influence no less potent than the disciple? Is
it not
granted that genius is often unconscious discipleship, the master
Beethoven
being cited as a case in point? All this is true: but I am not
attempting a study
of relative values of artist and disciple. I cite the creative artist
as the
most apt illustration of the fire in action to other than a purely
spiritual
objective. Nowhere else in life shall we find so revealing an
illustration of
the fire in action as that of the creative artist. And I use it with
special
intent: for if there is one thing above all others which the artist can
teach
the disciple, it is that of being completely imbued with the creative
spirit
and demonstrating the passion of it in all his members. We are left in
no doubt
about this. It is a condition of entire possession, of the divine
afflatus
permeating form and subduing it totally to its will to the end of great
art and
technical expression. The disciple who sets himself the laborious task
of
mastering the technique of the mystic way may also find his objective
and field
of service in art, in musical or literary creation; but whatever his
objective,
it will be one of conscious and dedicated service which an intensive
training
has revealed to him. This is so surely the case, that it is difficult
to think
of an earnest aspirant taking the mystic way, passing the term of
meditation,
entering upon the contemplative state, and consciously mastering the
initial
stages of the technique of the soul's expression, without assuming
ultimate
recognition by a Master and the opportunities of expert tuition for a
special
sphere in which to devote his maturing consciousness to notable
usefulness to
his fellowmen.
What characteristics are there in the disciple in whom the fire is
awakening,
which may be specially noted? There are several which I believe are
always
present; and although characteristics analogous to them may be observed
in some
individuals of outstanding mental development, there is always a marked
difference in the application of them, and further, they will rarely be
confused by observant minds. The disciple will manifest a very
pronounced
duality of life and character. This is not difficult to understand when
it is
remembered that the activity of the fire in him indicates predominance
of the
soul over the personality--for I am dealing only with the case of the
disciple
in whom the technique itself has awakened the fire, not with forced
development
for a lesser objective. He actually lives more within the soul sphere
than
within the personality, and that inevitably ensures a dissociation at
will
between the two. How will this work out to the view of general
observation? It
will manifest in a power of detachment in the disciple's working life
which
enables him to think, speak and act with complete impersonality
regarding
issues that confront him. This power of detachment which enables the
disciple
to function with cool independence of the fact or of personality, is a
highly
important point. A mystical scripture says: "A disciple will fulfil all
the duties of his manhood; but he will fulfil them according to his own
sense
of right, and not according to that of any person or body of persons."
It
means, as said in the writing on the contemplative mind, that the soul
has a
different set of values than that of the personality and the disciple
finds it
a matter of necessity to adhere to the one and discountenance the
other. There
is much responsibility in so doing, and often a great deal is at stake;
but the
influence of the fire in him is of that urgency and strength that
personal
considerations have no voice against it. The mandate of the soul is as
clear
and peremptory as the swift cognition of mind and vision. For him, it
is the
soul of things as they are and related to the soul of all, unbiased by
the form
of personality, that compels allegiance. Few are willing to see it, and
if
seen, fewer still have the courage to follow it.
It will be seen that this power of detachment and dissociation of the
soul from
personality issues and hindrances at will, is of itself of an
inspirational
character. It is really the creative soul working within the
personality after
the patterns of spiritual truth. It is the artist soul using the
instrument of
personality and revealing in the process his divine technique. It is
direct,
relentless and unabating, and imparts rhythm, accent and tone to that
personality life. There is no mistaking this: and that is why it may be
affirmed that the individual experience of his work and contacts is
indubitable
proof of the activity in the disciple of the awakening fire. His
preparation in
the various terms of the mystic way coerces it into living, active
response to
his purified desire and need. His desire is pure because he loves the
soul of
man; and the need is a lawful claim upon the Fire of the Universe to
lift that
soul to its true estate.
To these two characteristics may be added a third, among many that
might be
remarked. It is that of fearlessness. Fearlessness in thought, speech
and
action is not rare among highly mental types: quite the reverse. The
strong
mental polarisation of the people of the west is responsible for a
personal
assertiveness and declaration of opinions and views so forcible and
wilful,
that the Powers behind evolution can no longer remain indifferent to it
and
seek to avert disastrous consequences from it. But the fearlessness
which
evolves in the disciple under the action of the fire of the dominant
soul, is
of a different and higher quality. It has nothing in common with the
rude and
assertive courage which usually accompanies mental assurance; it
imposes not
its strength and authority upon others; nor is it incompatible with
gentleness
and compassion and the tears which sorrow and suffering evoke. The
fearlessness
of the disciple is complete indifference to any consequences which
threaten him
through following his own light. If the way of preparation has not
schooled him
to this, something is wanting. The fire has yet to kindle in heart and
brain to
cleave soul and personality asunder. Until that hour he still waits,
whatever
his gifts and graces, within the outer court.
_________
CHAPTER
VI
THE DARK NIGHT
It was affirmed that the technique of the inner life permitted no sharp
demarcation between the mystical and the occult aspects of experience;
that
there are phases of inner culture and experience and reactions thereto
which
are common to both. It is well to stress this point here; because, when
dealing
with intimate phases of soul experience, it is really a confession of
one-sided
development to insist that one is an occultist and not a mystic, or a
mystic
but not an occultist. As a student of the literature of mysticism or
occultism,
he may theoretically call himself an occultist or a mystic; but my
submission
is, that when he advances to practical research into the life of the
soul, he
will find a common meeting ground of individual experience. We, even in
these
days of advancement towards becoming partakers together in a province
of
universal knowledge, are far too professional and orthodox in what
pertains to
our little platforms of occult or mystical belief, and are guilty of a
pride
much lower than spiritual in placing undue emphasis upon the exclusive
dignity
of our particular platform. This belongs to the life within form. That
we
denominate it occult or mystical does not alter the fact.
Now, it is very singular that in the literature of occultism there is
but
cursory if any reference to that momentous phase of inner experience
known as
the dark night of the soul. Whether it is that the occultist is above
being
involved in so humiliating an experience, or whether he is so steeled
to power
and virtue that this experience cannot affect him, or whether, knowing
it only
too well, he considers it an emotional weakness compatible with the
mystical
way of the heart but which the head dare not acknowledge, I am at a
loss to
determine. But so it is: while the most important and formidable phase
of
experience which every soul must encounter on the way to divine union,
is a
theme of almost tragic solemnity in all mystical literature, in the
literature
of occultism there is scarcely passing reference to it. If it were the
case
that only the aspirant on the mystic way encounters the experience of
the dark
night, this observation would be irrelevant: but this is not so. If my
knowledge of the experience of aspirants is true, one of the greatest
burdens I
have known arising from this knowledge has come from those who in
temperament
and development are, and who would acknowledge themselves in their
studies to
be, students of occultism, not to mention those of a purely mystical
type: and
that experience has been of the dark night of the soul.
In the face of this conspicuous absence of treatment in occult
literature of a
major experience in the evolution of the soul, may it not be assumed
that it is
considered either as a kind of emotional disturbance unworthy of the
attention
of so dignified a science, or that, in its insistence upon mind control
and
dynamic assertion of the will as the beginning and end of its
technique, any
reactions during development of an emotional nature are to be forthwith
suppressed and slain, or treated with wilful indifference, the will in
all
emergencies or crises maintaining a robust domination and carrying the
whole
life onwards to spiritual conquest?
A study of psychological types, including special cases of genius and
those of
a mystical and occult character, will convince an equitable student
that the
experience of the dark night of the soul awaits every man who
approaches the
indwelling fire of God; and this, independently of the fact that he is
an
occultist, a mystic, a philosopher, or an artist. The name under which
he
passes or of the path he takes, does not alter the nature of the
essential
experience, although the particular attitude of the type towards it may
to some
extent qualify the reactions to it. In proof of this I cite two famous
world
characters: Pascal and Steiner. In common parlance Pascal would
probably be
noted as a christian mystic, and Steiner as an occultist. In character
they
were totally unlike, as they were in method and aim. In scientific
technique
both were supreme. They were comprehensive thinkers and exact
logicians,
pioneers in the realms of mind and spirit, and of unsurpassed
psychological
insight into the profundities of human life and action. Yet both were
devotees,
perfect in self-abnegation, with a veritable passion for Christ and the
understanding and beauty of His life and word. If ever the way of the
head and
of the heart were united, they were in these men. Pascal was so
possessed with
the truth as it was in Christ that had the great work he wrote in
defence of it
appeared in his own name, his brief life would have been curtailed
through
persecution. Steiner was so like Christ that the world adjudged him a
revolutionary, and destroyed one of his noblest works as a mark of its
hatred
of him. Name them as we will, christian, mystic, or occultist, the
shadow of
the cross was upon both of them from first to last, and both carried
the agony
of the dark night with them to their grave.
Pascal is a classic example of a man taking the active and devotional
mystic
way, or, to otherwise state it, the middle path, which combines the
occult and mystical
aspects of development in a fervent search after the esoteric truth
underlying
the world of phenomena, the world of creative and spiritual causes,
which
intuitionally he knew existed and was ever seeking through the forms of
science, philosophy and religion. I am particularly interested in the
prelude
to the revelation he had, as briefly recorded in his life, because it
reveals
graphically the peculiar nature of the dark night as experienced by
him. A year
before the revelation he was seized with an unbearable disgust of the
world and
all it could offer him. He applied himself once again with almost
frantic
intensity to mathematical investigations and other scientific pursuits,
and to
the books in which he had found his greatest solace--"the old friends
who
are never seen with new faces, who are the same in wealth and in
poverty, in
glory and obscurity," but they all failed him. The most poignant touch
of
all is here: "He read his Bible and his books of piety, and found in
them
more grief than consolation, for they told of the search for salvation
which he
had abandoned, the love of God which he could feel no more." And, to
quote
his own words: "If one does not know himself to be full of pride,
ambition, concupiscence, weakness, pettiness, injustice, one is very
blind. And
if, knowing this, a man does not desire to be delivered, what can one
say of
him?" There is also that pathetic note of self-revelation made by him:
"It is a horrible thing to feel everything one possesses slip away."
And once he had written: "If God interrupts however little his mercy,
dryness necessarily supervenes." Upon which his biographer comments:
"Now God had interrupted his mercy, and Pascal had wandered somehow
into
the desert, peopled only by the mirages of grace." These are the heavy
chords in the dark prelude to the revelation by fire.
I have expressed the opinion that within the disciple on the mystic
way, who is
entering into the various stages of the mystical life of the soul and
using its
technique, the fire is in process of unconscious awakening and is
visibly
operative in his work in the world. From the earliest years Pascal
showed all
the signs of this awakening and use. Wherever he turned the light of
his mind,
upon science, mathematics and invention, religious philosophy and
literary
form, there is perceived the mark of the originality, strength and
unique
creativeness of the fire of the soul. He was an inspirational and
creative
type, and possessed even in his novitiate these gifts and graces which
come
only to the few who reach the highest point of the mystic way.
Sometimes the
scientist held the field, then the religious philosopher, the
controversialist,
the rapt devotee, as the inspiring fire of the soul inclined; and
during these
many essays of genius, the technique of expression of the powers of the
soul
was raising the life vibration and stimulating the divine heat to a
crucial
stage of precipitation in the major experience of the way. Then came
the
interlude of supreme detachment, when the building of years seemed to
crumble
around him and everything fell away from his grasp. All the brilliance
of past
achievement became an offence and a burden and passed into eclipse
under the
consciousness of utter abandonment by God and man.
It may be thought that in citing Pascal I am remarking an exceptional
case of
genius, to which any degree of approximation cannot be expected. But
the same
may be thought of Steiner. They were both extraordinary men; and in
their
almost tragic lives and in their monumental work, they stand alone.
They pushed
contemplation to its furthest limits and went out on to "the frightful
promontory of thought," and suffered, in and with Christ, the dark
night
of the soul in extremity. That is the point of my citing these men; not
because
they were men of genius, but because they were examples of mystical
suffering
perfecting human nature and translating it into the divine image.
Different
from so many angles as their lives were, so different that I doubt
whether they
have ever been mentioned in conjunction, yet they show this impressive
uniformity of experience. They were both rich, profoundly rich, in
spiritual
emotion; and for this reason it probably was that the prolonged
experience of
the dark night was so pronounced in them. Steiner's work, for instance,
with
all its scientific formality and architectural beauties, trembles with
the
passion of life, known and lived. The same is true of Pascal.
Psychology with
its love of classifying all characters, sacred and profane including
that most
unclassifiable of all creations, genius, as introvert and extrovert,
would
presumably pigeonhole these two men as introverts, a certain
superciliousness
of expression observable in the mystic and the austerity of mien of the
occultist perhaps providing additional and conclusive physiognomical
testimony
for the classification. It could lead us into a painful and unbecoming
and
thoroughly hopeless discussion--and prove nothing. The fact is, that
men like
Pascal and Steiner and every other soul who has trodden the secret way
and been
tried by fire, who has gone on before and stands in the silence and
solitude of
the shadow of the cross, defy classification. They are far deeper and
more
inclusive than anything they say or do. We can never see these men
whole,
because half their lives are in the shadow. Who can judge the man who
has
suffered death in Christ?
We read much of the mastering of the opposites, of standing upon a
point of
balance, poised and aloof above all the oscillations of life; and so
ambitiously and conscientiously has this coveted altitude been striven
for,
that it is small wonder if a sympathetic and emotional participation in
the
lives of others should indicate retrogression and a condition of
ignoble
bondage. But is not a prominent characteristic of the mystic way said
to be the
power of detachment which enables the disciple to function with cool
independence of the factor of personality? That is true. The experience
of the
dark night effects this transformation in the disciple. It is the
supreme trial
of all he has brought with him on the way; and this climaxing
experience
eventuates in the power of detachment. But to conclude that this means
an
aloofness from and indifference to human life, would be a sad mistake.
An
alienation from life for the purpose of self-elevation and distinction
will
never bring an aspirant to the culminating experience of the dark
night. He can
become an occult theorist of the first magnitude and know all the
qualities,
with a learned spirit, of occult science, but if he imbues not these
with
spiritual emotion, and not only so, but fails to convert his knowledge
into
emotive tendencies and carry them inspirationally as an awakening force
into
the lives of men, his detachment may be so complete as to ensure him a
mournful
isolation which no intelligent aspirant would emulate. The detachment
of the
mystic way dissociates from all that binds the soul from its fullest
expression
for the good of others and enables it to understandingly identify
itself with
the struggling life in all forms. It brings the soul into life,
enriched and
fortified through having sustained the burden of many sorrows of loss,
suffering and sacrifice; and recognising that burden in other lives, it
willingly shares and seeks to lift it. No man who has experienced the
darkness
of mystical crucifixion can do otherwise.
Renan, in his Life of Jesus, a work which, as is
well known, called down
upon its author the rage of orthodoxy, dared to reduce the Master from
a Divine
to a human being, but not an ordinary human being. He depicted Him as a
man of
superlative genius, a prodigy of religious passion, and wrote of Him
with a
tenderness and sympathy and profound reverence which elicits our love
and
admiration. But, while treating the Master Jesus as a transcendent
example of
compassion and love, of wisdom and clairvoyance, and of unimpeachable
probity
in speech and action, Renan brought Him down from a pedestal of
isolated and
unapproachable divinity to the common level of companionship with men
and
women, even to the sharing, I do not say in what degree suggested, in
the
mental and emotional interplay of their manifold vicissitudes and
circumstances. I am not interested in why the religionists of Renan's
day were
so shocked with this portrayal of the Master; but I observe a cogent
lesson in
it for those on the mystic way, and it points to the condition of
participation, and not isolation, to which the experience of the dark
night
leads the disciple. At this critical juncture of the way, it is not so
much a
matter of self-initiated effort to achieve, as a forgetting of personal
importance and ambition, whether of intellectual or spiritual force,
and giving
unobstructed permission, within reason, to the interplay of life upon
all
planes, to a prompt recognition of and reaction to the meaning of life
in all
forms, to the end of assisting the release and expression of the soul.
It is to be expected that this ideal of mystical participation in human
life,
which emerges from the dark night of suffering, will have a morbid or
sentimental flavour for those who seek a cheap detachment from life in
order to
escape the suffering incidental to it, by setting up defence barriers
which
prohibit a sympathetic sharing in it. We should prefer to see the truth
as it
is. What I see at this point of its evolution is, that human life is
steeped in
distress and suffering, disillusionment and perplexity, for all the
veneer
which struggles to hide it. I sometimes think that the dark night is
descending
upon a host of souls, under Karmic decree and for a special purpose,
instead of
upon a few, as in former times, who cultured for it. So much the more
incumbent
is it upon those on the way to accept the tension of life, the cross of
circumstances, and the keen thrust of passion upon the sensitive heart,
that
thereby they may be the sooner called into the light of a larger
service to
ameliorate with completed experience a suffering world. There will then
be no
desire to rest, unmoved in mind and emotion, upon the height of
self-achievement, blind and unreactive to the kaleidoscope of life
below.
Mysticism can be a solitary meditation, a pleasing reverie, a
benediction for
personal gratification, even a passport to a reputation for goodness,
of
doubtful merit: it can also see and do for others what they need, where
they
stand. When we see what so-called worldly men sometimes do, in sheer
self-forgetfulness, because they have the soul to do it, we may observe
with
some anxiety so-called discipleship. We regard discipleship as height.
So it
is: but it is precarious to live in the idea. There is neither height
nor depth
in real discipleship. It is understanding response to all. That is the
mission
of the dark night, whatever form it takes in the individual life to
reach it.
It is the mystical participation of the soul in the world.
_________
CHAPTER
VII
MYSTIC LOVE
The disciple who enters upon the experience of the dark night of the
soul,
faces the issues of life and death within his own personality. His
undeviating
ascent on the mystic way is a silent petition to the unseen Powers that
he may
pass through the darkness of mystical death to all in the personal life
that is
unworthy to live in the light of Christ. It is a term of adjustment to
the
values of life, when much is taken away, when much has to be
consciously put
away, which is a weight and hindrance to the disciple. It is a term of
some
duration, for the personality is tried in its most vulnerable part and
rebels
at that which it has evoked. The type of disciple, his native strength
and the
extent of his past evolution, are determining factors as to the way in
which he
will pass this term. But whatever changes the purgation of the dark
night may
work in him, one cardinal virtue will emerge which will be the hallmark
of his
discipleship: the spirit of mystic love will be born in him, tolerant,
kind,
and long suffering.
It may appear to be a platitude, and a well-worn one, to say that the
disciple
must be the exponent of love. The orthodox religious life stagnates in
platitudes: they provide a safe anodyne for the conscience. But on the
mystic
way there are some platitudes which are laws of stern necessity. They
are basic
laws of discipleship. They cease to be formulae on the tongue and
become
dictates of the heart. That the disciple must divinely love is one of
them. A
living compassion for the suffering of our fellowmen is rarely born in
us until
life has brought us the like experience. And life is so burdened with
forms of
suffering that few have not some sympathy with it. But how many carry
in their
hearts and manifest to the world the force and blessing of true mystic
love,
which is, lest we have forgotten it, in simple truth, the love of
Christ? Small
wonder is it that so few emulate what is rarely seen. It is the mission
of the
mystic to show forth and radiate upon the world that illuminating
influence.
During the term of the dark night we seek in vain without for
consolation or
assistance. It helps us somewhat to ponder the experience of those who
have
passed through and found the reward of patience and fortitude; but in
the main
we are left alone to find our own way. It is not a token of strength
and
development to rest upon others. That is what the dark night has to
teach us.
And so searching is the experience, touching the very vitals of life,
that,
when we are through, there is little in human nature we fail to see the
meaning
of or cannot rightly appraise, and show compassion for it. The word of
Pascal,
the face of Steiner, and the anguish of Christ, asking that the cup
might be taken
from Him, come back to us as striking comments upon "the ingression
into
the divine shadow," wherein is given personal and experimental
knowledge
of the sorrow of humanity. For in that which befalls one soul during
the term
of the dark night, is foreshadowed that which must befall all souls
when the
hour comes. It is that fore-knowledge, the long-range vision of what
must be,
which slays hatred in the heart of the disciple, takes away the right
and
privilege of judgment upon human weakness and error, and instils the
spirit of
compassion which sees in all the operation and out-working of divine
law.
Sympathetic insight into human nature, and a compassionate attitude
towards all
that this insight reveals, are but one aspect of the experience derived
from
the dark night; but it is the most important one. It determines and
stabilises
once for all one's attitude towards others and makes him a forceful
influence
for good. There are other aspects, of individual significance and
benefit which
may be noted. There is the liquidation of Karma, which is of prime
evolutionary
value to the disciple; the liberation from definite personal hindrances
which
have held him back from a free expression of his deepest self; the
consciousness of abiding and imperturbable strength and spiritual
reliance
arising from the chaos of the personal life; and peace and certitude
for the
future, because the fire of the soul has raised him to his rightful
place of
divine sonship. It is therefore an experience which reorients the
entire psychology
of the disciple. Each aspect of it ramifies deeply into the past and
carries
its own peculiar psychological and spiritual interest. Obviously then,
what we
call the dark night is very far from being a term denoting merely an
emotional
experience which has significance only for an impressionable few of the
many on
the way. Rather, it is a spiritual privilege offered to the few for
which the
many on the way are not yet ready. I do not like the word privilege,
because on
the mystic way there are really no privileges: every step of the way is
fought
for and won. But I wish to point the fact strongly to the occult
theorist, who
has yet to learn the value of spiritual emotion, that it is of the
nature of a
privilege to receive this invitation of the soul to intimate
participation in
its own inmost life, and he cannot afford to neglect the special
spiritually
emotive preparation which alone can entitle him to it.
In the chapter on "Mystic Meditation", I referred to the meditation
upon the nature of the soul as love, as a foundation for ascent on the
mystic
way. On looking back to this practice from a more advanced stage the
disciple
may recognise it as the indispensable cultural and refining influence
which has
made everything else possible for him. This truth will be accepted by
the
disciple with complete approval. He knows that love opens all doors on
the
mystic way. It is from the theorist we may expect criticism, or an
attitude of
indifference. Of all the persons who suffer from inhibitions and
repressions
and all the other complexes which psychology has discovered in these
latter
days, the occult theorist is often a classic example. His intention is
good and
he means well, but he is so bent upon focusing the life energies inward
for
self-development, that even the most normal expression of the emotional
nature
carries with it moral censure. One-pointed concentration is his gospel,
and if
he deviates one step from it, he is lost. "But ye have not so learned
Christ." Not all the concentration in the world will bring us so near
to
Christ as the following of that which Pascal and Steiner saw in Him.
This is a
hint for all of us on the mystic way. We may concentrate until our
skulls crack
in perfect detachment: it will not give us one heart throb of the
divine
fervour which made Christ and these disciples perfect servants.
I have come to the conclusion, through close contact with the lives of
a large
number of aspirants, that many of them are really afraid of the
expression of
love in the mystic sense. Within the narrow limits of a personal
relationship
they may know the power and value of love in their lives, but so far as
mystical love participation in other lives is concerned, they are
sleeping
souls. This is an observable and regrettable fact. The causes of this
inhibited
love expression are many and various, and of too remote yet intimate
and
psychological a nature to be discussed here. It is only possible to
refer to a
prevailing condition among aspirants. Each has his own problem, and
individual
study and reflection can solve it. In some aspirants, it must be said,
the
refusal of mystical participation is a sublimated form of selfishness.
The
remedy lies in deliverance from the bondage of their own will. The
ideas about
will and control freely imbibed from Eastern literature are the cause
of half
the failures on the mystic way, or the cause of so few reaching the
goal of
their desire on the way. Their primary need is to learn, with true
understanding and humility, the surrender of the will, that the
blessing they
have so far received on the way may pass into human hearts. The love of
the
soul which should flow forth freely upon all, is circumscribed and
turned back
upon themselves in meticulous thoughtfulness to ensure
self-development. As a
purely mental exercise this has its value, but it has no mystical
significance.
It is as alien to the life of Christ and the Masters as is the
calculated
self-consideration of those professed religionists whose religion is a
veneer
to cover the intents and purposes of an irreligious soul. Is it any
wonder that
unselfish souls who know nothing of the way do the most to bless and
uplift
their fellowmen? I know these are hard words; but the impeachments of
Christ
were harder and true. The word of Christ was the most destructive ever
launched
against mankind during two thousand years. But there was a constructive
influence behind it. The basic concepts implanted by Him in human
consciousness
were the sacredness and value of individuality and the necessity for
individual
effort towards ascension in consciousness; the idea of the oneness of
humanity
through the realisation of the indwelling soul; and mystical
participation in
the lives of others through love. In a word, He taught individual
responsibility, that by his own personal effort alone can one attain to
divinity; that the same opportunity of mystical realisation was open to
all
men; and that through mystical participation through love
identification with
Himself and all souls should climax the mystic way. It is a very old
theme. If
the orthodox religionist has forgotten the import of it, or has never
been
taught it, there is no excuse for the aspirant on the way. He has
personally to
accept this teaching laid down by Christ and work out the concepts of
it to the
letter in all its implications in his own life. It is of little merit
in him to
regard with legitimate disgust institutional religion, that chequered
state
passport to social position and professional prestige, if he has
nothing more
virile and worthy of emulation to put in its place.
It has been said that the degree of love in a man is the measure of his
genius,
and the degree of his self-seeking is the measure of his
narrow-mindedness.
There is a deep esoteric truth here. The disciple on the way accepts
and exemplifies
in his life the three concepts of the Christ life mentioned above. He
accepts
individual responsibility for development in taking the various
mystical
stages; in the contemplative stage he contacts the nature of the soul
and
manifests it in world service; and ultimately he seeks identification
with all
souls through mystic love. This last stage is in a high degree
technical and
calls for a good deal of inward discipline. The measure of his genius
on the
way will be according to his love, and no purely mental or occult
discipline
will alter the fact, nor will anything else take the place of it. I
have known
disciples of great promise and possessing mystical gifts that placed
them far
ahead of their fellows in evolution, but they failed in one thing, and
this
compelled them to pause as before a closed door: they had not realised
the
value, potency and absolute necessity of crowning their long labours
with the
mystic love which leads to identification with Christ and all souls. No
matter
how lofty the soul, or how true it is to its discipline, until it has
become
wholly merciful, softened and suffused with mystic love for all, dying
to its
own will that others may rise through its abnegation and
self-forgetfulness, it
cannot pass on and stand in the presence of those who have made the
last
surrender. It is profoundly true that the degree of one's self-seeking
is the
measure of his narrow-mindedness, even though that narrow-mindedness
may be on
a far higher level than what we usually think of when we speak of
narrow-mindedness in common parlance. Why is this? Because
identification with
other souls through mystic love participation can only come through
inspirational sensitivity to souls. How can we truly assist the
evolution of
souls if we cannot enter into the inmost nature of the soul? Many
students
pride themselves upon their knowledge of others through the exercise of
certain
occult arts, which is no doubt very interesting and diverting, possibly
informative. But the soul is an original and divine entity and stands
aloof
from all stereotyped calculations that would mark its passage and
influence. It
is little less profane than judging of the soul of a man by the
contours of his
face. The disciple may legitimately use these adjuncts of knowledge in
his service
to others, but he will never regard them as basic and decisive.
Inspirational
sensitivity to the atmosphere and nature of the soul is the way of
entrance and
understanding, and this is only unfolded through love. Love is the
attractive
and revealing quality of the soul and is the only key to other souls.
The terms
of ascent on the way should result, if purposefully undertaken, in an
increasing sensitivity to life in all forms. The more the disciple
withdraws
into himself in consecrated living, the more sympathetically must he
enter into
other lives: the two conditions are coetaneous on the way. The deeper
the
knowledge of his own soul, the more profound his knowledge of and
mystical
participation in the life of other souls. This entrance and
participation must
be so real and vital that the problem of another soul, its quality,
tendency
and possibility, must have equal claim upon him with that which
concerns
himself. It is this attitude of living in and with other souls which
develops
in the disciple an inspirational inclusiveness, gives an unerring
insight into
their psychology, and inspires him to right thought and action in their
behalf.
Through this sensitivity the disciple reads the psychology of the soul,
which
let it be said, is very far removed from a prurient psycho-analysis and
the
psychology of the schools. Mystic love has no place in the exercise of
the
technique of the latter, penetrating and revealing as it is. An acute
and
discriminating intellect may master it with ease, and apply it
honourably and
usefully, but only within the limits of its soulless domain. Indeed, it
is only
too often as much in need of a soul psychology to clarify its own views
and
conclusions as are those whom it essays to enlighten.
The true psychology of the soul which inspirational sensitivity reveals
to the
disciple through mystic love participation, leads to the identification
or
oneness with all souls as inculcated by Christ. That is the high point
of the mystic way we are
considering. It is not easy of attainment, but the culmination of long
interior
discipline in which love is the guiding light. But should not emphasis
be laid
upon impersonal love? Impersonal love! How deeply, seriously, and
wholly
onesidedly have aspirants taken to heart the doctrine of impersonal
love. How
they have endeavoured to slay their poor, hungering, mortal selves,
because the
Masters are said to be beyond personality and unmoved by human passion.
I do
not believe it. If I did, I should still think the aspirant a misguided
person
in trying to play the Master while he is yet merely a disciple in the
making. A
little right perspective on the way is such a gracious possession, and
a real
blessing to one's fellows. I have every sympathy with an aspirant who
has so
religiously imbibed the doctrine of impersonal love as being the only
possible
way of attainment, that he has forgotten what love is. He may say,
nevertheless, that it is one of the most perplexing problems he has to
deal
with. I grant it may be perplexing; but there is usually something
blindly
selfish in the background of it. If there is anything this world needs
it is
love, personal love, the love of Christ. His love, it seems to me, was
personal
enough. I think the people He consorted with are ample proof of that.
He loved
men and women, that is all; and He insisted upon the love of men and
women,
without distinction or reservation, as the one way of mystical
realisation of
the kingdom of the soul. The impersonal love of many half-educated
aspirants is
grounded upon a refined selfishness, or a reprehensible
self-righteousness. And
when it is grounded upon neither of these, it is grounded upon an
abject fear
to express what throbs and aches within their own heart. Well, those
are
self-erected barriers which must fall before the soul can ever know
itself, not
to mention entering upon the stage of mystical participation with other
souls.
It was said that these barriers or inhibitions of various kinds are of
too
intimate and psychological a nature to be discussed at length.
Obviously they
differ in every case. But the resolution of this problem is precisely
that
which calls for the interior discipline mentioned. No disciple attains
to the
richness and fullness of the love of Christ without long probation. It
is a
studied pilgrimage with infinite necessary adjustments and
readjustments,
during which his many Karmic attachments and responsibilities are
brought forth
to the light of day by the fire working within him. If he is fully
aware of his
task and thoroughly prepared for it, he will accept, with patience and
understanding. all that is involved in the orientation of his
affectional life.
The disciple who is advanced in the technique of the way will not be
long
delayed at this stage. The awakening fire will have reached a point of
ascension
and force in him which will swiftly release him from the inhibitions
referred
to. For observe, this release to mystical love participation is bound
up with
the attitude of fearlessness in regard to all personal considerations
in
following his own light. It is consideration for opinions, other
people's
opinions, which is mainly responsible, in this particular connection,
for the
non-participation which holds some disciples back from completion of
experience. But a refusal to follow that which Karma prompts him to and
makes
possible in a particular cycle, is by no means an unusual condition,
even in
the case of a disciple. On the contrary, it is sometimes the most
promising
disciples, as said, who, with all their knowledge and many abilities
are held
back from their highest objective because they fail to participate
understandingly and willingly in the mystic love experience. Not that
they are
blind to this fact. Indeed, they suffer under the knowledge of it.
There are
intimate, psychological causes, of an inhibitory nature, set up in a
former
cycle, which deter them from complete life expression by their
invisible bonds.
Yet when the fire within has reached its strength, nothing of past or
present
will have power to stand against it. The true disciple will know that
the
essence of that fire is love itself and the soul energetic and
expressive; and
the soul so released from bondage by the example of Christ, will love
after its
own law, sanely, sublimely and inclusively.
_________
CHAPTER
VIII
MYSTICAL PARTICIPATION
Mystical participation has been defined, in the words of a
psychologist, as
"merely a relic of the original, psychological non-differentiation of
subject and object, hence of the primordial unconscious state; it is
therefore
a characteristic of the early infantile mental condition." As an
example
of original psychological definition, this is an excellent one; but the
reader
will have a very different one in mind in its application to the mental
condition of the mystic. The truth is, that when the latter has taken a
few
decisive steps on the way, psychology loses track of him and seeks to
account
for his absence in an "archaic collective unconsciousness." Again, we
have been told that mystical participation is also "a characteristic of
the unconscious content in adult civilised man, which, in so far as it
has not
become a conscious content, remains permanently in the state of
identity with
objects." Even so, the reader may think, with me, that there is nothing
necessarily mystical in a man identifying himself with objects. If
there is, I
submit there is some difference between identification of an untutored
savage
with objects and that enlightened mystical participation of a civilised
man who
spiritually identifies himself with his fellowmen, and perhaps with the
world
of nature, too.
That queer but brilliant genius, Rousseau, had something interesting to
say in
this connection. "We cling to everything, we clutch on to all times,
places, men, things; all that is, and all that will be, matters to each
of us;
our individual self is only the least part of ourselves. Each extends,
as it
were, over the whole earth, and becomes sensitive to this whole vast
surface." Rousseau, obsessed, misunderstood and ostracised, was not far
from the truth of the mystic way. He was very near it. Psychology does
not
think so. It says that, "What Rousseau depicts is nothing but that
primitive collective mentality of mystical participation, a residue of
that
archaic time when there was no individuality whatsoever." So much for
the
findings of psychology. Clearly, we should look in vain to it for an
understanding and interpretation of the technique of the mystic way.
While we should not look to Rousseau for an exposition of the way, he,
like
many other pioneers in the world of thought whose ideas have influenced
generations of thinkers, often wrote inspirationally, and with true
mystical
insight depicted the condition of mystical participation which is
sought by the
disciple on the way. "Each extends, as it were, over the whole earth,
and
becomes sensitive to this whole vast surface." If this quotation is
considered unfortunate, as coming from the work of a man who was an
eccentric
and suffered for years in solitude under a persecutional mania, let it
be said
that I choose it deliberately because psychology has chosen it and
assured us
that the product of this man's reveries was nothing but "that primitive
collective mentality of mystical participation." Presumably, therefore,
it
would assign the rich products of the reveries of Emerson, Whitman, and
a host
of other souls of rare mystical insight, to "an early infantile mental
condition." A contemporary writer has said that "Theology took the
spirit away from religion, and psychology has taken away its soul." It
is
true. But what neither has done, and never will do, is to take away the
soul
from mysticism. Both will have to come to mysticism to solve their
ultimate
problems, and many preliminary ones.
Now, to turn again to serious ground, it is just this exceptional
sensitivity,
which enables one to extend, as it were, over the whole earth, and
become aware
of the whole, that characterises the condition of the disciple in the
advanced
stages of the way; which invites and compels him to a mystical
participation in
the life of the entire living organism of which he is a conscious part.
To
accept this position intellectually is not enough: he has to feel into,
intuit
and know through the energising force of the love of the soul released
within
himself, the latent and developing soul life in all. Mystical
participation
does not consist in the ordinary manifold contacts of everyday life,
however
strong and consolidated these may be. It emerges upon a far higher and
more
interior level of consciousness, as a result of having taken the stages
of
mystical discipline. It is Christ ministering to the world through the
members
of His own body, when these have been trained to do His will. It means
that the
disciple has so far transferred the focus of his life from the plane of
personality
to that of the indwelling soul, that it is habitual with him to pass
beyond the
personality in others and contact the soul life within them. As the
personality
has its specific aura which conveys to the sensitive its prevailing
note and
characteristics, so has the soul its sounding quality which conveys to
the
disciple its vibratory measure of tone, depth and status whereby it is
recognised and known. But even that contactual knowledge is not
necessarily
mystical participation. No: but such an intimate knowledge of the soul
dawning
upon the disciple's consciousness under the influence of a noble and
unselfish
love born within him through his long novitiate, inevitably prompts him
to
regard that soul as a sacred entity with an immortal destiny, carrying
within
itself the like promise of discipleship and masterhood. If he has not
that love
he may still read, but his sight will be coloured and he will read
amiss. Some
do so read, for personal ends, and their mental bias is reflected in
their
reading. Instead of redeeming a soul they increase its bondage. That is
not the
work of a disciple, but of an interloper essaying the way with the
exercise of
occult art. His failure is written, not in his stars, but in himself.
The disciple, bearing ever within himself the memory of past struggles
and
failures, of heavy days and nights of intolerable darkness, of fears,
hopes and
conquests, and softened and matured under the impresses of this
searching
experience, but above all, understanding the action, reaction and
interplay of
these many militant factors which the soul has to face and adjust to in
the
personal life, does in truth mystically participate in and live with
other
souls through the storied drama of their evolution. Mystical
participation is
then a spiritual condition, following upon spiritual cognition, which
is a
faculty of developed soul consciousness. It is neither subnormal, an
example of
"collective unconscious emergence of a primitive character"; nor
abnormal, a condition calling for pathological treatment; but
supernormal and
divine, using as its technique a psychology operating after the laws of
mystical consciousness.
There is a positive and a negative aspect in the exercise of mystical
participation. The negative aspect is likely to furnish a problem to
some
disciples who are unusually expansive and inclusive in their mental and
emotional life. Where this condition exists there is a tendency in the
disciple
to be so fluid and absorptive as to lose the strength and stability of
individuality necessary for true helpfulness. This can go so far as to
prove a
deterrent rather than a help to himself and others, in that he
unwittingly
assumes responsibility which it is of first importance to others they
should
carry in the interest of their own evolution. It is right for him to
lift to
the measure of his strength something of the heavy Karma of the world;
but the
positive aspect of participation is needed for that, and it is rooted
in self
poise. Mystical participation is not sentimental emotionalism: it is
grounded
upon self-contained individuality and guided by clear seeing wisdom and
practical action. This distinguishes the mystic of the middle way from
many
instances furnished by mystical biography which we read with some
misgiving.
They are of participation of a passive, overwrought and unhealthy type,
in
their degree unselfish, meritorious and influential, but lacking the
real
technical equipment of discipleship.
The tendency towards a positive or negative type of participation will
be
determined by the type of disciple exercising it. The psychology of the
schools
classifies the mental types broadly as introvert and extrovert. There
is
something analogous to this classification in the two types of
disciples in
their mystical participation in other lives. The mental introvert on
the way
will be the disciple using the positive aspect of participation. The
love force
in him will be no less powerful through his training than in his
opposite, the
mental extrovert on the way using the passive aspect of participation.
But the
former will manifest a marked self-containment of individuality and
prove of
outstanding inspirational force and strength in his contacts: the
latter will
have the attractive magnetism and healing quality which infuses itself
with a
spontaneous lavishness which is apt to ignore in his contacts the basic
factors
of time and circumstance. But those factors are of primary importance
in
service, and if they are neglected the best results of participation
will not
ensue.
I have known disciples of both types on the way and studied the values
and
hindrances incident to each respectively. The values of the one type
have been
sometimes lessened because its mental introversion has modified unduly
the
affectional interplay in other lives. Its inspirational quality has
been high
and stimulating, its power of entrance into the soul life of others
unchallengeable, yet because of a long established habit of
self-involvement
and dissociation, although with laudable motives, the magnetic and
affectional
interplay with others has been restricted and curtailed its highest
value in
service. The hindrances of the other type have arisen from causes of an
opposite nature. Its magnetic and fusing quality has been of so free,
fluent
and discursive a character, so inclusive and possessive, that the
integrity of
individuality necessary for eliciting the best in others has been
weakened and
led to disappointment through unlooked for complications in its
contacts.
It is this negative aspect of participation which characterised many
mystics of
the past, so much so that it is not surprising they have been
considered
pathological cases. But with our greater knowledge of the mechanics of
the soul
and the technique of its evolution, there is afforded every facility
for uniting
the best in both types of head and heart, the mental and the magnetic
in a
harmonious development on the way. Indeed, for the achievement of high
initiated consciousness this is imperative. The basic laws of the inner
life
remain the same as hitherto, but evolution has moved on rapidly and the
disciple of to-day has a far different problem before him in service
than in
the past. Exaggerated development in any part of his equipment must be
rounded
off and a stable balance achieved. He must be far too manifestly sane,
practical and understanding in all his contacts, whether in ordinary or
in
mystical participation, to be considered abnormal and pathological. But
not in
order to avoid criticism: that does not count: but to meet the exacting
exigencies of his time. The world calls for that type of disciple, and
he must
be forthcoming. He is forthcoming; but more are needed. The object of
this book
is to stimulate the interest of those who are capable of this
discipleship.
Let us consider further the value of and the possible hindrance to
mystical
participation. I have had so many experiences of the value of it in
other lives
that a volume would be required to recount them. Disciples of the
mystic way
know the meaning of the word suffering and do not turn from it as a
depressing
theme. They know that it is intimately bound up with the mystical life:
for it
is precisely those on the way who are called upon to suffer; and if it
is not
their own suffering, then through their own developing sensitivity they
are sympathetically
drawn to share in that of others. That is the penalty, far rather the
privilege, of entering upon the way. There is no avoiding it. As
certainly as
the disciple proceeds along the way will he enter into the suffering of
human
life. But what is there in this life of more value than trying "to lift
a
little of the heavy Karma of the world?" There is no greater reward
than
the heart-spoken gratitude of those whose suffering we have made our
own
through passing through the shadow in soul with them. Do not retreat
from it,
but let the scars of human sorrow remain in the soul as a lasting
memorial of
your compassion and kindness. It is the one thing the Master waits to
read
there. It is the universal language of Masters and disciples, the
mystic bond which
unites them into one compassionate fraternity. For what is the ground
of the
solicitude of the Master, the watchful care which he exercises in
training his
pupil to share in his own work? Not assuredly to satisfy any personal
motives
of the disciple, least of all to meet a personal desire for special
powers to
demonstrate his ascendancy over his fellow men. It is for one reason
only: to
share the burden of the Karma of the world. That is the purpose of the
way. It
is a call to the disciple to enter experimentally into the mystery of
the cross
which lies athwart the path of life. In so doing he is led to the heart
of that
mystery and becomes a conscious participator in the compassionate life
of the
Masters.
One of the chief hindrances to mystical participation to be met with,
even in
those advanced on the way, is fear. They may repudiate the assertion,
but it is
true. In fact, it is the stronger in them than in the average
individual
because accentuated through the special training they have undergone.
The fear
which was once a factor in the objective life is reborn in the psychic
life and
functions there as a retarding influence until driven out by love. And
this is
the ignoble way in which it operates: the growth of personal power and
prestige
which the disciple's training inevitably unfolds in him, has a tendency
to
raise up with it a sense of superiority and aloofness which makes him
unwilling
to share his self with others. I say unwilling, but it is more correct
to say,
makes him fear participation in the lives of others. There is a rooted
fear of
self-expression, potent and not fully recognised. There is such a thing
as
standing on one's dignity on the way; and if there is anything certain
to make
one stand instead of progress, this dignity, or fear of
self-expression, will
do it. Why should a disciple be afraid to express what is in him? What,
after
all the counting of our virtues and abilities, is the value of this
sense of
dignity and superiority? It is a very real thing in some disciples, or
I could
not write of it: but wherever it is found, there, I am sure, a profound
and
comprehensive nature is lacking. That is just the point. Participation
in human
life, an intimate contact with its perplexities, sorrow and suffering,
is the
only way to that depth and fullness of nature which makes a disciple
the friend
of souls. So long as he stands back within himself, I do not care how
noble his
character or rare his virtues, and refuses the healing of his loving
hands and
heart to those who wait for it, he stagnates in his own all-sufficient
goodness, which is good for nothing. It is a sorry thing to see a man
on the
way, bound hand and foot within the narrow circle of his own goodness,
and
afraid to use and express the very life born within him by his own
effort
because he may be misunderstood and ill-judged.
What is the root cause of this fear in a knowledgeable man on the way?
I submit
that it inheres in one of his strongest virtues, that it is rooted in
the very
strength of his individuality. It is written that "Each man is to
himself
absolutely the way, the truth, and the life. But he is only so when he
grasps
his own individuality firmly. . . ." There are disciples so constituted
that they take that scripture all too literally. They take every means
to foreclose
themselves against all impression or assault from without. They build
an
individuality four-square, and, it is hoped, invulnerable; the ramparts
are so
high that they can neither themselves get out nor can anyone else get
in. That
is their individuality at its best. Who can question the value of it?
Not I,
remembering how few individuals there are even on the way. I admit
fully that
anything that menaces the integrity of individuality is worth instant
scrutiny;
and in view of the many influences, in persons and circumstances, that
do
menace it, not only are they worth instant scrutiny, but challenge and
forthright opposition. The disciple who has not the spirit of challenge
and
opposition in him will not get far on the way in this world. Has not
the
disciple been called a battle-scarred warrior? He has acquired that
title
because he has had to hold the ramparts of his individuality so often
and
tenaciously against the onslaught of influences on more than one plane
of life.
Why does the same scripture speak of warfare in a true militaristic
nomenclature; of the battlefield exhorting the disciple to "look for
the
warrior, and let him fight in him?" Why, if not that the building of
the
ramparts of a powerful individuality is necessitated through the
incessant
attack of seen and unseen influences which would make violent inroads
upon it
to its destruction unless challenged and opposed by the warrior within?
That is
one aspect of individuality, and it cannot be overlooked.
The other aspect, which constitutes a hindrance to the disciple towards
mystical participation is, that with large experience of this menace to
his
individuality, he remains foreclosed within its ramparts and fears to
venture
out and beyond them in case he may lose his hard won possession. This
is one of
the major problems of the way for the disciple who has found his
strength and
fears to lose it. But it is a strength that fears the final trial of
itself. He
must be strong enough to go forth and enter into other lives with a
wise forgetfulness
of himself. The challenge and the opposition must still be there, keen,
strong
and self-contained; but if he is perfected in love, that will be his
armour.
His individuality will now take care of itself. He can go forth at will
and
participate in life to the full, without fear of loss and with little
thought
of former foes. They have done their worst, and been repulsed. The
Master will
read, in good time, many wounds upon the fair face of the soul; but
there will
be a light upon it showing clearly how the battle has gone. The
disciple who
carries no signs of battle has nothing to rejoice over; but it is the
inner eye
alone that reads the history of them; and they determine his future
status. But
the battle must have been won for something: self conquest is not the
end of
it. That is where a disciple sometimes stands, in happy recollection of
that.
It is not enough. He has to come forth from his individuality, with the
magnetism of fearless love about him which can traverse the battlefield
unharmed because in spirit and action he is harmless, and can kneel in
compassion beside many a suffering son of man who scarcely knows the
meaning of
individuality and has no retreat from the strife of the day.
_________
CHAPTER
IX
THE DISCIPLE MILITANT
I wonder how many aspirants, when entering upon the novitiate of the
mystic
way, realise that they are actually in training for a spiritual
campaign. How
many, of those who set forth with the most varied hopes of unusual
works and
achievements, know that they are candidates for a life of ordeal and
battle?
Militancy is the very last term they would be inclined to associate
with the
way of discipleship. I would make it one of the first. What is more
common than
to speak of the battle of life, the struggle for supremacy, the seizure
of
opportunity, the wilful endeavour to hold one's own in the rushing tide
of
affairs? True, the aspirant may say, but this is definitely of the
world,
worldly, and we cannot speak of the life of discipleship in these
terms. But all
that is operative on the lower plane of life in this respect is
operative on
the higher: the same faculties and forces are brought into requisition
on the
one plane as on the other, only under transmutation and with a new
direction.
If a man has a fine mental courage in all the circumstances and affairs
of
life, is he, as a spiritual aspirant, to relinquish this splendid
acquisition,
soften and emasculate the spirit of a masterful mentality and fear to
utter the
truth he knows because he may give offence or incur the opposition of
little
minds?
There is an important truth here that many aspirants need to ponder.
Once on
the way and under instruction, they turn the edge of some of their best
qualities and fear to be themselves. They become changed for good and
for ill
simultaneously. They have a higher outlook and a weaker grip on things
around
them. There are two causes responsible for this, in my opinion. One is,
that
they apply the art of transmutation so far that it becomes a vice. With
them,
all on the mental plane must become spiritual. Everything in them has
to fall
into a subdued key to point the difference between the objective and
the
mystical life. They are so conscious of their art that they cease to be
natural
in the use of it. Instead of giving them freer expression it impairs
their
every movement, through fear of making a false step. Their
conscientiousness
knows no bounds, and prevents even a normal adjustment to their
fellowmen. They
are out of focus with themselves and the world. Their transmutation
means
shrunken faculties instead of expanded ones, and takes them away from
human
life and not more understandingly into it. The articles of the church
they
heartily abjure, but they have a set of their own almost as useless.
They
forget that soul culture is to free the faculties to higher and larger
expression, not to put them into another kind of bondage. The word of
power
they once spoke with perfect abandon they now consider irreligious and
prohibited; and inspiration loses its voice on the way of peace.
There is another reason, and I do not know which is more to be
deprecated. Once
on the way and they think they are under the surveillance of a Master
mind who
notes every word they utter and thing they do. The ideas they cherish
on this
matter are astounding and ridiculous. It argues a tremendous conceit in
an
aspirant to consider himself so important as to be watched twenty-four
hours of
the day by the hierarchy. I am sure the personal pupil of a Master
would not
expect quite so much consideration: if he did he would not get it. It
is not
the idea of seeking guidance that is out of joint: it is looking for it
without
instead of within, and to a Master mind from whom the aspirant's
development
gives no warranty of special supervision. And this attitude of passive
dependence has a pernicious effect upon his faculties; for, so far from
being a
recipient of a Master's supervision, he is but a slave to his own
thought
creations and amenable to suggestions from them. The Master does not
use this type
of material: the force of his vibration would shatter it; and it is to
point
this fact that I have made these comments. If the aspirant could
realise, which
is impossible therefore he must take the word on faith, the nature of
that
vibration in its strength, rhythm and tone, he would be no longer in
doubt as
to what type of individual he must be to bear the force of it.
We can look to the example of Christ for all things pertaining to the
way, and
in Him we see a warrior of the first magnitude. I challenge anyone to
read the
23rd chapter of Saint Matthew, for instance, without recognising that
he is
face to face with a puissant, aggressive spirit trained to warfare and
skilled
in the highest degree in the use of the weapons which made Him a deadly
antagonist
of those men and forces which He knew to be the avowed enemies of His
mission.
The humility, gentleness and compassion of Christ we love to dwell
upon, and it
is well; but that is only one aspect of His manifold nature and
masterhood, and
alone would never have fulfilled His mission. His austerity of speech
and
directness of action, His unqualified utterances of rebuke and
criticism, His
swift exposure of subtle and hidden influences working against Him, and
His
cool indifference to all consequences, give a vivid impression of the
militant
spirit engaged in conscious combat with the principalities and powers
arrayed
against Him. If we accept one aspect of this great character, we must
accept
the others, or place Him in a false light and deprive ourselves of half
its
force and inspirational value. The deeper I read into the Christ life
the more
conscious I am of the tremendous reserve militant force in it. Where
else shall
we look for such pathetic entreaties to love, peace and godliness:
where else
for such unexpected blows struck for these upon those who were enemies
to them?
Indeed, one of the most dramatic effects of the scripture records is
the
surprise and consternation caused by His speech and action upon those
who
sought to impose upon Him and thwart His mission.
Again, we have only to turn to fragments of mystical teaching on the
way to
meet at every step the same tone of militancy. "Beware of doubt";
"beware of fear"; "beware of the lethal shade"; "hold
firm"; "have mastery"; "beware of change": "again
and again the battle must be fought and won." Why all these
exhortations
to preparation for battle and to battle itself if there are not potent
and
menacing forces ranged in the way of advance which require coolness,
circumspection, toughness of fibre, challenge and unrelenting
opposition to
overcome them? These master teachings of the scriptures are founded
upon the
truth of the way, and symbolical as they often are, only point the
truth the
more graphically.
Let us descend a step from the scripture to the master artist,
Beethoven, who
was scripture embodied, although I may be harshly judged for saying so.
"There is Satan in this young man," said a contemporary of the
master. Well, if the devil was in him it made short work of his enemies
and
carved a clear path for the good God to thunder through him the music
of the
spheres. Beethoven was a creative disciple, and that is just why he
possessed a
militant spirit. This is not to say that the disciple must be possessed
of the
devil to do his best work; but I do say he will never be a creative
disciple or
do much for the world unless he has a militant spirit.
The aspirant must prepare for these paradoxes of the way. It is a
many-sided
figure he has to study and adjust to that reflects the truth of the
way. We
have spoken of love, of the beauty and value of its perfected
expression in the
highly evolved disciple; but it has to be fought for like every other
possession on the way. The love needed is the spirit of God in action
in man,
and that is a most potent and searching energy, nothing less, in fact,
than a
two-edged sword. The fire of the spirit: that is the note of our theme.
That is
the note of the conquering disciple. It strikes forth from the word of
Christ
with awful effect. It glances along the line of every scripture of the
way. It
breaks forth at every step true genius takes. I feel the momentum of it
through
the ages to the present day: the dynamic and militant spirit of God in
action
in worthy men who surrendered all to be the living exponents of it. Is
it too
much to expect that the disciple should be trained to this same warfare
of the
spirit in action in a dedicated personality? And observe, it is a
perfected
love that brings the warrior to his best estate. There is nothing
contradictory
in this. The love of some aspirants is like a poet's dream, a beautiful
thing
to contemplate on a summer's day, but totally useless for the rigours
of the
high altitudes of the way. There is nothing in this world that has such
grim
opposition as the influence of perfected love in man; that is why it
needs to
be militant, challenging and unrelenting in its onward march. The
reason is not
far to seek. Perfected love is in possession of a kingdom whose forces
threaten
the foundations of the realms of hate, greed and selfishness
established all
too firmly upon the objective and the inner planes of life; and the
forces of
those realms are ranged against every son of man of dedicated soul and
idealistic purpose. It was the forces of these realms that Christ
constantly
challenged and openly denounced because He knew they were intent upon
the
destruction of the work of His hands. So in Beethoven, consciously
possessed of
the creative spirit itself, we see the perfected love of the artist for
a
divine mission casting headlong all, even his own physical infirmities,
that
dared to oppose the grandest expression of it. And in the disciple, if
he has
perfected his technique, there must be the same conquering force of the
dominant spirit of militant opposition against the forces of glamour
and
deception and other menacing influences that would weaken his power and
purpose
in the service of his fellowmen.
My object is to awaken the aspirant to a sense of the magnitude of the
task
before him. At the beginning of the way it is easy travelling. He is
enamoured
with the newness of the way; he has a pleasant sense of entering into
new
knowledge, and, shall we say, of taking a few steps in advance, of his
time;
all of which is well and does no harm, provided he continues onward. It
is not
until he falls into a steady pace and demands the greater things that
his soul
tries him out. This has been touched upon in another place. Here we are
thinking of the disciple at the meridian, he who stands on the right
hand of
the Master and who knows what a precarious position that is. Is it then
a life
of trial from first to last, it may be asked, even when a disciple
stands near
to the Master? I am afraid it is, and a very severe one. A student
suggested to
me that the reward of the way might be given a place. But what reward
can we
speak of on the way except the consciousness of a growing technique to
be of
value in the world? The disciple I am thinking of is troubled very
little about
the matter of rewards on the way. He is a man who has tasted many
rewards that
the world can give, and they have lost their savour. Nearly all these
rewards
belong to the personal and ambitious life, and his interest is not now
focused
there. If they come he will use them in the interest of the greater
service he has
at heart; but he will not seek them. I do not know any greater reward
than that
the disciple should find himself, through labour, trial and long
devotion, a
recognised force in the fraternity of the lovers of souls who have made
themselves worthy to stand on the right hand of the Master. Life is
then
forthright, no matter how difficult, because the whole host of lesser
desires
and ambitions, which chain men to the earth and to repeated rebirth to
sorrow
and suffering until these are surrendered, no longer dominate the soul
and
enforce its bondage. Even so, the trial of the disciple is a very real
one.
Observe the exhortations I have quoted from the scriptures. Are these
for
naught? Look around and into human life, and no one more clearly than
the disciple
can see how the face of it is darkened with the shadows that betray the
existence of forces diametrically opposed to all he is and stands for.
These
are the sworn foes of the spiritual man on the material and psychic
levels of
life, and they look for his downfall and strive for it. The greatest
foes of
the disciple are arrayed against him on the material and psychic
levels. It is
there they work in power and in silence to mislead and dishearten and
dismay
the solitary warrior here and there among men. The trial comes through
the
height of man. Height in the disciple means extreme sensitivity to
influences
in the three worlds of form, material, psychic and mental; and when
these
combined forces impinge upon the sensitive consciousness, can the life
be other
than one of trial?
Hence the need for the militant spirit in the disciple. With the range
of
receptivity on all levels rapidly increasing, he is drawn to the centre
of a
veritable battlefield of forces working for good and ill, and he has to
hold in
steady equilibrium the one and neutralise the other. He is wide open to
the
reception of both, and the fine art of his technique is to register and
discriminate the quality, value and purpose of that which his sensitive
receiving apparatus records. He is a lighted beacon in the inner world,
drawing
to himself by irresistible magnetic love the light and leading of great
souls
who stand in the vanguard of the battle for spiritual supremacy; he is
also the
well-considered target of the hell-born forces that use their black art
in
skillfully contrived machinations to quench the light that falls upon
their
secret councils of darkness and exposes them. It is by virtue of the
protecting
grace of the Master that the disciple is able to bring those
machinations to
naught. That grace gives light and a puissant force which discerns the
adversary and disarms his strongest attack. The adversary takes many
shapes,
and this is well, for otherwise the eye and judgment would never become
keen
and sure to discern it. This is part of the disciple's highest
training. Under
a merciful law it is only he, and not the aspirant feeling his way, who
has to
face this keenest of trials. The unsure aspirant has little menace for
the
forces that work against evolution. The momentum of his life is not yet
strong
enough to sound a note of warning in their realms. It is not until his
soul has
written its pledge before the Master's eye and his step is strong and
sure on
the way, his will is set and his heart dedicated to the highest service
at any
cost, it is not until then that the sounding quality of his life stirs
the dark
forces to action against him. And instances abound among disciples of
this dark
encounter, so unseen, veiled and insidious, that the hardest of tasks
is to
convince them that their own aspiration and dedication are the root
cause of
the trial. The adversary takes many shapes, in persons and
circumstances. If
this were not so, what hope could there be of discipleship and
masterhood? That
the Master can guide the disciple through all the intricacies of soul
evolution
is proof that he knows experimentally every aspect of the trial. That
the
disciple stands near to the Master is proof that he has accepted the
challenge
of the trial, and has so far won. Let the aspirant remember this and
take
courage.
I say, so far won: for the disciple near to the Master has much to do.
It is
some commendation to be near and have the protection and guidance of
the
Master; it means that the militant spirit of the disciple has brought
him so
far, the militant spirit guided by love. How much he has to do before
he
becomes like the Master! What constitutes his greatest trial at this
point?
That he, like the aspirant, has his Karma to adjust; but unlike the
latter, the
disciple's adjustment is swifter and made under pressure. He has no
time to
waste or palter with the issues; he is of value in evolution and, under
his own
voluntary pledge to the Higher Powers, he is taken at his word and
brought
swiftly to door after door of crisis and opportunity. As a disciple he
has many
assets: as a human being he has many liabilities. The balance must be
adjusted
before he may enter into the Kingdom of Christ.
Precisely what
those liabilities are he will scarcely realise himself, but they will
be
presented to him, in human contacts and circumstances. These
challenging
influences, clothed in human form and opposing circumstances, are like
elongated shadows showing the uneven contours of the past and falling
between
him and the Master's perfected life. I would not dare say that he needs
here
the puissant, militant and challenging spirit above all things, except
for one
consideration: that during the terms of novitiate, he has cultivated in
high
degree those qualities of discipleship often referred to, and
pre-eminently, compassion,
tolerance and love. Without these, the militant spirit alone would
raise in him
a personal force of a destructive character, a menace to himself and
others.
With those, he will be safe in speech and action, because his motives
and
intentions will be just, and the fire of the militant spirit directed
to
constructive ends.
Therefore, realising his assets as a disciple in the form of abilities
for
special work on the way, and confronted with liabilities that must be
liquidated before he may enter into the Master life, he stands, in his
own
place, equipped, ready and resolute, with the settled disposition of
the
warrior armed against all that threatens to distort, disorganise,
confuse and
entangle, to strike a blow for the further rending of the veil of
illusion that
holds his brother back from a fearless advance. For a Master has said:
"It
is with armed hand, and ready either to conquer or perish, that the
modern
mystic can hope to achieve his object."
_________
CHAPTER
X
THE SANCTITY OF SERVICE
In this chapter I strike the keynote of the disciple's life. It is
sanctified
service. This keynote has often been struck in these pages because we
cannot
speak of the full-toned concord of the life of discipleship without the
fundamental and ever sounding note of sanctified service. Without that
there
may be some degree of attainment, some freak of magic, some kind of
psychic
gymnastic to titillate the nerves or please the eye, but nothing to
inspire the
soul of man or touch the heart of the Master. There are students who
place all
their hope upon these illusive shadows that masquerade as spiritual
reality,
and in time they find themselves more perplexed about the reality of
life and
far less reliable as a guide than those who make reason alone their
deity. But
I have the happy recollection that the majority of aspirants I have
contacted
have had a strong incentive to be of value in the lives of their
fellowmen. And
I have often been much surprised to find this incentive strong in very
young aspirants.
From one point of view this is more surprising because of the tone and
influence of modern life and circumstances to which these young people
are
exposed. Some of them are fortunate in this respect in that they have
been
nurtured in families where the parents have been students of the way,
and they
have received sympathetic encouragement in their aspirations. Many have
had
just the reverse of these fortunate conditions; they are old souls
trying to
find their past associations on the way in families where they
encounter not
one spark of understanding or inspiration. But I have a word of
encouragement
for them: they are perhaps the most fortunate of all, because they have
the
added force which comes of opposition; their aspiration and demand are
the stronger
and more determined, and the door is never long closed to them. They
are
fortunate because they have taken their novitiate in the past, and
nothing in
the world of circumstances can prevent their contact with the good
influences
and associations established in a former cycle, if they are persistent
in their
search.
Remembering the critical period in which we live, from the evolutionary
standpoint, the exceptional opportunities afforded for advancement on
the way
surpassing anything hitherto known, and the increasing momentum of the
thought
force of the Masters in human life for its enlightenment and
betterment, it is
a beautiful thing to find in aspirants young and old this deep and
sincere
trend towards a life of service. If we needed it, I think this would be
one of
the strongest arguments in favour of past cycles of evolution of the
soul. It
certainly argues a considerable measure of growth in the soul, whether
in a
young or mature personality, that can regard with indifference the many
prizes
of worldly accomplishment which are more possible perhaps than ever
before;
that can weigh these with an understanding vision at their true value,
and
having done so, can say: I desire to serve. I wonder sometimes whether
this is
partly owing to the growing sensitivity of the human apparatus which
can
register early and acutely, with a kind of new foresight, and
discriminate
accurately, without a further repetition of personal experience, the
real from
the ephemeral. But so it is, and these souls are laying the foundation
for the
work and illumination of the new age, when "the masks, and mummeries,
and
triumphs of the world" will pass swiftly and silently away as the
shadows
at dawn.
I have referred to the assets and liabilities of the disciple. Both are
intimately
related to the life of service; and while they appear opposed the one
to the
other, there is an esoteric connection and a regulative inspiring and
retarding
interplay between them, all in the direct interest of the disciple's
development and of those in Karmic relationship with him. The
disciple's assets
are, to a large extent, clear and manifest to him, but by no means
entirely. He
is able to judge the range and value of his work in the world for his
fellowmen; for he has built up a technical equipment through the years
far too
carefully and laboriously not to be able to use it with effect, or to
calculate
judiciously the possible reactions to it.
We are thinking of the disciple who is near to the Master and whose
work has
the imprimatur of the Master upon it. That being so, we expect to see
something
of the sureness of the Master's own art operative in whatever field the
disciple uses his technique. Many of his assets will be clear and
manifest to
him: there are others of which he will not be fully conscious, because
they
relate to work and contacts with Higher Powers on the inner side of
life during
meditation and sleep. In these two conditions is the casual life of the
disciple's objective manifestation. This does not require stressing,
for the disciple,
in functioning now more as the soul than the personality, has
sympathetic
access to the plane of souls, and his technical ability is derived
therefrom.
The source of his technique is in the superconscious life of the soul
universal. He has the ability to draw upon this superconscious life,
but the
channels and senses through which it comes are not of the objective man
but of
the indwelling self. That which is given he uses, but it is largely in
meditation and sleep that he must look for the causes of it; and these
are, in
some measure, as hidden to him as to the veriest tyro on the way until
he
passes the portal of initiated consciousness and has actual cognition
of the
forces of inspiration and guidance.
Just as these assets are his through the rewarding Karma of the past,
so are
the retarding influences of his liabilities bound up with the same
Karma. How
many disciples well on the way, with a developed technique of service,
are
retarded from further notable advance by these liabilities! They stand
near to
the Master and are doing his work, but the illumination they looked for
through
the years still awaits them. I have known such instances, and it has
given rise
in them to perplexity and disappointment and a sense of barrenness and
futility
in spite of all effort. They have been very much like Pascal, when the
brilliant work of his hands became a stumbling block and an offence,
when
everything even of good seemed to be passing away from him, when all
the
accomplishments of the past appeared to count for nothing: that supreme
testing
period of blankness and negation before the Christ came to him in fire.
But if
the assets in their complete and esoteric nature, are hidden to the
disciple,
and only to be deciphered in the Master's presence, so is it with his
liabilities. Perhaps it is well that the real character of both is
hidden; for
a knowledge of the one might raise a sense of pride in the disciple;
and a
knowledge of the other would certainly humiliate and discourage him. We
are
impatient, but it is well that our eyes cannot see all they would
before the
time. "Chafe not at Karma, nor at nature's changeless laws, but
struggle
only with the personal, the transitory, the evanescent and the
perishable," says the scripture. It is the disciple near to the Master
who
needs this admonition more than anyone else on the way. For he is a
high
tension individual whose technique of service is flowering in many
directions,
and for this very reason he is impatient of the retarding influences of
Karmic
liabilities which in various circumstances hold him back from the full
expression in perfected service he sees in vision. It is he who needs
to
"Remember, thou that fightest for man's liberation, each failure is
success, and each sincere attempt wins its reward in time. The holy
germs that
sprout and grow unseen in the disciple's soul, their stalks wax strong
at each
new trial, they bend like reeds but never break, nor can they e'er be
lost. But
when the hour has struck they blossom forth." And often will he need to
remember
it; for it is not so much now by the strength of his will, tempered
like steel
as it is, that he will achieve, as by a tireless patience with life
where he
stands and a growing insight into the causes which underlie his life
pattern.
I said there was a regulative inspiring and retarding interplay between
the
disciple's assets and liabilities. The justice of being subjected to
retarding
influences may often be questioned by him; he finds it difficult to
reconcile
this aspect of his life with the elevating expression of the inspiring
aspect
of it, known and acknowledged: but he is as responsible for the one as
for the
other. And standing on the right hand of the Master as he may be, he
has to
prove his wisdom and insight by acting nobly and faithfully there,
while
destined for a certain term to liquidate the liabilities in intimate
relationships of persons and circumstances in many manipulative
adjustments in
contacts and service.
But should we regard the term inevitably to be spent in the discharge
of Karmic
liabilities as retarding, or in any way inimical? Only from the
personal
standpoint, because ambition for attainment has not ceased to assert
itself
even in the disciple. Ambition for lesser attainments may have passed
away; but
ambition for things of a higher nature and for spiritual conquest is
not easily
extinguished. Suppose for instance, and it may be more than a
supposition, the
disciple's Karma has brought him into close contact and co-operation
with other
disciples on the way, and together they are working towards a similar
objective. They will be of unequal development although co-operating
esoterically and objectively in some department of the Master's work;
and it is
necessary for the ultimate end in view that this unequal development
among them
should be in certain respects equalised; that the objective cannot be
reached
until the various Karmic liabilities of all have been adjusted and the
soul of
the group freed from the inhibitory bonds which constitute that
inequality.
That is exactly the position of many a disciple near to the Master. Not
for
himself alone, but for those near him, he has to wait and serve and
carry
sympathetically and interpret understandingly the impinging forces of
the Karma
of his co-disciples until there is a balance of power, wisdom and love
which
enables them to act in perfect unison in their esoteric life. That is
why
tolerance, compassion and love are so much insisted upon at this stage.
The
disciple must have no voice for criticism of the failings of his
co-disciples.
For him there must be only the thought of the soul of love in evolution
under
its own personal difficulties. However different in personality, in
views,
opinions and tastes, whatever the weaknesses, fugitive errors,
incidental
failures, under the exigencies of circumstance and the pressure of
Karmic
attachments, these must be passed below the threshold of consciousness
and only
the expression of true understanding and willing helpfulness appear.
But is not
this a condonation of that which merits rebuke? What if the Master had
rebuke
for the manifold frailties of the disciple! Nearness to the Master is
not the
sign manual of perfected human nature: far from it. If not the
disciple's own
Karma, that of the present day world would prohibit it. Why? Because
even the
disciple, no matter how advanced, cannot live to himself: indeed, he is
infinitely more implicated in the world Karma than is the average man.
If this
is questioned, let a man develop a true sensitivity of discipleship and
realise
the truth of it. It is this fact, so clear to the Master's vision,
which is the
guarantee of the latter's loving compassion for the disciple near to
him. For
all his shortcomings there is no rebuke, but only wise understanding
and deeper
encouragement in the face of the keen difficulties known so well to him.
Yet there are those who demand of a disciple more than the Master
himself
demands. These are they who have trodden the way by book and know
nothing of
its technique. They are so full of theories and their own personality
that they
would legislate for those incarnations ahead of them. They have the
satisfaction of knowing that they increase the burden of the disciple
and
hinder their own development. The perfected human nature they expect in
him
they help to make impossible through their own lack of understanding.
Their
influence is part of the world Karma referred to, and, fortunately, the
disciple understands it very well. And if that is one of the penalties
of
advancement, perchance one of the particular liabilities of a
disciple's Karma,
the use he makes of it is to probe deeper into the world of causes and
emulate
the Master in his long range vision and indifference to personal
reactions.
Many phases of the working out of the peculiar Karmic liabilities of
advanced
discipleship could be touched upon, but they all work out to one issue.
The
disciple's position demands of him one major application in all its
difficulties and trials, that of sanctified service. If discipleship is
not
that it is an experiment only and loses all its stature. It is the one
thing
that brings him near to the Master, no matter what the world chooses to
point
as failings and shortcomings, and it is the one justification of him in
the
eyes of the world unseen. I believe this so deeply that I would say
sanctified
service covers the multitude of orthodox sins that consign men so
self-righteously to hell. This is perhaps a perilous statement, but not
from
the point of view I choose to make it. We have seen records of the
lives of
disciples and initiates published years after they have gone to their
reward,
for the express purpose of attempting to prove them to have been arrant
knaves
and sinners, while the memory and example of their unremitting labours
brighten
the path of every right-minded aspirant and ennoble every step of the
way.
That, too, is a part of the world Karma which their successors have to
carry:
and they, too, will suffer the same fate, now or hereafter.
We should not expect it to be otherwise, much as we deplore the fact.
It has
been pointed out that the disciple has a range of values peculiar to
his status
on the way. They are not self-imposed values: they are imbibed through
his
intimate contact with the Master consciousness and become the laws of
all his
future action. He will serve after those laws and under the inspiration
of
their many-sided technique, often in ways and for purposes quite hidden
to the
general consciousness. The wonder is, not that he is much misunderstood
by the
average aspirant, but that he is rightly comprehended by those near
him. It is
here that he is held by those Karmic liabilities to serve unfalteringly
those
near and far off, who strike the note of relationship in his life from
past
cycles of activity. It would be hard travelling, perhaps too hard even
for his
feet, if there were not also those far off and near, who have an
instinctive or
enlightened understanding and appreciation of that service. Perhaps
that is the
reward I was asked to point out for those who are called upon to give
so much. It
is a very sufficient reward that others share his labours and seek no
other
reward for themselves. That is the true meaning of sanctified service,
and
beneath the surface of the bustle and selfishness of modern life there
is much
of it. It is this undercurrent of real goodness, rendered potent and
increasing
in potency, and fed perennially by all those converging on the way, no
matter
to what school of thought they belong, that lessens the burden of the
disciple's individual Karma and gives him strength in many a crucial
hour. For
where there is real goodness of heart there will be sanctity of
service,
different in degree, in aspirant and disciple according to their
attainment on
the way, yet ever present, uplifting and ameliorating. In the words of
the Rosicrucian,
Bacon: "The parts and signs of goodness are many. If a man be gracious
and
courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world, and that
his
heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins
to
them: if he be compassionate towards the afflictions of others, it
shows that
his heart is like the noble tree that is wounded itself when it gives
the balm:
if he easily pardons and remits offences, it shows that his mind is
planted
above injuries, so that he cannot be shot: if he be thankful for small
benefits, it shows that he weighs men's minds, and not their trash;
but, above
all, if he have St. Paul's perfection, that he would wish to be an
anathema
from Christ for the salvation of his brethren, it shows much of a
divine
nature, and a kind of conformity with Christ Himself." There we have
the
ritual of goodness in epitome. And the disciple who can willingly
embrace
"anathema from Christ" in the service of others is not only near to
the Master, but very like him.
_________
CHAPTER
XI
MYSTICAL QUIETUDE
Maintaining the position of an independent observer and impartial
critic of
various aspects of mystical approach of aspirant and disciple on the
way, in
the hope that the reflections offered may prove suggestive and helpful
to
either or both, let us consider a particular quality of the disciple,
one which
is in fact indispensable to him, during that, often lengthy, term when
he
stands near to the Master with many Karmic liabilities to be liquidated
before
the presence of the Christ within him becomes a known and living
experience. It
was said, that not now so much by the assertion of the will, but
through a
tireless patience with life where he stands and a deeper insight into
the
causes underlying his life pattern, will he achieve. To manifest
continuous and
tireless patience in difficult circumstances necessitates, it need
scarcely be
said, a sound knowledge of ourselves and not a little knowledge of the
circumstances: at least I am sure it does of the kind of circumstances
a
disciple usually has to deal with. And patience finds its best soil in
the
quiet mind. How little life around us to-day contributes to the quiet
mind, we
know only too well. It is the sorrowful plaint of most aspirants on the
way,
and there is good reason for it. Nor is the advanced disciple
indifferent to
it: he does his work in spite of it, because, through a measure of
developed
detachment, mystical quietude is a stable quality in his equipment.
Even so, it
is not easily maintained. The high grade of sensitivity which enables
him to
answer to all so readily and invites his participation as an
appreciative soul
in the world experience, threatens at every step that inner
tranquillity so
much coveted and so necessary for the highest service.
"The peace you shall desire," says the scripture, "is that
sacred peace which nothing can disturb, and in which the soul grows as
does the
holy flower upon the still lagoons." It is a beautiful thought of a
delectable condition; but it is a far cry from the condition of turmoil
of the
battlefield for which the disciple has to deliberately prepare himself
and in
which his engagements are many. We do not doubt the reality or the
possibility
of the ideal condition of unbroken peace and tranquillity which the
eastern
scriptures so often bring to us: but it is pardonable if we think they
speak of
one world while we live in another. Pardonable or not, the fact is so.
A
description of the ideal world is one thing: living in the present one
is quite
another; and if the Masters of life ever forgot that when they turn
their
attention to the western aspirant, it would be one of the greatest
tragedies in
this story of evolution. It is what the disciple never can forget when
looking
at the aspirant feeling his troubled way through a psychic atmosphere
of
chaotic and destructive influences. I feel intensely on this problem,
because I
have so often seen aspirants struggling with it. I have seen them turn
in
despair from the way because the world atmosphere has been too strong
for them.
They could not reach a point of quiet in which to face the issues of
the way.
Time there may have been, time enough for the strong and resolute soul,
but for
them the voice of the world has been too insistent, too inharmonious,
breaking
in with violent disruption upon the sensitive and untutored organism,
and they
have taken the line of least resistance.
The fact that this is so, and it cannot be disputed, lays a tremendous
responsibility upon the more advanced man. He has forced his way
through one of
the hardest periods of evolution; for the past years have been cruel in
disruptive vibratory influences and a veritable challenge to a peaceful
mind.
If he has detachment and serenity and is an example of mystical
quietude, let
the aspirant not forget they have been won in the blood of the heart,
and no
otherwise. They are not a gift, but a flowering of faculty gained on
the
battlefield of life where the warfare has been hottest and the issue
sometimes
uncertain. Yet, because the fact is not published abroad and the
disciple moves
on the even tenor of his way, with a calm and unperturbed demeanour and
an
apparent indifference to the world at large, he is apt to be thought
unacquainted with the eventualities and vicissitudes of circumstances
in their
darker and aggressive forms and sadly lacking in necessary experience.
It is
admitted that there are, and always have been, drawing room disciples
of
undoubted erudition in discussing worlds they know nothing of and past
incarnations they would never have had the backbone to face; and if the
aspirant is led to regard these glorified pundits as proficients in
discipleship, he may be forgiven his judgment of them. This department
of the
occult intelligentsia is outside my province. I am thinking of the
working
disciple down here on the pavement, and the aspirant may well study his
art. He
stands four-square on the earth on which he was born, and leaves
speculations
about other worlds and unknown heavens to the spiritual dilettante who
has
nothing else to do.
If there is any truth I would drive home to the aspirant, it is that
the
disciple I treat of is a thoroughly practical individual, with the same
human
nature and of like passions and infirmities as himself, facing the same
fears
and oppositions of circumstances as he is, knowing in their full range
and
strength the difficulties and temptations which burden the whole human
family,
and who, nevertheless, has made for himself the opportunities of
entering into
the life of the soul and imposing its higher rhythm and elevating
influence
upon the common human factor and taken a step forward in evolution.
There is no
speculation in that, or assumption of wisdom and power he does not
really
possess. He regards askance occult theory-mongers and smug purveyors of
news
from heaven and puts their value on a level with talking politicians.
Both
species thrive upon ethereal Utopias which never materialise; and if
the
aspirant reposes faith in them, and loses it, as he certainly will, he
will at
least have learned how to discriminate, although he might have learned
much
more in the time.
The real disciple is not caught in this web of illusion. He knows the
sound
qualities of discipleship at sight. Mystical quietude is one of these
qualities. It is born of knowledge and experience of self and
circumstance. It
is not gained from books, but from deep communion with the heart of
life. Have
you not noted how those noble souls who have suffered long and deeply
under
some cross of circumstance, become mellowed in character and
temperament,
patient and kind in contact and bless others unconsciously by their
presence?
We meet with it in those who know nothing of the way, beyond what their
own
souls impress upon them. There is something in this akin to the
mystical
quietude of the disciple who stands near to and yet afar off from the
Master,
with many Karmic obligations to be met and adjusted. He has felt too
deeply and
knows too much to be other than of a quiet mind. Discipleship means
height: it
also means depth: where either is lacking discipleship is not. And so
it is,
that beneath the mystical quietude of the disciple there is a drama of
the soul
being enacted at this stage which is grander in compass and more
engrossing in
detail than anything seen or known in the objective life: but it is a
silent
drama, rising to climaxes of death and birth, in which the soul and the
personality are the players and the Master perhaps not merely a
spectator. The
world outside knows nothing of this: that is why it makes such
ludicrous
mistakes in its judgment of discipleship. The aspirant does not know
very much
about it either: that is why he should learn to be quiet and reserve
his
judgment. He may easily mistake the mystical quietude which arises from
a wise
detachment and impersonality for a want of interest and sympathy in
matters
that appear very important to himself; whereas those matters can only
be seen
clearly and rightly judged in precisely that condition of mind. He
overlooks
the fact that the disciple has passed that way in the long journey;
that he,
too, has questioned much and to little purpose, because an illuminating
response is not contingent simply upon knowledge but upon the factors
of time
and readiness in relation to the aspirant's development. The highest
knowledge
can fail him utterly in conviction and illumination if the mind is not
developed to a right perspective to receive it. When the aspirant
thoroughly
realises that and looks to himself first instead of to others, then he
is on
the way to that quietness and receptivity of mind which permits the
soul to be
his teacher. That is a marked characteristic of the disciple: he
questions
abundantly, but himself, not others. He knows from experience that the
soundless voice within is of more value to him than the voices of
authority or
the dogma of books. The aspirant need not take my word for it: if he
will study
the technique of genius he will need no better teacher. Genius knows
the value
of culture, possesses it and uses it; but it passes beyond that to
profound
meditation upon the revelation of the soul in silence. Lesser voices
are an
impertinence to it, but only because it is secure and confident on the
height
of its own peculiar evolution. There is so much in genius which is akin
to the
creative disciple that I have often spoken of it as unconscious
discipleship.
There is but the difference that genius is mainly intent upon creation
in art
or science, while the disciple is bent upon the conscious manipulation
of
personal and higher forces for evolutionary and spiritual purposes. And
for
this end there must be orderly and systematic development of the whole
man to
hold and direct the awakening fire of the soul in its descent and
inspiration
in his chosen work.
At the crucial stage where the disciple stands at the bar of Karma very
near to
the Master yet without the portal and still feeling his way under the
guidance
of the soul, mystical quietude must be his in full measure. "Be sure of
foot, O candidate. In patience's essence bathe thy soul; for now thou
dost
approach the portal of that name, the gate of fortitude and patience."
Tireless patience with the circumstances of life under the judgment of
culminating Karma finds its true soil in the quiet mind. The aspirant
may think
that mystical quietude is not so extraordinary an acquisition as it
appears to
be. He has the text books on concentration and meditation well
digested: it is
merely a matter of sitting still and keeping the nose under
observation, and
the world passes away. There is a difference between mystical quietude
and
mental vacuity. There is indeed a great difference between reposeful
interludes
at the beginning of the way, when the Karma of past cycles touches the
aspirant
but lightly on the shoulder, and the ability to demonstrate spiritual
peace
amid the powerfully developed and highly active forces of the mature
constitution of the disciple at the altitude of the way. The forcing
methods of
innumerable occult books and courses make it necessary to exercise
discrimination. They are accessible to all alike, to the most
illiterate
aspirant as to the most cultured. And what is the result of these
methods in
either case, where there is no prepared ground for mystical training,
perhaps
not even a desire for it, but only an ambitious curiosity for a short
cut
development of a yogic nature to bring thought and emotion to a
standstill in
order to demonstrate the supremacy of will in a reversal of normal
functions? A
result of enforced and mechanical quiescence which has no background of
higher
knowledge or soul contact to inform it, a condition of self-hypnosis
far less
productive than the condition of natural sleep.
The quietude of the disciple is a quality of high mystical art.
Concentration
there must be, stillness of the objective mind, meditation profound,
and comprehensive
knowledge of the soul emerging into and inspiring the personal life,
but all
this lies behind in the years of hard probation. There is no short cut
to the
temple of the soul. An inexperienced aspirant is not to blame in
believing
there is. He puts his faith in the word of plausible writers who hash
and
rehash the instruction of yoga and promise the illumination and peace
of master
minds through physical and mental jugglery. But the inevitable
disillusionment
comes, and with a chastened mind he realises there is such an entity
within man
as the resident soul, pregnant with the burden of Karmic relationships
and
responsibilities from the past which has to be met and unveiled and
understood
and lived before he can hope to near the goal. When he realises that
and has
built the strength to deal with it, then he will know, as a disciple,
the
importance and value of mystical quietude.
The last stages of a race or contest are the crucial ones. So it is
with the
disciple who stands before the portal. Fortitude and patience are
written on
it. He has crossed the battlefield and proved his strength. He has
fought well
and made a path that others might follow, and the peace of the Master
falls
upon him. The invisible mantle of mystical quietude is the armour
conferred
upon the tried warrior who has lost much in a long struggle that others
might
win. The sword in his hand is keen and bright; it is the sword of
tempered
experience, which he will yet use with wisdom and skill against the
offending
hosts who would rob the aspirant of his right to advance and his
eternal
reward. For he is a warrior still; and no warrior surrenders his
weapons of
advance. And while he is still without the portal he stands upon
treacherous
ground. He needs more vigilance now than ever before. What, is not the
Master's
influence sufficient for protection? Not without his own co-operation.
However
near to the Master, the disciple has his own life to live, and that
life is
strongly bound and obligated to other lives on the objective and inner
planes
of experience. His chief lesson now is to understand, with a quiet
mind, the
meaning of those other lives that stand near and related to him, in
work and
circumstance, in helpfulness and opposition, in love and hate. It is
not now
the keen will that cuts its way to the goal, but the manipulation and
balancing
of human and psychic forces operating through entities of Karma which
stand out
as clearly to the vision as that entity of Karma which his own soul
faces with
steady equilibrium and purpose. Figuratively speaking, it is as if the
disciple
stood at the centre of a circle, with radiations of Karmic connection
with
others at different stations at the circumference. As time passes, some
of
those radiations become attenuated and ultimately vanish, the claims of
those
to whom they attached having been met and liquidated. Conversely, other
radiations will increase in tensity and strength and those to whom they
attach
will be drawn through sympathetic understanding and like stature
steadily to
the centre and take their place beside him. But a fact so simply stated
may
require years to work out; and that is the conscious task the disciple
sets
himself. Patience, indeed, and ever more patience, until all is
reconciled and
harmony reigns from centre to circumference of the disciple's field of
influence and contact. Nothing can be hurriedly done for his own
liberation. In
the east, the one aim is liberation, renunciation of circumstances and
personalities, almost an abjuration of existence itself, that the soul
may pass
into absolute, untrammelled and everlasting freedom. It is not for us
to
criticise an end which is eminently desirable, although the means are
utterly
foreign to western ideals. The disciple on the way in the west
considers it a
dishonourable thing to renounce circumstances to which he knows he is
Karmically bound, and an unpardonable sin to repudiate the intimate
relationships of personalities to which he knows that for the love of
Christ he
must remain true. I do not think there is a single earnest aspirant who
doubts
the truth of this in his heart, no matter how difficult it may be to
live. He
must not mind the difficulty, but accept it. He will never realise the
mystical
quietude of discipleship until he does. It is fortitude in
circumstances that
sear his soul, and patience in accepting all they entail in life, that
will
unfold in him the true resignation of spiritual peace. So will his life
become
aligned with the Master's purpose in evolution, and carry that
far-seeing
wisdom and healing so fruitful in service.
The flower of mystical quietude grows in silence during the storm of
the ascent
on the way; and before the portal "the whole personality of the man is
dissolved and melted" and becomes "a subject for grave experiment and
experience." But this is only possible when the disciple stands within
the
circle, isolated in peace, with all the radiated stations at the
circumference
held in keenest circumspection and upon which the love of the soul
throws its
revealing light and extends its willing service.
_________
CHAPTER
XII
THE MYSTICAL CHALLENGE
I
have briefly sketched, from a
particular point of view, the way of mystical ascent. No more was
attempted.
Nor were specific forms of concentration and meditation offered, since
there is
a prolific literature available which gives them. The aim has rather
been to
hint at definite inner changes which must ensue under mystical
training, and a
right appraisal of reactions in the life and in circumstances which
occur under
such training. It is one thing to set forth a series of concentrative
and
meditative forms of procedure, but quite another to follow and
sympathetically
interpret, without bias, the manifold intimate and difficult reactive
experiences in heart, mind and soul which accompany a dedicated effort
to tread
the way. If the student says he has been quite unaware of any
particular
experiences of this nature, that he has followed the way for years and
experienced nothing of stress or difficulty in life or circumstance,
then I affirm
that he knows nothing of practical mysticism. If Christ truly pointed
the way
of the mystic, there is not a shadow of a doubt as to what the treading
of that
way entails. The same difficulties, the same trials, the same cross,
figuratively speaking, await every son of man who offers himself for
the great
adventure.
But the full burden of
the way is the privilege of very few, for the
simple
reason that the aspirants are many, the disciples few. Nor do I
hesitate to say
that the majority of aspirants at the present time are totally
incapable of
bearing the full burden of the way. A desire for unusual knowledge, the
reading
of mystical literature, affiliation with mystical societies, are
preliminaries
necessary and helpful; but not until there is a spontaneous readiness
in the
whole man to become transmuted in thought, speech and action by
converting all
these helps into living steps of interior evolution, can a student
consider
himself really embarked on the way. Moreover, if there is not a
predisposition towards
it which is very pronounced in the constitution, the plain truth is,
that while
he certainly can become an aspirant now, the present cycle of life will
be
mainly taken up with the work of preparation. Emerson said that the
tone of
seeking was one, and the tone of having another. The unprejudiced
aspirant will
feel the truth of that before he has gone far on the way. He will be
wise to
accept what his intuition tells him about his present possibilities and
not
attempt to overreach himself. No good will come of it. We hear a good
deal of
the possibility of attaining to Masterhood in one brief cycle of life.
I have
yet to meet one who has shown such exceptional promise. Types of
mastery are
possible in one or another direction; but these are only steps on the
way to
Christhood, and it will demand the best of our present grade manhood to
take
even those steps. I dissent absolutely from opinions to the contrary,
because I
have seen nothing to confirm them. I have no wish to discourage the
aspirant,
but I will not suggest as an easy attainment a goal which is the
hardest a man
can set himself in this life. If we could live to ourselves in an
environment
of peace and harmony, with no worldly responsibilities resting upon us,
no
Karmic ties with other personalities demanding attention and careful
adjustment, and could devote ourselves to uninterrupted study and
meditation
and to the placid enjoyment of natural beauty and artistic communion,
much no
doubt might be accomplished in a few years in entering into a high
contemplative state and unfolding the gifts and graces of mystical
faculties.
Even so, I do not know that it would be the most desirable goal for the
western
aspirant. I know it is an impossible one in his particular environment.
He
finds himself in conditions directly antagonistic to isolated and
peaceful
mystical attainment. He has to work with his hands and forge ahead with
his
brain to live, and take such steps as he can to unfold the life of the
soul
amid the clamour and call of the arrogant world. Perhaps he is the
better for
it and of far more value to the world, even at considerable loss to
himself. We
do not expect perfect types in our environment. Nor would they survive
in it
for long. The best we can hope for, perhaps the highest we can expect
to see in
these days, is the militant disciple who has weathered the storm and
gives a
few hints of the perils of the passage to those who are ready to take
it
themselves.
The most important
quality to be made permanent in the disciple's
equipment,
after the meditative and contemplative contact has been fully
established, is
that of spiritual militancy. This may be questioned, but I cannot
retract. I
would re-emphasise it, and from another aspect. We have heard the word
of peace
spoken, with all the variations of human rhetoric, when there is no
peace. On
the contrary, we live virtually in a time of war. The world atmosphere
in which
we live is a militant one. We may close our eyes to it in our prayers
and
meditations, but we can no more shut out the world atmosphere of
militancy than
we can cease to breathe. And if our Karma is bound up with the world
Karma, we
share in it and have a responsibility in it. But this surely does not
mean that
the disciple must share in the militant tendencies of the world? No,
not
necessarily; but on his own level of life and in his own sphere of
action and
service, he must have aggressive and dominant faculties of a similar
nature if
he is to leave any mark of the way he has gone for those who would
achieve now
and those who hope to achieve in the future. He has a world atmosphere
to deal
with which is evilly aggressive, domineering and threatening in its
psychic
potencies, and it is impossible to escape its influence; which means
that men
are swayed in thought and action by those potencies far more than they
realise.
An impartial observer said: "You talk of the brotherhood of man: look
around you!" a pertinent remark and true, although we on the way prefer
to
close our eyes and live in an illusion. That remark is typical of the
attitude
of the world which the disciple faces to-day. And I ask, what chance
has he to
do anything for it, or be of inspiration to anyone in it, if he is a
sentimentally religious and puling humbug and is afraid to speak the
word of
power born in his own knowing soul, even though he runs counter to the
opinions
of men, the sterile church, and all the other blatant authorities, high
and
low, who raise their voice against it? "There is always room for a man
of
force," said Emerson. The world knows that very well and has found and
used such men. Where is the militant mystic to confront them?
Indeed, it is a troubling
thought that, for all the widespread interest
in and
following of the mystic way in many lands, all eyes and ears are intent
upon
the brutish personalities of blood-minded dictators, and there is not a
single
inspired apostle combining in himself the master qualities of Christ
and man,
with a message of such compelling force as to seize upon and compel
public
opinion. It is humiliating to poor humanity that, with all its
aspiration,
blind or enlightened, towards the divine, there has not been vouchsafed
to it
one man of superhuman character and personality and dynamic
forcefulness to
stand forth and arrest the action of insolent tyrants who, with
Machiavellian
astuteness, trample upon the soul and honour of men. You will tell me,
speaking
from the chair of academic occultism, that it is the inevitable and
lawful
outworking of racial cleavages and crisis. If I agree, what is that to
poor,
suffering humanity who knows nothing of it, and if it did, would not
ease one
jot its burden? It is a thought that must exercise every right-minded
aspirant
on the way, whatever his persuasion and however great his knowledge.
The rapine
of humanity is before his eyes. He may shut them, but it is still
there. And
humanity waits for a saviour in human form, but he does not appear.
This is the note on which
I close this book. A different note might do
more
honour to the mystic, but not to the common heart of humanity in which
the
mystic must live. Yet we on the way, even in our helplessness, may do
something. We can combine our thought forces into an intense and
militant and
living potency against those who commit foul rapine in high places and
defraud
the sons of men of their birthright, and resolve, in the words of that
illustrious son of freedom, to "bring their devilish machinations to
naught."
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