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This is a repost from October 2016, shared now as a followup to the new book on Lily Dale. NOTE– signing up to prx is free and gives you access to all of Helen Borten’s A Sense of Place episodes along with many other fun public radio documentaries.

IAPSOP.com has announced the sixth release of the Standard Spiritualist and Occult Corpus (SSOC), the online archive of esoteric texts which has noisw grown to more than 6700 titles.  There are also more than fifty new or expanded periodicals holdings, thanks to the labors of Marc Demarest, John P. Deveney, and John B. Buescher at the Marion Skidmore Library in Lily Dale, New York, headquarters of the National Spiritualist Association of Churches (NSAC). Although I have yet to visit Lily Dale, reading the IAPSOP news was a trip down memory lane for me thanks to an excellent two part public radio documentary for which I was interviewed in late 1998. Part of Helen Borten’s series A Sense of Place, Madame Blavatsky and the Colonel (link to part one) made considerable use of my interview (link to part two) along with voice actor portrayals of Helena Blavatsky and Henry Olcott and associates in their own words. The environment in which the two met in 1874, a Spiritualist gathering in rural Vermont, inspired Borten to visit Lily Dale in western New York state, one of the few surviving enclaves for Spiritualists. Students of esoteric history have much to be grateful for with this upgrade, thanks to the generosity of Lily Dale in sharing its rare collections with the public, and the labors of the IAPSOP archival team. My appreciation for Ms. Borten’s documentary and my inclusion therein was renewed by this reminder of Lily Dale’s ongoing significance as home of the world’s largest Spiritualist library.

PART III.

THE MAGIC SPELL.

“In the Kingdom of Dream strange things are seen, And the Fate of ‘the Nations are there, I ween.”

From “The Rosie Cross,” an unpublished Poem by P.B. RANDOLPH

THE regal being was scarcely gone from the chamber ere Hesperina and the Shadow—which had once more become visible, approached the sleeping pair—drew nigh unto the woman and the man; and the Fay gently breathed upon their heads, as if to establish a magnetic rapport between herself and them. She then calmly took her stand, near the bedside, and folded her beautiful arms across her still more beautiful bosom and awaited—the action of the tempter. She had not long to wait, for straightway the Black Presence advanced, and hovered, over the bed— hovered scowlingly over then, glaring down into their souls, as doth the vampire upon the man she would destroy—the spirit of Wrong peering; wistfully at all beautiful, things, and true! Such was the posture of affairs.; and thus they remained: until the Thing had also established some sort of connection with the sleepers. It soon became evident, from their nervous, uneasy movements and postures, that the twain were rapidly crossing the mystic boundaries that divide our own from Dreamland— that they were just entering the misty mid-region—the Shadow, the Thing, the monstrous IT, ruling the hour, and guiding them through the strange realm—

“‘That lieth sublime, out of Space and out of Time’” [Edgar Allan Poe, Dream Land, 1844]

The man who says that dreams are figments is a fool. Half of our nightly experiences are, in their subsequent effects upon us, far more real and positive than our daily life of wakefulness. Dreams are, as a general thing, save in rare instances, sneered at by the wise ones of this sapient age. Events, we of Rosicrucia hold, are pre-acted in other spheres of being. Prophetic dreaming is no new thing. Circumstances are constantly occurring in the outer life that have been previewed in Dream-land. Recently, while in Constantinople, I became acquainted with a famous Dongolese negro, near the Grand Mosque of St. Sophia, in one of the narrow streets on the left, as you enter the square from toward the first bridge, and this man had reduced the interpretation of dreams to a science almost; and many a long hour have I rapidly driven the pen, in the work of recording what was translated. to me from Dongolese and Arabic into Turkish and English, from his lips, obtaining in this way not merely the principles upon which his art was founded, but also explicit interpretations of about twenty-nine hundred different dreams. [Dongola was the ancient capital of Nubia in what is now Sudan.]

“THE DREAM OF THOMAS W.

“Tom Clark was dreaming; and, lo! great changes had taken place in the fortunes of the sleeping man. No longer a toiler at the anvil or the plow, he had become a rich and, as times go, therefore an honored man—honored by the crowd which, as a general thing, sees the most virtue in the heaviest sack of dollars.

“The wealth of Mr. Thomas W. had come to him in a very singular and mysterious manner, all since he had become a widower; for Mrs. Thomas was dead, poor woman, having some time previously met her fate through a very melancholy accident. An extract from the ‘Daily Truth- Teller,’ of Santa Blarneeo, a copy of which paper Tom Clark carried in his pocket all the time, and which pocket I shall take the liberty of picking of the journal aforesaid, and of quoting, will tell the story—sad story—but not the whole of it, quite :

“‘FEARFUL AND FATAL CATASTROPHE!—We learn with deep, sincere, and very profound regret, that another of those fearful calamities, which no human prudence can guard against, no foresight prevent, has just occurred, and by means of which a most estimable woman, an exemplary and loving wife, an excellent Christian, firm friend, and esteemed person, has been suddenly cut off in her prime, and sent prematurely to her final account. It appears that the late heavy rains have rendered all the roads leading from Santa Blarneeo nearly impassable, by reason of the rifts, rocks, boulders, and slides of clay—very dangerous and slippery clay— which they have occasioned.

“‘Especially is this the case along the cliff road, and more particularly where it skirts the side of the Bayliss Gulch. [Bayliss, California is an unincorporated community north of Sacramento.] Of late it has been exceedingly unsafe to pass that way in broad daylight, and much more so after dark.

“At about ten o’clock yesterday morning; as Mr. Ellet, the Ranchero, was passing that road, along the, brink, of what is known as the Scott ravine, his horse shied at some objects in the path; which, proved to be a man’s hat and woman’s shawl; on the very edge of the precipice—— a clear fall of something like four hundred feet. It immediately occurred to Farmer Ellet that if anybody had tumbled over the cliff, that there was a great probability that whoever it was must have been considerably hurt, if nothing more, by the time they reached the bottom, as he well remembered had been the case with a yoke of steers of his that had run off at the same spot some years before, and both of which were killed, very dead, indeed, by the accident. So, at least, he informed our reporter, who took down the statement phonographically. [i.e. phonetically, notes taken in shortland.] Mr. Ellet discovered the remains of a horse and buggy at the bottom of the ravine, and’ at a little to the left, about ten feet down the bank, where he had, by a miracle, been thrown when the horse went, over, Mr. Ellet. Found the insensible body of a man, desperately hurt,’ but still’ breathing. His fall had been broken by some stout trees and bushes, amidst the roots of which he now lay. Mr. E. soon rescued the. sufferer, who proved to be Mr. Thomas W. Clark, a well- known, honest, sober man, and a neighbor as well. Mr. Clark’s injuries are altogether internal, from the shock of falling, otherwise he is almost unscathed. His pains inwardly are very great, besides which he is nearly distracted and insane from the loss of his wife and horse, but mainly for the former. It seems that they had been riding out on a visit to a sick friend, and the horse had slipped on the wet clay, had taken fright, and leaped the bank, just as Clark was hurled from the buggy, and landed where Ellet found him. The horse, carriage, and the precious freight, instantly plunged headlong down through four hundred feet of empty air.

“We learn that the couple were most devotedly attached to each other, as is notorious from the fact, among others, that whenever they met, after a day’s absence, and no matter where, nor in what company, they invariably embraced and kissed each other, in the rich, deep fullness of their impassioned and exhaustless conjugal love. Poor Clark’s loss is irreparable. His wife had been twice married, but her affection for her first husband was but as a shallow brook compared to the deep, broad ocean of love for him who now mourns, most bitterly mourns, her untimely fate!’

“There! What d’ye think o’ that, my lady?—what d’ye think o’ that, my man? That’s a newspaper report, the same that Tom Clark carried in his pocket, and read so often in his dream. Singular, isn’t it, that the ruling passion triumphs, especially Reporters’—even in Death or Dream-land.

“At the end of two days Mr. Clark recovered sufficiently to go to the foot of the cliff, and when there his first work was to carefully bury what was left of his wife—and her first husband’s portrait at the same time—for he had placed that canvas across the backs of two chairs, and amused himself by jumping through it—like a sensible man.

“There is—do you know it?—an almost uncontrollable fascination in Danger. Have you never been seized with the desire to throw yourself down some yawning chasm, into some abyss, over into the ready jaws of a shark, to handle a tiger, play with a rattlesnake, jump into a foundery furnace, write a book, edit a paper, or some other such equally wise and sensible thing? Well, I know many who have thus been tempted—and to their ruin. Human nature always has a morbid streak, and that is one of them, as is also the horrible attraction to an execution—to visit the scene of a homicide or a conflagration—especially if a few people have been burnt up—and the more the stronger the curiosity; or to look at the spot where a score or two of Pat—landers have been mummified by the weakness of walls—and contractors’ consciences. With what strange interest we read how the monarch of some distant lovely isle dined with his cabinet, off Potage aux tete de missionaire—how they banqueted on delicate slices of boiled evangelist, all of which viandes were unwillingly supplied by the Rev. Jonadab Convert—’em—all, who had a call that way to supply the bread of life, not slices of cold missionary—and did both! So with Tom Clark. One would have thought that the last scene he would willingly have looked upon, would have been the bottom of the ravine. Not a bit of it. An uncontrollable desire seized him, and for his life he could not keep away from the foot of the cliff. He went there, and day by day searched for every vestige of the poor woman, whose heart, and head likewise, he at last had succeeded in breaking into very small fragments. These relics he buried as he found them, yet still could not forsake his daily haunt. Of course, for a time the people observed his action, attributed it to grief and love, forbore to watch or disturb, and finally cared nothing about the matter whatever. Such things are nothing in California. Well was it for Clark that it was so— that they regarded him as mildly insane, and let his vagaries have full swing, for it gave him ample time and opportunity to fully improve one of the most astounding pieces of good luck that ever befell a human being since the year One.” It fell out upon a certain day, that, after attending to other duties, Tom Clark, as usual, wound his way, by a zigzag and circuitous path, to the foot of the hill, and took his accustomed seat near by the rock where it was evident Mrs. C. had landed—the precise spot where her flight had been so rudely checked. There he sat for a while, like Volney, in deep speculative reverie and meditation—not upon the ruins of Empires, but upon those of his horse, his buggy, and his wife. Suddenly he started to his feet, for a very strange fancy had struck upon his brain. I cannot tell the precise spot of its impingement, but it hit him hard. He acted on the idea instantly, and forthwith resolved to dig up all the soil thereabouts, that had perchance drank a single drop of her blood. It was not conscience that was at work, it was destiny. This soil, that had been imbrued with the blood of the horse and buggy—no, the woman, I mean —he resolved to bury out of sight of man and brute, and sun and moon, and little peeping stars; for an instinct told him that the gore—stained soil could not be an acceptable spectacle to, anything on earth, upon the velvet air, or in the blue heaven above it ; and so he scratched up the mould and buried it out of sight, in a rift hard by, between two mighty rocks, that the earthquake had split asunder a million years before.

“And so he threw it in, and then tried to screen it from the sun with leaves and grass, great stones and logs of wood, after which he again sat down upon the rock to rest.

“Presently he arose to go, when, as he did so, a gleam of sunshine flashed back upon his eyes from a minute spicule of, he knew not what. He stooped; picked up the object, and found, to his utter astonishment, that he held in his hand a lump of gold, solid gold—an abraded, glittering lump of actual, shining gold.

“Tom Clark nearly fainted! The lump weighed not less than a pound. Its sides had been scratched by him as he dug away the earth at the foot of the cliff where his wife had landed, after a brief flight through—four hundred feet of empty air—a profitable journey for him—but not for her, nor the horse, nor buggy!

For a minute Clark stood still, utterly bewildered, and wiping the great round beads of sweat from off his brow. He wept at every pore. But it was for a minute only: in the next he was madly, wildly digging with the trowel he always carried with him, for Tom was Herb-Doctor in general for the region roundabout, and was great at the root and herb business, therefore went prepared to dig them wherever chance disclosed them.

“Five long hours did he labor like a Hercules, in the soft mould, in the crevices of the rocks— everywhere—and with mad energy, with frantic zeal. Five long hours did he ply that trowel with all the force that the hope of sudden wealth inspired, and then, exhausted, spent, he sank prostrate on the ground, his head resting on a mass of yellow gold—gold not in dust, or flecks, or scales, but in great and massy lumps and wedges, each one large enough for—a poor man’s making.

“That morning Thomas Clark’s worldly wealth, all told, could have been bought thrice over for any five of the pieces then beneath his head, and there were scores of them. His brain reeled with the tremendous excitement. He had struck the richest ‘Lead’ ever struck by mortal man on the surface of the planet, for he had already collected more than he could lift, and he was a very strong and powerful man. There was enough to fill a two—peck measure, packed and piled as close and high as it could be; and yet he had just begun. Ah, Heaven, it was too much!

“Alas, poor Tom! poor, doubly poor, with. all thy sudden, boundless wealth! Thou art even poorer than Valmondi, [Valmondi is an 1824 play by J. Thomas Rodwell] who, the legends say, gave his soul to the service of the foul fiend— for he, like thee, had riches inexhaustible; but, unlike Valmondi, and the higher Brethren of the Rosie Cross, thou hast not the priceless secret of Perpetual youth Thou wilt grow old, Tom Clark—grow old, and sick, and grey hairs and wrinkles will overtake thee. And see! yonder is an open grave, and it yearns for thee, Tom Clark, it yearns for thee! And there’s Blood upon thy hands, Tom Clark, red gouts of Blood—and gold cannot wash it off.

“Valmondi repented, and died a beggar, but thy heart is cased in golden armor, and the shafts of Mercy may not reach its case, and wake thee up to better deeds, and high and lofty daring for the world and for thy fellow—men. Gold! Ah, Tom, Tom, thou hadst better have been— a humble Rosicrucian—better than I, for weakness has been mine. It is better to labor hard with brain and tongue and hands, for mere food and raiment, than be loaded down with riches, that bear many a man earthward, and fill untimely graves! It is better to live on bread, and earn it, than to be a millionaire. Better to have heaped up wealth of Goodness, than many bars of Gold. Poor Tom! Rich you are in what self—seeking men call wealth; but poor, ah, how poor! in the better having, which whetteth the appetite for knowledge, and its fruitage, Wisdom, and which sendeth man, at night, to Happy Dream land, upon the viewless pinions of sweet and balmy Sleep! Every dollar above labor brings ten thousand evils in its train.

“Well, night was close at hand, and Tom buried his God, and went home. Home, did I say? Not so. He went to his bed, to sleep, and in that sleep he dreamed that it was raining double eagles, while he held his hat beneath the spout. But he was not home, for home is where the heart is, and we have seen the locality of Clark’s. “For days, weeks, months, he still worked at his ‘Lead,’ studiously keeping his own counsel, and managing the affair, from first to last, with the most consummate tact; so that no one even suspected that the richest man in California, and on the entire continent, was Mr. Thomas W. By degrees he conveyed to, and had vast sums coined at the mint, as agent for some mining companies. A few hogsheads he buried here and there, and springled some dozens of barrels elsewhere about the ground. This he continued to do until at last even his appetite for gold was doubly, triply glutted; and then he sprung the secret, sold his claim for three millions, cash in hand, and forthwith moved, and set up an establishment close under Telegraph Hill, in the best locality in all Santa Blarneeo.

“And now everybody and his wife bowed to Mr. Thomas W., and did homage to—his money. Curious, isn’t it, how long some gods will live? About three thousand years ago a man of Israel fashioned one out of borrowed jewelry, fashioned it in the form of a veal, after which he proclaimed it, and all the human calves fell down straightway, and a good many are still bent on worshipping at the self-same shrine. That calf has retained to this day ‘eleven—tenths‘ of earth’s most jealous adoration! So now did men reverence Clark’s money. Women smiled upon him, ambitious spinsters ogled, and hopeful maidens set their caps to enthrall him. He could carry any election, gave tone to the Money Market, reigned supreme and undisputed king on “Change,’ and people took him for a happy man; and so he was, as long as daylight lasted, and he was steadily employed ; but, somehow or other, his nights were devilishly unpleasant! He could not rest well, for in the silence of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon man, an unsheeted ghost passed before his face, bearing a most damnably correct similitude to a former female acquaintance of his, now, alas I deceased ; and not unfrequently, as he hurried along the streets, did he encounter persons who bore surprising and unmistakable resemblances to the ‘dear departed.’

“‘Black clouds come up, like sinful visions to distract the souls of solitary men.

“Was Tom Clark mistaken? Was it Fancy? Was it Fear? . . . One night he went to a theatre, but left it in a hurry, when the actor, who was playing Macbeth, looked straight into his private box and said:

“‘The times have been that, when the brains were out The man would die—and there an end;

But now they rise again, with twenty mortal murders On their crowns, to push us from our seats! [Act 3, Scene 4, Macbeth]

And the words pushed Clark out, of the house, deadly sick—fearfully pale; for the avenging furies, roused at last, were at that very moment lashing his guilty soul to madness and Shakspeare’s lines, like double—edged daggers, went plunging, cutting, leaping, flying through every vault and cavern of his spirit. He rushed from the place, reached his house, and now: ‘The, bowl, the bowl! Wine, give me wine, ruby wine.’ They gave it, and it failed! Stronger drink, much stronger, now became his refuge, and in stupefying his brain he stultified his conscience.

His torture was not to last forever, for by dint of debauchery his sensitive soul went to sleep, and the brute man took the ascendant. Conscience slept profoundly. His heart grew case- hardened, cold and callous as an ice-berg. He married a Voice, and a Figure, as heartless as himself; became a politician—which completely finished him; but still, several handsome donations to a fashionable church—just think of it!—had, the effect of procuring him the reputation of sanctity, which lie he, by dint of repetition, at last prevailed upon himself to believe. Thus we leave him for awhile, and return to the chamber in which was the little window whose upper sash was down.

From an online translation of the French original:

This Attanee Oannes had not been engendered by its great author, but it proceeded or emanated from him. This was its origin:

At a certain time, Brah Thalet, Brah Oannes, Brah Chi; by means of the power and the knowledge which constitute Science, fashioned, from the Materiality of Azerte which abounded everywhere in its spheres beside my degrees, a body resembling that of man. That is, to the similarity of Kabi, after his passivity had been partially separated by Dob.

This body he formed of the most radiant and most rare, duly purified materiality: it was beautiful and perfect beyond any other form of man on earth, for in a vision, while Brah Thalet formed this body conception, he saw Brah Aoual and Brah Elohim, and he gave your body that he formed the radiant beauty of Adoual and the majestic beauty of Elohim. In nine moons he formed this body; in their glorious and majestic similarity all this time no one saw the Great Trainer except for one of the greatest seers who was healing him.

When this body was perfect in the quaternary of its degrees, that is to say under its degrees of mental, psychic, nervous and physical being, the Great Formator rested surrounded by the care and under the protection of the four people who were closest to him in wisdom, knowledge and power. And in this repose, by his own will he directly produced an image of his nervous state of being; it was in perfect balance in the three degrees of being mental, psychic and physical and also perfect perhaps in the nervous being of this State as long as Doh was not dethroned.

In nine days he perfected this emanation and infused it into the body, more material than he had formed during the nine moons. Then the Great Trainer slept a restful sleep, and his emanation, thus clothed with the material body which he had formed of the most rare and radiant matter of duly purified Azerte, rests on the rest of assimilation in the aura of his Great Formator.

Then the Great Trainer rested for the second time surrounded by care and under the protection of the four and during this second rest, by his own will, he produced a direct emanation from his state of psychic being, which was in perfect balance four degrees of mental being psychic, nervous and physical. And this emanation he infused into his same formation that from his first rest, he had infused the nervous state. Then, again, he slept again and, in his aura, his emanation rested from the sleep of assimilation.

Then, for the third time, resting surrounded by the care and protection of the four, by his own volition, he produced a direct emanation from his mentality, which emanation was in perfect balance in all four degrees of mental, psychic, nervous and physical. Then, as before, he slept a restful sleep while his duly clothed emanation rested in his aura from the rest of assimilation. When the Great Formator had thus produced and clothed his three emanations, he said to the four: “The beings of my being whom I have clothed with a body which suits them are perfect in the just balance of all their degrees mental and psychic, and as perfect as they can be in the degrees of the nervous state over which the hostile dominates and prevails until the time when Doh is dethroned. At the nervous degree of my physical state, it was impossible for me to completely purify the radiant and radiant matter of Azerte when I formed its dazzling and majestic body: the power and strength of the adversary is opposed it. I therefore know that sooner or later this body will be subjected to the disintegration of its degree of physical being; it will probably occur long beyond the ordinary span of life of men born into the world in the manner of less developed beings, but in the end it will necessarily occur, since the molecular matter of which this body is constructed contains the germ of disintegration of the physical degree: Thus, repeatedly and at will, the immortal will clothe himself with mortality until the mortal is clothed with immortality. Nervous, psychic and mental states of your being, but states of Essence, of light of spirit, which are yours, by right of origin, you have not produced any emanation. The Grand Formator answered: “He who has the four states of being, that is to say, which touches in knowledge the most material state or the physical state, and the mental state can, by its own wisdom, knowledge and power, form, by itself, at will, the states of Essence, Light and Spirit. I even think that it has, under certain conditions, the power to pass beyond the seven states of materialisms and to enter beyond the veils into the etherisms; perhaps beyond the septenary veils of the etherisms themselves because it was received in ancient times that all things are possible for man: Then the Formator and the being of his being, dressed in a body of radiant beauty, and superior in majesty, came out of the square tower in which the Great Formator had begun and completed his work, and Thalet Oannes, Brah Oannes, Brah Chi resumed his function as leader of his people. But Attanee Oannes, who was subsequently called Oannes Rayal Kamel, remained in the palace of Bizato, the principal magus, for thirty-six moons, in alternate states of sleep and wakefulness at the right balancing of the degrees of mental and psychic being.

Having posted the introduction to this text, I held off on sharing the first chapter because other topics drew my attention from the Theons and their entourage.

This Attanee Oannes had not been engendered by its great author, but it proceeded or emanated from him. This was its origin:

At a certain time, Brah Thalet, Brah Oannes, Brah Chi;

By means of the power and the knowledge which constitute Science, fashioned, from the Materiality of Azerte which abounded everywhere in its spheres beside my degrees, a body resembling that of man. That is, to the similarity of Kabi, after his passivity had been partially separated by Dob.

This body he formed of the most radiant and most rare, duly purified materiality: it was beautiful and perfect beyond any other form of man on earth, for in a vision, while Brah Thalet formed this body conception, he saw Brah Aoual and Brah Elohim, and he gave your body that he formed the radiant beauty of Adoual and the majestic beauty of Elohim. In nine moons he formed this body; in their glorious and majestic similarity all this time no one saw the Great Trainer except for one of the greatest seers who was healing him.

When this body was perfect in the quaternary of its degrees, that is to say under its degrees of mental, psychic, nervous and physical being the Great Formator rested surrounded by the care and under the protection of the four people who were closest to him in wisdom, knowledge and power. And in this rcpos, by his own will. he directly produced an image of his state of being nervous; cllc1 was in perfect balance in the three degrees of being mental, psychic and physical and also perfect perhaps in the nervous being of this State as long as Doh was not dethroned.

In nine days he perfected this emanation and infused it into the body, more material than he had formed during the nine moons. Then the Great Trainer slept a restful sleep, and his emanation, thus clothed with the material body which he had formed of the most rare and radiant matter of duly purified Azerte rests on the rest of assimilation in the aura of his Great Formator.

Then the Great Trainer rested for the second time surrounded by care and under the protection of the four and during this second rest, by his own will, he produced a direct emanation from his state of psychic being, which was in perfect balance four degrees of mental being psychic, nervous and psychic. And this emanation he infused into his formation of mime that. From his first rest, he had infused the nervous state. Then, again, he slept again and, in his aura, his emanation rested from the sleep of assimilation.

Then, for the third time, resting surrounded by the care and protection of the four, by his own volition, he produced a direct emanation from his mentality, which emanation was in perfect balance in all four degrees of mental, psychic, nervous and physical. Then, as before, he slept a restful sleep while his duly clothed emanation rested in his aura from the rest of assimilation. When the Great Formateur had thus produced and clothed his three emanations, he said to the four: “The beings of my being whom I have clothed with a body which suits them are perfect in the just balance of all their degrees for mental and psychic, and as perfect as they can be in the degrees of the nervous state over which the hostile dominates and prevails until the time when Doh is dethroned. at the nervous degree of my physical state, it was impossible for me to completely purify the radiant and radiant matter of Azerte when I formed its dazzling and majestic body: the power and strength of the adversary is opposed it. I therefore know that sooner or later this body will be subjected to the disintegration of its degree of physical being; it will probably occur long beyond the ordinary span of life of men born into the world in the manner of less developed beings, but in the end it will necessarily occur, since the molecular matter of which this body is constructed contains the germ of disintegration. of the physical degree: Thus, repeatedly and at will, the immortal will clothe himself with mortality until the mortal is clothed with immortality. nervous, psychic and mental states of your being, but states of Essence, of light of spirit, which are yours, by right of origin, you have not produced any emanation. The Grand Formator answered: “He who has the four states of being, that is to say, which touches in knowledge the most material state or the physical state, and the mental state can, by its own wisdom, knowledge and power, form, by itself, at will, the states of Essence, Light and Spirit. I even think that it has, under certain conditions, the power to pass beyond the seven states of materialisms and to enter beyond the veils into the etherisms; perhaps beyond the septenary veils of the etherisms themselves because it was received in ancient times that all things are possible for man: Then, I Formator and the being of his being, dressed in a body of radiant beauty, and superior in majesty. came out of the square tower in which the Great Formator had begun and completed his work, and Thalet Oannes, Brah Oannes, Brah Chi resumed his function as leader of his people. But Attane Oannes, who was subsequently called Oannes Rayal Kamel, remained in the palace of Bizato, the principal magus, for thirty-six moons, in alternate states of sleep and wakefulness at the right balancing of the degrees of mental and psychic being, this mine Emanation will have the power to recover from. (Online translation tool.)

As a merchant seaman in New England, Randolph was registered for insurance as recorded August 15, 1845.  This novel and its companion Ravalette reflect the author’s experiences at sea.

PART II.

THE DOUBLE DREAM.

.——. ” and saw within the moonlight of his room——— An angel, writing in a book of gold. “LEIGH HUNT.” [These lines are from Abou Ben Adhem, a poem about a Sufi saint published in 1834 by English Romantic poet Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)]

AND so you like the text, do you? Very well, I will now see how much better you will be pleased with the sermon. Listen: “‘I cannot and will not stand this any longer. Here am I, yet a young man—in the very prime and heyday of life, and I do believe that I shall be a regular corpse in less than no time, if a change for the better don’t very soon take place in my family; that’s just as certain as “open and shut.” She, ah, she, is killing me by inches—the vampire! Would that I had been thirty-five million of miles the other side of nowhere the day I married her. Don’t I though, Betsey—Betsey Clark is killing me! No love, no kindness, not a soft look, never a gentle smile. Oh, don’t I wish somebody’s funeral was over; but not mine; for I feel quite capable of loving, of being happy yet, and of making somebody’s daughter happy likewise. People may well say that marriage is a lottery—a great lottery; for, if there’s one thing surer than another, then it is perfectly certain that I have drawn the very tallest kind of a blank; and hang me, if it wasn’t for the disgrace of the thing, if I wouldn’t run off and hitch myself for life to one of the Hottentots I have read about; for anything would be better than this misery, long strung out. Oh, don’t I wish I was a Turk! When a fellow’s a Turk he can have ever so many wives—and strangle all of ’em that don’t suit him or come to Taw[Wake snakes and come to Taw” was an Appalachian folk expression] as they ought to. Bully for the Turks! I wish I knew how to turn myself into one. If I did, I’d be the biggest kind of a Mohammedan afore mornin’!”

“Such was the substance of about the thousandth soliloquy on the same subject, to the same purport, delivered by Mr Thomas W. Clark, during the last seven years of his wedded life. The gentleman named delivered himself of the contented and philanthropic speech just recited, on the morning of a fine day, just after the usual morning meal—and quarrel with his wife, de jure—female attendant would better express the relation de facto. Mr. Clark was not yet. aware that a woman is ever just what her husband’s conduct makes her a thing that some husbands besides himself have yet to learn.

“Every day this couple’s food was seasoned with sundry and divers sorts of condiments other than those in the castor. There was a great deal of pickle from his side of the gay and festive board, in the shape of jealous, spiteful innuendoes; and from her side much delicate sauce piquante, in the form of’ sweet allusions to a former husband, whom she declared to have been ‘the very best husband that was ever sent to’—a premature grave by a vixen—she might have added, truthfully, but did not, finishing the sentence with, ‘to be loved by a tender, gentle wife’—like her! The lady had gotten bravely over all her amiable weaknesses long ago. Gentle! what are tigresses? Tender! what is a virago? So for the man. Now for his mate.

“Scarcely had her lord— Mr. Thomas W.,’ as she was wont to call him—gone out of the house, and slammed the door behind him, at the same time giving vent to the last bottleful of spleen distilled and concocted in his soul, than ‘Mrs. Thomas W.,’ or poor Betsey Clark, as I prefer to call her—for she was truly, really pitiable, for more reasons than one, but mainly because she had common sense and would not exercise it sufficiently to make the best of a bad bargain— threw herself upon the bed, where she cried a little, and raved a good deal, to the self-same tune as of yore. Getting tired of both these delightful occupations very soon, she varied them by striking an attitude before a portrait of the dear defunct—badly executed—the portrait, not the man—whose name she bore when she became Mistress Thomas W. This picture of a former husband Tom Clark had not had courage or sense enough to put his foot through, but did have bad taste sufficient to permit to hang up in the very room where he lived and ate, and where its beauties were duly and daily expatiated upon, and the virtues of its original lauded to the skies, of course to the intense delight of Mr. Clark.

“Madam had a tongue—a regular patent, venom-mounted, back-spring and double-actioned tongue, and, what is more, knew well how to use it when the fit was on, which, to do her justice, was not more than twenty-three hours and a half each day. Never did an opportunity offer that she did not avail herself of to amplify the merits of the deceased, especially in presence of such visitors as chance or business brought to their house, all to the especial delectation of her living spouse, Mr. Thomas W. Clark.

“Just look at her now! There she is, kneeling at her shrine, my lady gay, vehemently pouring forth the recital of her wrongs—forgetful of any one else’s, as usual with the genus grumbler— dropping tears and maledictions, now on her own folly, then on the devoted head of him she had promised to love, honor, and obey, Mr. Clark, fruit-grower, farmer, and horse-dealer. Exhausted at length, she winds up the dramatic scene by invoking all the blessings of all the saints in all the calendars on the soul of him whose counterfeit presentment hangs there upon the wall. “If this couple did not absolutely hate each other, they came so near it that a Philadelphia lawyer would have been puzzled to tell t’other from which, and yet nobody but themselves had the least idea of the real state of things—those under-currents of married life that only occasionally breach through and extensively display themselves in the presence of third parties. In the very nature of the case, how absurd it is for outsiders to presume to know the real status of affairs— to comprehend the actual facts which exist behind the curtains of every or any married couple in the land. Hymen is a fellow fond of wearing all sorts of masks and disguises; and it often happens that tons of salt exist where people suppose nothing but sugar and lollypops are to be found.

“Tom and his wife—the latter, especially—pretended to a vast deal of loving—kindness—oh, how great—toward each other—and they were wise—in the presence of other people you would have thought, had you seen them billing and cooing like a pair of ‘Turkle Doves’—to quote the ‘Bard” of Baldwinsville’  [a town in upstate New York]—that there never was so true, so perfect a union as their own; and would not have entertained the shadow of a doubt but that they had been expressly formed for each other from the foundations of the world, if not before. No sooner did they meet—before folks, even after the most trifling absence—than they mutually fell to kissing and ‘dearing,’ like two swains just mated, all of which made fools wonder, but wise people to grieve. Physical manifestations are not quite Love’s methods; and it is a safe rule that those who most ape love externally, have less of it within— and in private, so great a difference is there between Behind and Before, in these matters of the heart. Billing and cooling before folks acts as a nauseant upon sensible men and women, and in this case it did upon a few of the better class of the city of Santa Blarneeo, [San Francisco, as evident in later references to Telegraph Hill] within a few miles of which Clark lived.

“Betsey Clark gave a last, long, lingering look at the portrait, saying: the while: ‘Don’t I wish you were alive and back here again, my love, my darling, my precious duck? Lucky for him was It that such could not be for had it been possible, and actualized, he would have been finely plucked, not to say roasted, stewed, perpetually broiled, and in every way done brown. ‘If you were here, I should be happy, because you was a man; but this one (meaning Tom), bah!’ and the lady bounced upon her feet and kicked the cat by way of emphasis. She resumed: ‘I can’t stand it, and I won’t, there! that’s flat! I’m still young, and people of sense tell me I am handsome—at least, good-looking. I’m certain the glass does, and no doubt there are plenty who would gladly link their lot with mine if he was only dead!’ And she shuddered as the fearful thought had birth. ‘Dead! I wish he was; and true as I live, I’ve a great good mind to accomplish my wish!’ And again she shuddered. Poor woman, she was indeed tempted of the devil! As the horrible suggestion flashed across the sea of her soul, it illumined many a deep chasmal abyss, of whose existence, up to that moment she had been utterly unaware.

“The human soul is a fearful thing, especially when it stands bare before the Eternal Eye, with myriad snakeforms—its own abnormal creation, writhing round and near it. A fearful thing! And Betsey Clark trembled in the ghastly presence of Uncommitted Murder, whose glance of lurid flame set fire to her heart, and scorched and seared it with consuming heat. Its flashful light lasted but for a moment; but even that was a world too long, for it illumined all the dark caverns of her soul, and disclosed to the horrified gaze of an aerial being which that instant chanced to pass that way—an abyssmal deep of Crime-possibility, so dense, black and terrible, that it almost shrivelled the eyeballs and shrouded the vision of the peerless citizen of the upper courts of Glory.

“Suddenly the radiant Heaven-born ceased its flight through the azure, looked pityingly earth and heaven-ward, heaved a deep and soul-drawn sigh, and stayed awhile to gaze upon the Woman and the Man. Long it gazed, at first in sorrow, but presently a smile passed across its face, as if a new and good thought had struck it, and then it darted off into space, as if intent upon discovering a cure for the desperate state of things just witnessed. ‘Did it succeed?’ ‘Wait awhile and see.

“Human nature is a very curious and remarkable institution; so is woman nature, only a great deal more so—especially that of the California persuasion. Still it was not a little singular that Tom’s wife’s mind should have engendered (of Hate and Impatience) the precise thought that agitated his own at that very minute—that very identical crime-thought which had just rushed into being from the deeps of his own spirit—twin monsters, sibilating ‘Murder!’ in both their ears.

“There is as close a sympathy between opposites and antagonists, indeed far greater, than between similarities—as strong attractions between opposing souls as in those fashioned in the same mould. True, this affirmation antagonizes many notions among current philosophies and philosophers; but it is true, notwithstanding, and therefore so much the worse for the philosophers.

“The same fearful thought troubled two souls at the same time, and each determined to do a little private killing on their own individual and separate accounts. As yet, however, — only the intent existed. The plans were yet crude, vague, immature, and only the crime loomed up indistinctly, like a grim, black mountain through a wintry fog.

“The day grew older by twelve hours, but when the sunset came, ten years had fastened themselves upon the brows of both the Woman and the Man since last they had parted at rosy morn.

Bad thoughts are famous for making men grow old before the weight of years has borne them earthward. They wrinkle the brow and bring on decrepitude, senility and grey hairs faster than Time himself can possibly whirl bodies graveward.

The rolling hours and the circling years are less swift than evil thoughts of evil doing. Right doing, innocence and well-wishing make us young; bad thoughts rob us of youth, vivacity, and manhood! Let us turn to Mr. and Mrs. Thomas W.:

“‘Night was on the mountain, Darkness in the valley,

And only stars could guide them now In the doubtful rally. [From The Missionary’s Burial by James Montgomery, 1824.]

There was a star hung out in the sky, and she had already determined to watch their destinies; with what success, and in what manner, will be apparent before finishing my story, every word of which is true in one sense, if not precisely in another.

“The sun had set, and slowly the moon was uprising—blessed moon! God’s Left Eye, wherewith He at night overlooketh the thoughts and deeds of solitary men and solitary women—for only such are capable of crime—those only who are, and live alone—and many such there be, even at their own firesides, surrounded by their own families, own flesh, own blood—fathers, mothers, wives (as times go), husbands (as they are conventionally called). Many there be who exist in dreadful solitudes in the very midst of human crowds—Who live alone and pass through life, from the cradle to the grave, perfect strangers, perfect hermits, wholly unknowing, totally unknown, like interlopers on the globe, whose very right to be here all the world disputes. Friends, I have seen many such—have you? These lonely people, these exotics, these insulars in the busy haunts of men—the teeming hives of commerce—alone in earth’s well-paced market-towns—in the very saturnalia—of TRADE’S gala days; and they are to be pitied, because they all have human, yearning hearts, filled to the brim with great strangling sorrows; and they have high and holy aspirations, only that the world chokes them down—crushes out the pure, sweet life God gave them. These are the Unloved ones; yet ought not to be, for are they not somebody’s sons and daughters? Yes! Then they have rights ; and the first, greatest, highest right of all is the right of being loved—loved by the people of the land— our world-cousins, for what we do, are doing, or have done; and to be loved, for the sake of the dear soul within, by somebody else’s son or daughter.

“So think we of the Rosicrucian Order; so, one day, will think the world.”

At this point of the Rosicrucian’s narrative, Captain Jones, one of his auditory, interrupted him with:

“Why, I thought the Rosicrucian system had been dead, buried, and forgotten two centuries ago.”

He replied: “The false or pseudo—Rosicrucian system has ceased to be. Truth herself is deathless. I cannot now stop to explain what interests you concerning the revived system of Rosicrucianism. You will now please to allow me to proceed with my story,” said he, and then resumed, saying:

“I repeat that only those who live alone, unloved, unloving, are they who, becoming morbid, having all their kindly feelings driven back upon themselves, daily, hourly eating up their own hearts—brooding over their wrongs, their social and other misfortunes—at length engender crime, if not against their fellow-men, then against themselves.” Oh, for something to love, and be loved by, if but a little pet dog! The unloved ever are wrecked, the unloving ever wreck others. It is sweet to be loved by even a dumb brute! But, ah, how inexpressibly, how infinitely better to be endeared for yourself alone—for your integral wealth of soul—by a Man, a full, true Man; by a Woman, a full, gushing-hearted Woman; or, sweeter, dearer still, a child—some glorious hero of—a hobby-horse, some kitten-torturing Cora! Ah, what a chord to touch! I am very fond of children dear little Godlings of the Ages. Those who reciprocate affection truly, are too full of God to keep a devil’s lodging house. It is a dear thing to feel the great truth—one of Rosicrucia’s truths—that nothing is more certain than that somewhere, perhaps on earth, perhaps in some one of the innumerable aromal worlds—star-spangles on God’s diadem or from amidst the mournful monodies in material creation—some one loves us; and that there goeth up a prayer, sweet toned as seraph-harps, to Him for you, my weary brother, for you, my sister of the dark locks turning prematurely grey; for all of us whose paths through life have been thickly strewn with thorns and rocks, sharp boulders and deep and frightful pit-falls—great threatening, yawning gulfs:

“‘Oh, the little birds sing east, and the little birds sing west, Toll slowly. And I smile to think God’s greatness flows around our incompleteness, Round our restlessness His rest.’

“Somebody loves us for ourselves’ sake. Thank God for that!”

And the pale, silver shield of the moon hangs out in the radiant blue, and myriad gods look down, through starry eyes, upon this little world, as it floats, a tiny bubble, on Space’s vast ocean; and they speak through their eyes, and bid us all love the Supreme, by loving one another; and they say, ‘Love much! Such is the whole duty of man.’ The moon, God’s night— eye, takes note of all ye do, and is sometimes forced to withdraw behind cloud-veils, that ye may not behold her sweet features while she weeps at the sad spectacle of thy wrong doing! Luna, gentle Luna, dote not like to peer down into human souls, and there behold the slimy badness, which will ere long breed deeds of horror to make her lovely face more pale—things which disfigure the gardens of man’s spirit, and transform them into tangled brakes, where only weeds and unsightly things do grow. And Luna has a recording angel sitting on the shield, whose duty is to flash all intelligence up to His deific brain, in whose service she hath ever been. He is just, inexorably just, ever rewarding as man sinneth or obeys. And so it is poor policy to sin by night. It is equally so to sin by day; for then the Sun—God’s Right Eye—fails not to behold you, for he is always shining, and his rays pierce the clouds and light up the world, even though thick fogs and dense vapors conceal his radiant countenance from some. He sees man, though man beholds him not; and he photographs all human thoughts and deeds upon the very substance of the soul, and that, too, so well and deeply, that nothing will destroy the picture; no sophistical ‘All Right’ lavements can wash it away, no philosophic bath destroy it. They are indelible, these sun—pictures on the spirit, and they are, some of them, very unsightly things to hang in the grand Memory—Galleries of the imperishable human soul; for, in the coning epochs of existence, as—man moves’ down the corridors of Time, these pictures will still hang upon the walls, and if evil, will peer down sadly and reproachfully, and fright many a joy away, when man would fain be rid, but cannot, of pain—provoking recollections, when his body shall be stranded on the shores of the grave, and his spirit is being wafted over strange and mystic seas on the farther brink of Time!

“Night had come down, and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas W. retired to bed, each with thoughts of murder rankling in their hearts. Not a word was spoken, but they lay with throbbing pulses, gazing out upon the night, through a little window at the foot of the bed, whose upper sash was down, gazing out upon the starry lamps that skirt the highways of the sky, beacons of safety placed there to recall and guide all stray and wandering souls back on their way to Heaven and they silently looked at the stars as they twinkled and shimmered in the azure.

“The stars shone; and strange, horrible, ghastly thoughts agitated the woman and the man. ‘Tom might get sick, and he might die! Isn’t it possible to feed him with a little arsenic, or some other sort of poison, and not get caught at it?

I think it is. He, once dead, I shall be. free—free as the air, and happy as the birds! Happy! Think of it!

“Is it not possible to push Betsey over the cliff, accidentally, of course, and thus rid myself of her and misery together, and forever!’ Forever! Picture it! And thus they lay as the night wore on, two precious immortal souls, with rank Murder for a bed—fellow.

“At the end of an hour’s cogitation, both had reached the desperate resolution to carry their wishes into execution, and attempt the fearful crime.

“‘Come down in thy profoundest gloom— Without one radiant firefly’s light, Beneath thine ebon arch entomb Earth from the gaze of Heaven, O Night. A deed of darkness must be done, Put out the moon, roll back the sun.’ [From The Missionary’s Burial by James Montgomery, 1824]

“Betsey was to ‘season’ Tom’s coffee; he was very fond of coffee. Tom was to treat Betsey to a ride in a one-horse shay, and topple the shay, horse, and ‘Mrs. Thomas W.—all except his mother’s only son—over a most convenient and inviting little precipice, a trifle over four hundred feet deep, with boulders at the bottom rather thicker than autumn leaves in Vallambrossa, [a Benedictine monastery near Florence to which Milton refers in Paradise Lost] and a good deal harder. All this was to be the result of ‘accident,’ and ‘inscrutible Providence,’ as a matter of course. Afterwards he was to buy a’ slashing suit’ of mourning, bury what was left of her in grand style, erect a fine headstone of marble, announcing that—

“‘The Lord gave, and the Lord took away, Blessed be the name of the Lord an inscription many a spouse would like to read in their own cases!”

The proposed locality of the fall of woman ‘luckily’ lay right on the road between their house and Santa Blarneeo. Each thought, ‘I may not be able to achieve the exploit upon which I am bent, but one thing is certain, which is that it shall not fail for want of trying. Once fairly accomplished, freedom comes, and then for a high old time!’ So thought the woman; so thought the man. “Night has various and strange influences, which are altogether unknown to the day. The Magi, on the plains of Chaldea, the astrologers of early Egypt, and the whole ancient world duly acknowledged the power of the astral bodies. The whole interest of Bulwer’s ‘Zanoni’ hinges on the soul—expanding potentiality of a star upon Clarence Glyndon, one of the heroes of that Rosicrucian story. Indeed, the whole august fraternity, from the neophyte of last week to Ross and Henri More, down to Appolonius of Tyanoe, and away through the Ages to Thothmes, and down beyond all the Egyptian dynasties to Zytos, and still away into the very heart of the Pre—Adamite Eras, we know, held strange doctrines concerning stars; and if the historian of the Order, the great Mirandolo, be not mistaken, our Brotherhood possesses the key that reveals the nature of the starry influences, and how they may be gained. Of my own knowledge—for I am but in the fifth degree, therefore do not know all these mysteries—there are Destinies in the stars. Well, on this particular night, the star known as Hesper, she of the pale mild eye, was looking straight into the room where lay the precious pair, and it shone through the little window at the foot of the bed. The night was sultry—a little window—summer was in the ascendant—and the upper sash was down. Remember this, the upper sash was down.

“And now a strange thing occurred, a very strange and mysterious thing. Just as Tom Clark and his wife had been magnetized into a sort of restless sleep from gazing at the star—an uneasy, disturbed, nervous, but dreamless sleep—as if a heavy, thick and murky cloud just floated off a stagnant’ marsh, there descended upon—the house a pestilent, slimy mist, and it gathered over and about the roof; and it entered, rolling heavily, into the chamber, coming through that little window at the foot of the bed.

“It was a thick, dense, iron-greyish mist, approaching blackness, only that there was a sort of turgid redness, not a positive color, but as if it had floated over the depths of hell, and caught a portion of its infernal luminosity. And it was thick and dank, and dense and very heavy; and it swept and rolled, and poured into the room in thick, voluminous masses—into the very room, and about the couch where tossed in uneasy slumber the woman and the man. And it filled the apartment, and hung like a pall about their couch; and its fetor oppressed their senses; and it made their breath come thick, and difficult, and wheezing from their lungs. It was dreadful! And their breath mingled with the strange vapor, apparently endowing it with a kind of horrid life, a sort of semi-sentience; and gave it a very peculiar and fearful movement—orderly, systematic, gyratory, pulsing movement— the quick, sharp breath of the woman, the deep and heavy breath of the man. And it had come through the window at the foot of the bed, for the upper sash was down.

“Slowly, and with regular, spiracular, wavy motion, with gentle undulations, like the measured roll of the calm Pacific Sea, the gentle sea on which I am sailing toward the Pyramids and my Cora—six years old, and so pretty! Pyramids ten thousand years old, and so grand! Like the waves of that sea did the cloud begin to move gyrally around the chamber, hanging to the curtains, clinging to the walls, but as if dreading the moonlight, carefully avoiding the window through which it had come, the little window at the foot of the bed—whose upper sash was down.

“Soon, very soon, the cloud commenced to change the axis of its movement, and to condense into a large globe of iron—hued nebule; and it began a contrary revolution; and it floated thus, and swam like a dreadful destiny over the unconscious sleepers on the bed, after which it moved to the western side of the room, and became nearly stationary in an angle of the wall, where for a while it stood or floated, silent, appalling, almost motionless, changeless, still.

“At the end of about six minutes it moved again, and in a very short time assumed the gross but unmistakable outline of a gigantic human form—an outline horrible, black as night—a frowning human form—cut not sharply from the vapor, but still distinctly human in its shapeness—but very imperfect, except the head, which was too frightfully complete to leave even a lingering doubt but that some black and hideous devilry was at work in that little chamber. And the head was infamous, horrible, gorgonic; and its glare was terrible, infernal, blasting, ghastly— perfectly withering in its expression, proportions and aspect.

“The THING, this pestilent thing was bearded with the semblance of a tangled mass of coarse, grey iron wire. Its hair was as a serried coil of thin, long, venom-laden, poison distilling snakes. The nose, mouth, chin and brows were ghastly, and its sunken cheeks were those of Famine intensified. The face was flat and broad, its lips the lips of incarnate hate and lust combined. Its color was the greenish blue of corpses on a summer battle-field, suffused with the angry redness of a demon’s spite, while its eyes—great God!—its eye—for there was but one, and that one in the very centre of its forehead, between the nose and brow—was bloodshot and purple, gleaming with infernal light, and it glamored down with more than fiendish malignance upon the woman and the man.

“Nothing about this Thing was clearly cut or defined, except the head—its hideous, horrible head. Otherwise it was incomplete—a sort of spectral Formlessness. It was unfinished, as was the awful crime—thought that had brought it into being. It was on one side apparently a male, on the other it looked like a female; but, taken as a whole, it was neither man nor woman, it was neither brute nor human, but it was a monster and a ghoul—born on earth of human parents. There are many such things stalking our streets, and invisibly presiding over festal scenes, in dark cellars, by the lamp, in the cabinet and camp; and many such are daily peering down upon the white paper on the desks where sit grave and solemn Ministers of State, who, for Ambition’s sake and greed of gold, play with an Empire’s destiny as children do with toys, and who, with the stroke of a pen, consign vast armies to bloody graves—brave men, glorious hosts, kept back while victory is possible—kept back till the foeman has dug their graves just in front of his own stone walls and impenetrable ramparts—and then sent forward to glut the ground with human blood. Do you hear me, Ministers of State? I mean you! you who practically regard men’s lives as boys regard the minnows of a brook. I mean you who sit in high places, and do murder by the wholesale—you who treat the men as half foes, half friends, tenderly; men whose hands are griped with the iron grip of death around the Nation’s throat—the Nation’s throat—do you hear?—and crushing out the life that God and our fathers gave it. Remember Milliken’s Bend, Port Hudson, Fort Wagner, and the Black Heroes of the war—Noble men— Black, too, but the bravest of the brave—yet treated not as heroes ought to be. Forget not Fredericksburg! And bear in mind that this gorgon of your own creation will not quit you, day or night—not even on your dying day, when it will hiss into your ears, ‘Father, behold, embrace me?’—,and its slime will fall upon and choke you, as you have choked our country. And the sheeted ghosts of six hundred thousand heroes, slaughtered by a whim, will mournfully upbraid, and—perhaps— forgive you. Will the weeping widows and the countless orphans—pale, blue—cast women, pale with grief, blue with want; orphans, poor little shrivelled, halfstarved orphans—will they forgive you? will your own conscience? will the Eternal God of Heaven? Why did you sacrifice these six hundred thousand men? Why did you not put your guns and swords in the hands of six hundred thousand men—men who had God’s best gifts to fight for and maintain—Liberty and their wives? Black men, too brawny, brave, strong—hearted, Freedom—nerved, God—inspired black men. No black man yet ever sold his country! Why don’t you first remove their disabilities here in the North? Why don’t you bid them rise and be men? Why grudge freemen the pay of other free men; the bounty, the pension, of other heroes of the same rank? Do this, let the Negro understand that you concede his manhood, and appreciate his prowess; let him once know that you are grateful for all he does for the country, and proclaim it to the world, and Black men will flock to your standard, not only from your own soil, but from every spot on earth where civilized black men exist.

“See, yonder is a plain, miles in extent. In its centre there stands an obelisk. Go, Ministers of State, and plant on its top a banner, upon which shall be emblazoned this magic sentence: ‘Freedom—Personal, Political, and Social, to the Black man—and protection of his Rights forever, and there will be more magnetic power in it than in ten thousand Ministers, with their little whims; ten thousand ‘Fancy Generals,’ with their ‘pretty little games,’ and such would be History’s record when she handed you down the ages. If you would live in the sacred page, and have your names shine brightly, act, act at once, cut the cords that now bind the Black man. Say to him: ‘Come as a man, not as a chattel! Come with me to Enfranchisement and Victory! Let us save the Nation!’ and the swiftwinged winds will bear the sound from pole to pole, from sea to sea, and from continent, island, and floating barks, from hills, valleys, and mountains, from hut, hovel, and dismal swamps, will come a vast and fearful host, in numbers like unto the leaves of the forest; and they will gather in that plain around that obelisk, rallying around that banner, and before their victorious march Rebellion will go down as brick walls before the storm of iron ; and if France, or England, or Austria, or all, combine against them—they, too, will go out of the battle, nevermore to enter it again.

“This is possible destiny! Think of it, O Ministers of State!”

And so the fearful spectre in Tom Clark’s room had its origin then and there—had been created by the morning’s wicked thought—a creature fashioned by their human wills, and drawing its vitality from their life and pulses—drawing its very soul from out those two beating human hearts. Tell me not that I am painting a picture, limning the creature of a distorted fancy. I know better, you know better, we all know that just such hideous creatures, just such monstrosities, move, viewless, daily, up and down the crowded streets of Santa Blarneeo, up and down the streets of the Empire city and Puritanic Boston; but there are crowds of them in Pennsylvania Avenue, and they wear phantom epaulettes upon their spectral shoulders! You and I know that just such and other

‘Monstrous, horrid things that creep from out a slimy sea,’

exist all over the land—but principally in high places begotten of Treason. and lust of Gold.

“Soon the lips began to move; it spoke: ‘Father! mother! I am yet weak; be quick; make me strong! feed me; I am hungry; give me blood—hot streams—great gouts of blood! It is well. Kill, poison, die; it is well! Ha! ha! It is well; ho! ho!’ and then the Thing began to dissolve into a filmy mist, until at last only the weight of its presence was felt, for it floated invisibly but heavily through the room, and, except the gleam—the fiery gleam of its solitary eye—nothing else of it was discernible.

“Ten minutes elapsed after it had found voice, and faded away, when suddenly a fleecy cloud that had for some time past obscured the sky in the direction of Hesper, shutting out her silvery smiles, broke away, and permitted her beams and those of the moon to once more enter the chamber and flood it with a sheeted silver glory—the room where still lingered the hateful Thing, and where still slept the woman and the man.

“Simultaneously with this auspicious event there came sighing over the landscape, the musical notes of such a song as only seraphs sing—came over the wastes like the mystical bells that I have heard at sunset often while sailing on the Nile—mystical bells which thousands have heard and marveled at—soft bells, silvery bells, church bells—bells, however, not rung by human hands. I have often heard them chiming over Egypt’s yellow arid sands, and I believe they are rung by angel hands on the other side of Time. And such a sound, only sweeter, came floating o’er the lea, and through the still air into the little chamber. Was it a call to the angels to join in prayer—midnight prayer, for the sinful souls of men? But it came. Low it was, and clear; pure it was, and full of saintly pity, like unto the dying cadence of the prayer that was prayed by the Sufferer on the stony heights of Calvary; that same Calvary where I have stood within a year, midst devout lovers of their Lord, and the jeering scoffs of Mussulmans! And the music came— so sweetly, as if  ‘twould melt the stony heart of Crime itself. And it proclaimed itself the overture of another act of the eventful drama then and there performing. And see I look there! the curtain rises. Woman, Man, behold! Alas! they slumber insensibly on. Gaze steadily at that upper sash—above it—for it is down; see, the clear space is again obscured by a cloud; but this time it is one of silver, lined with burnished gold, and flecked and edged with amethyst and purple. Look again! What is that at the window? It is a visible music—a glorious sheet of silvery vapor, bright, clear, and glittering as an angel’s conscience! It is a broad and glowing mantle of woven gossamer, suffused with rose-blushes, and sprinkled with star-beams; and it flows through the space, and streams into the chamber, bathing all things in holy tremulous light, soft, sweet, balmy, and pure as the tears of virgin innocence weeping for the early dead! That light! It was just such a light as beamed from your eyes, Woman—beamed from out your soul, when after your agony, your eye first fell upon the angel you had borne—the man-child whom God gave to your heart a little while ago; just such a light as flashed fitfully from your soul, and fell upon the cradle, O father of the strong and hopeful heart, wherein the little stranger lay; just such light as beamed from your eyes, in pride, and hope, and strange, deep prophecies, as you—bent over her languishing form, heartfully pressing her first-born to her dear woman’s bosom, when you looked so tenderly, kindly, lovingly down through her eyes into her spirit—the true heart beating for you and it, beneath folded—contentedly folded, arms— contented, too, through all the deep anguish, such, O man, as only a woman and a mother can undergo. That light! It was like that which fell upon the babe she had given you, and the great Man-wanting world—given first for its coming uses, and then to Him who—doeth all things very well—well, even when He taketh the best part of our souls away, and transplants the slips in His eternal and, infinite gardens, across the deep dark gulfs that hide the dead; just such a light as gleamed from her eyes and thine own, when your hearts felt calm and trustful once more, after the great, deep grief billows had rolled over them—grief for the loss of one who stayed but a little while on earth—all too coarse and rough for her—some little, cooing Winnie—like mine—whose soul nestles afar off, on His breast, in the blue sky, and whose body they laid in the cold grave, there in Utica, after they—he—had let her starve, perish sadly for want of proper food and medicine, while I was on the deep—winsome Winnie [Winnie, born around 1857, was a lifelong invalid who died of neglect and starvation while Randolph was away in Europe; he blamed Gerrit Smith]child of my soul, gone, lost, but not forever!—just such a light played in that little room as streams from angel eyes when God takes back at the hands of Azrael and Sandalphon, the beautiful angels of Death and of Prayer, the things you had learned to love too well—to forgetfulness of God and all true human duty. But they will give back what they took: they will give back all, more in the clear sunshine of a brighter and a purer day, than these earthly ones of ours!

“And the light streamed through and into the chamber where lay the woman and the man; and it radiated around, and bathed every object in a crystalline luminescence; and it carried a sadness with it—just such a sadness as we feel when parting from those who love us very well; as I felt on the day I parted from —— , Brother of my soul! when we parted at the proud ship’s side— the ocean courser, destined to bear me over the steaming seas to Egypt’s hoary shrines. It bore a sadness with it like unto that which welled up from my soul, tapping the fountains of friendship— and tears upon its way, in the memorable hour wherein I left the Golden Gate, and began my perilous journey to the distant Orient—across the bounding seas. What an hour!— that wherein our bodies move away, but leave our sorrowing souls behind!

“Well; a holy light, sadness-bearing light, like this now rested on the bodies of the sleeping pair. At first, this silvery radiance filled the room, and then the fleecy vapor began to condense slowly. Presently it formed into a rich and opalescent cloud-column, which speedily changed into a large globe, winged, radiant and beautiful. Gradually there appeared in the centre of this globe a luminous spot, momentarily intensifying its brilliance, until it became like unto a tiny sun, or as the scintilla of a rare diamond when all the lamps are brightly shining. Slowly, steadily, the change went on in this magic crystal globe, until there appeared, within it the diminutive figure of a female, whose outlines became more clear as time passed—on, until, at the end of a few minutes, the figure was perfect, and stood fully revealed and. complete—about eighteen inches high, and lovely—ah, how lovely!—that figure; it was more than woman is— was all she may become—petite, but absolutely perfect in form, feature and expression; and there was a love-glow radiating from her presence sufficiently melting to subdue the heart of Sin itself, though robed in Nova Zembla’s icy shroud. Her eyes!—ah, her eyes!—they were softer than the down upon a ring-dove’s breast!—not electric, not magnetic—such are human eyes; and she was not of this earth—they were something more, and higher—they were tearful, anxious, solicitous, hopeful, tender, beaming with that snowy love which blessed immortals feel. Her hair was loose, and hung in flowing waves adown her pearly neck and shoulders. Such a neck and shoulders!—polished alabaster, dashed with orange blossoms, is a very poor comparison; it would be better to say that they resembled petrified light, tinted with the morning blush of roses! Around her brow was a coronet of burnished, rainbow hues; or rather the resplendent tints of polarized light. In its centre was the insignia of the Supreme Temple of the Rosie Cross—a circle inclosing a triangle—a censer on one side, an anchor fouled on the other, the centre-piece being a winged globe, surmounted by the sacred trine, and based by the watchword of the Order, ‘TRY,’ the whole being arched with the blazon, ‘ROSICRUCIA.’ To attempt a minute description of this peerless fay, on my part, would be madness:—her chin, her mouth, her bust, her lips! No! I am not so vain as to make the essay. I may be equal to such a task a century or two from this, but am not equal to it now.

“There, then, and thus stood the crowned beauty of the Night, gazing down with looks of pity upon the restless occupants of that humble couch; for during all these transactions they had been asleep. She stood there, the realization and embodiment of Light; and there, directly facing her, glowered, and floated the eye of that hateful, scowling, frowning Thing—scowling with malignant joy upon the woman and the man. Thus stood the Shadow: thus stood the Light. But soon there came a change o’er the spirit of the scene; for now an occurrence took place of a character quite as remarkable as either of those already recounted; for in a very short time after the two Mysteries had assumed their relative positions, there came through the window the same little window at the foot of the bed—the tall and stately figure of a man—a tall and regal figure, but it was light and airy—buoyant as a summer cloud pillowed oi the air—the figure of a man, but not solid, for it was translucent as the pearly dew, radiant as the noontide sun, majestic as a lofty mountain when it wears a snowy crown !—the royal form of a man,, but evidently not a ghost, or wraith, or a man of these days, or of this earth, or of the ages now elapsing. He was something more than man; he was supramortal; a bright and glorious citizen of a starry land of glory, whose gates. I beheld, once upon— a time, where Lara bade me wait; he was, of a lineage we Rosicrucians wot of and. only we!—a dweller in a wondrous city; afar off, real, actual— whose gates are as, the finest pearl—so bright and beautiful are they.. . . The stately figure advanced midway of the room, until— het occupied the centre of a triangle formed by the shadowy Thing, the — female figure, and the bed.; and then he waved his hand, in which was

—a staff or truncheons—winged—at top and bottom; and he spake saying:

“‘I, Otanethi, the Genius of the Temple, Lord of the Hour, and servant of the Dome, am sent hither to, thee, O Hesperina, Preserver of the falling; and, to thee, dark Shadow, ands to these poor blind gropers in the Night and gloom— I am sent to proclaim that mansever reacheth. Ruin or Redemption—through himself alone—strengthened—by Love of Himself—sought— reacheth either Pole of—Possibility as he, fairly warned, and therefore fully armed, may elect! Poor weak man!—a giant, knowing not his own tremendous power! Master both of Circumstance and the World—yet the veriest slave to either!—weak, but only through ignorance of himself!—forever and forever failing in life’s great race through slenderness of Purpose!—through feebleness of Will!—Virtue is not virtue which comes not of Principle within—that comes not of will and aspiration. That abstinence from wrong is not virtue which results from external pressure—fear of what the speech of people may effect! It is false!—that virtue which requires bolstering or propping up, and falls when left to try its strength alone! Vice is not vice, but weakness, that springs not from within—which is the effect of applied force. Real vice is that which leaves sad marks upon the soul’s escutcheon, which the waters of an eternity may not lave away or wash out; and it comes of settled purpose—from within, and is the thing of Will. The virtue that has never known temptation—and withstood it, counts but little in the great Ledger of the Yet to Be! True virtue is good resolve, better thinking, and action best of all! That man is but half completed whom the world has wholly made. — They are never truly made who fail to make themselves! Mankind are not of the kingdom of the Shadow, nor of the glorious realm of Light, but are born, move along, and find their highest development in the path which is bounded on either side by those two eternal Diversities—the Light upon this side—the Shadow upon that:

“‘The road to man and womanhood lies in the mean:

Discontent on either aide—happiness between.’

“‘Life is a triangle, and it may be composed of Sorrow, Crime, Misery; or Aspiration, Wisdom, Happiness. These, o peerless Hesperina, are the lessons I am sent to teach. Thou art here to save two souls, not from loss, assailing or assoilings from without, but from the things engendered of. morbid thought—monstrous things bred in the cellar’s of the soul—the cesspools of the spirit—crime-caverns where moral newts and toads, unsightly things and hungry, are ever devouring the flowers that spring up in the heartgardens of man—pretty flowers, wild—but which double and enhance in beauty and aroma from cultivation and care. We are present—I to waken the wills of yonder pair; thou to arouse a healthy purpose and a normal action; and the Shadow is here to drag them to Perdition. Man cannot reach Heaven save by fearlessly breasting the waves of Hell! Listen! Thou mayest not act directly upon the woman or the man, but are at liberty to effect thy purpose through the instrumentality of DREAM! And thou, addressing the Thing, ‘thou grim Shadow—Angel of Crime—monstrous offspring of man’s begetting—thou who. Art permitted to exist, art also allowed to flourish and batten on human hearts. I may not prevent thee—dare not openly frustrate thee—for thus it is decreed. Thou—must do thy work. Go; thou art free and unfettered. Do thy worst; but I forbid thee to appear as thou really art— before their waking senses, lest thy horrible presence should strike them dumb and blind, or hurl Will and Reason from their thrones. Begone! To thy labor, foul Thing, and do thy work also through the powerful instrumentality of DREAM!’

“Thus spoke the genius of the Order and the Hour; and then, turning him toward the couch, he said, yearningly, with tearful mien and outstretched arms: ‘Mortals, hear me in thy slumber—let thy souls, but not thy senses, hear and understand. Behold, I touch thee with this magic wand of Rosicrucia, and with it wake thy sleeping wills—thus do I endow thee with the elements, Attention, Aspiration, Persistence— the seeds of Power—of resistless Might, which, will—if such be thy choice, enable thee to. realize a moral fortress, capable of defying the combined assaults of all the enginery Circumstance can bring to bear against thee. The citadel is Will. Intrenched within it, thou art safe. But beware of turning, thy assaulting power against thyselves. Will, normal, ever produceth Good: Abnormal, it hurls thee to the Bad! Remember! Wake. not to the external life; but—in thy slumber seize on the word I whisper in thine ears; it is a magic word—a mighty talisman, more potent than the seal of Solomon—more powerful than the Chaldean’s wand—but it is potential for ill as for Good.

See to it, therefore, that it is wisely used. The word is “‘TRY!” As thou shalt avail thyselves of its power, so be it unto thee. I now leave thee to thy fate, and the fortunes, that may befall thee. Two dreams each shalt thou have this night; one of them shall be overruled by thy good. The other by thy evil genius. God help thee! Farewell!’ and in another instant, the tall and stately figure passed through the moonlight out upon the deep bosom of the Night; and he floated, accompanied by the same soft music was heard before, away off into the blue empyrean; and he passed through the window—the little, window at the foot of the bed, whose upper sash was down.

The book series having been completed, History of the Adepts is now delving into subjects about which I have almost no expertise: Paschal Beverly Randolph and Max Theon. For a dozen years and 300 posts HOTA has focused largely on the handful of individuals named by Elbert Benjamine as predecessors of the Brotherhood of Light Lessons: Sarah Stanley Grimke, Thomas H. Burgoyne, Emma Hardinge Britten, and their associates in the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor in the US and UK. Randolph was studied by the HBofL but had died by the time it was established; Theon survived until 1927 but the last forty years of his life were spent in Algeria and his writings were in French so he vanished from the Anglo-American literary scene soon after somehow instigating (with others) formation of the HBofL. Both have abundant material newly available online so a lot of adventures and discoveries lie ahead in hitherto unexplored territories.

The final update re “shipwrecked orphans” explains the double entendre: first everything these people wrote a hundred years ago was lost due to publishing issues, then everything I wrote about them in the twenty-first century met the same fate. The Sarah Stanley Grimke Collected Works includes a prologue about Ghost Land, A Commentary on the Text of the Bhagavad-Gita includes a prologue about Hurrychund Chintamon’s dealings with the Theosophical Society, and The Quest of the Spirit has a prologue about the author’s past relationship with Grimke and an appendix about the “Hodgson Report.” I became a publisher only to rescue these essays from oblivion, as well as the authors about whom they were written. Patrick D. Bowen has shared his chapter for the Oxford University Press collection Imagining the East, which spotlights the Thomas Moore Johnson Correspondence and his own research on the discussions of yoga therein.

TOM CLARK AND HIS WIFE,

THEIR DOUBLE DREAMS, AND THE CURIOUS THINGS THAT BEFELL THEM THEREIN;

BEING

THE ROSICRUCIAN’S STORY. PART I.

[Randolph’s original footnotes are cited as such, and my annotations are inserted in brackets, italicized, and bolded. The remaining six sections will be posted monthly. The complete book is available online for free or in print at low cost. All I add are some illustrations and annotations.]

Dear Charles T   s: [Charles Trinius of Strahlsund, Prussia was Grand Guard of the San Francisco Supreme Grand Lodge founded by Randolph in 1861.]

Since we parted at the “Golden Gate,” the weight of a world has rested on your shoulders, and I have suffered much, in my journeyings up and down the world, as wearily I wandered over Zahara’s burning sands and among the shrines and monuments of Egypt, Syria, and Araby the blessed; separated in body, but united in soul, we have each sought knowledge, and, I trust, gained wisdom. Our book is just begun. One portion of that work consists ln the endeavor to unmask villainy, and vindicate the sanctity and perpetuity of marriage. In this little work I have tried to do this, and believe that if the magic talisman herein recommended as a sovereign balm for the strifes and ills of wedlock, be faithfully used, that the great married world will adopt your motto and my own, and become convinced that in spite of much contrary seeming “WE MAY BE HAPPY YET!”

To you, and to such this book is

Affectionately dedicated by your friend and the world’s,

P. B. RANDOLPH.

THE MAN.

HE used to pace rapidly up and down the deck for a minute or two, and then, suddenly striking his forehead, as if a new thought were just pangfully coming into being at the major foci of his soul, he would throw himself prone upon one of the after seats of the old “Uncle Sam,” the steamer in which we were going from San Francisco to Panama, [The steamship Uncle Sam was built in 1852 in New York and carried San Francisco passengers to Mexico and Central America throughout the 1850s and 60s under various ownerships] and there he would lie, apparently musing, and evidently enjoying some sort of interior life, but whether that life was one of reverie, dream, or disembodiedness, was a mystery to us all, and would have remained so, but that on being asked, he very complaisantly satisfied our doubts, by informing us that on such occasion he, in spirit, visited a place not laid down in ordinary charts, and the name of which was the realm of “Wotchergifterno,” which means in English, “Violinist’s Meadow” (very like “Fiddler’s Green”). When not pacing the deck, or reclining, or gazing at the glorious sunsets on the sea, or the still more gorgeous sun—risings on the mountains, he was in the habit of— catching flies; which flies he would forthwith proceed to dissect and examine by means of a microscope constructed of a drop of water in a bent broom wisp. Gradually the man became quite a favorite with both passengers and officers of the ship, and not a day passed but a crowd of ladies and gentlemen would gather around him to listen to the stories he would not merely recite, but compose as he went along, each one containing a moral of more than ordinary significance. It was apparent from the first that the man was some sort of a mystic, a dreamer, or some such out-of-the-ordinary style of person, because everything he said or did bore an unmistakable ghostly impress. He was sorrowful withal, at times, and yet no one on the ship had a greater or more humorous flow of spirits. In the midst, however, of his brightest sallies, he would suddenly stop short, as if at that moment his listening soul had caught the jubilant cry of angels when God had just pardoned some sinful, storm-tossed human soul.

One day, during the progress of a long and interesting conversation on the nature of that mysterious thing called the human soul, and in which our fellow passenger had, as usual, taken a leading part, with the endeavor to elicit, as well as impart, information, he suddenly changed color, turned almost deathly pale, and for full five minutes, perhaps more, looked straight into the sky, as if gazing upon the awful and ineffable mysteries of that weird Phantom-land which intuition demonstrates, but cold reason utterly rejects or challenges for; tangible proof. Long, and steadily gazed the man; and then he shuddered—shuddered as if he had just received some fearful, solution of the problem near his heart. And I shuddered also—in pure sympathy with what I did not fairly understand. At length he spoke; but with bated breath, and in tones so low, so deep, so solemn, that it seemed as though a dead, and. not a living man, gave, utterance to the sounds: “Lara! Lara! Ah, Lovely I would that I had gone then—that I were with thee now!” and he relapsed into silence.

Surprised, both at his abruptness, change; of manner and theme—for ten minutes before, and despite the solemnity of the conversational topic, he had been at a fever—heat of fun and hilarity—I asked him what he meant. Accustomed, as we had been, to hear him break in upon the most grave and dolorous talk with a droll observation which instantly provoked the most unrestrainable, hilarious mirth; used, as we had been to hear him perpetrate a joke, and set us all in roar in the very midst of some heart—moving tale of woe, whereat our eyes had moistened, and our pulses throbbed tumultuously, yet I was not, even by all this, prepared for the singular characteristic now presented. In reply to my question, he first wiped away an involuntary tear, as if ashamed of his weakness; then raised his head, and exclaimed: “Lara! Lara! The Beautiful One!”

“What of her?” asked Colbert, who, sat opposite him and who was deeply moved .at his evident distress, and whose curiosity, as that of us all, was deeply piqued.

“Listen,” said he,” and I will tell you;” and then, while we eagerly drank in his words, and strove to drink in their strange and wondrous meaning (first warning us that what he was about to say was but the text of something to be thereafter told), he leaned back upon the taffrail, and while the steamer gently plowed her way toward Acapulco and far-off Panama, said:

“Fleshless, yet living, I strode through the grand old hall, of a mighty temple. I had been compelled to climb the hills to reach the wall that bars the Gates of Glory, and now within my heart strange pulses beat the while. I found myself upon the verge of a vast extended plain, stretching out to the Infinitudes, as it seemed, through the narrow spaces wherein the vision was not obstructed by certain dense, convolving vapor-clouds that ever and anon rose from off the murky breast of the waters of the river of Lethe, that rolled hard by and skirted the immense prairie on and over which I proposed to travel, on my way from Minus to Plus—from Nothing to Something, from Bad to Good, and from Better to BEST—travelling toward my unknown, unimagined Destiny—travelling from the Now toward the Shall Be. And I stood and mutely gazed—gazed at the dense, dark shadows rolling murkily, massily over the plain and through the spaces—dim shadows of dead worlds. No sound, no footfall, not even mine own—not an echo broke the Stillness. I was alone!—alone upon the vast Solitude—the tremendous wastes of an unknown, mysterious, unimagined Eterne—unimagined in all its fearful stillitude! Within my bosom there was a heart, but no pulse went from it bounding through my veins; no throb beat back responsive life to my feeling, listening spirit. I and my Soul were there alone; we only— the Thinking self, and the Self that ever knows, but never thinks—were there. My heart was not cold, yet it was more: it was, I felt, changed to solid stone—changed all save one small point, distant, afar off, like unto the vague ghost of a long-forgotten fancy; and this seemed to have been the penalty inflicted for things done by me. while on the earth; for it appeared that I was dead, and that my soul had begun an almost endless pilgrimage—to what?—to where? A penalty! And yet no black memory of redhanded crime haunted me, or lurked in the intricacies of the mystic wards of my death—defying soul; and I strode all alone adown the uncolumned vistas of the grand old temple —a temple whose walls were builded of flown Seconds, whose tesselated pavements were laid in sheeted Hours, whose windows on one side opened upon the Gone Ages, and on the other upon the Yet to Be ; and its sublime turrets pierced the clouds, which roll over and mantle the hoary summits of the grey Mountains of Time! And so I and my Soul walked through this temple by ourselves—alone! “With clear, keen gaze, I looked forth upon the Vastness, and my vision swept over the floors of all the dead years; yet in vain, for the things of my longing were not there. I beheld trees, but all their leaves were motionless, and no caroling bird sent its heart—notes forth to waken the dim solitudes into life and music—which are love. There were stately groves beneath the arching span of the temple’s massy dome, but no amphian strains of melody fell on the ear, or filled the spaces from their myriad moveless branches, or from out their fair theatres. All was still. It was a palace of frozen tones, and only the music of Silence (which is vocal, if we listen well) prevailed; and I, Paschal the Thinker, and my Thought —strange, uncouth, yet mighty but moveless thought—were the only living things beneath the expansive dome. Living, I had sacrificed all things—health, riches, honor, fame, ease, even Love itself, for Thought, and by Thought had overtopped many who had started on the race for glory long ere my soul had wakened to a consciousness of itself—which means Power. In life I had, so it seemed, builded stronger than I thought, and had reached a mental eminence—occupied a throne. So lofty—that mankind wondered, stood aloof, and gazed at me from afar off; and by reason of my thought had gathered from me, and thus condemned the Thinker to an utter solitude, even in the most thronged and busy haunts of men and I walked through earth’s most crowded cities more lonely than the hermit of the desert, whose eyes are never gladdened by the sight of human form, and through the chambers of whose brain no human voice goes ringing. Thus was it on earth; and now that I had quitted it forever, with undaunted soul, strong purpose, and fearless tread, assured of an endless immortality, and had entered upon the life of Thinking, still was I alone. Had my life, my thinking, and my action on thought been failures? The contemplation of such a possibility was bitter, very bitter—even like unto painful death— and yet it seemed true that failure had been mine—failure, notwithstanding men by thousands spoke well of me and of my works—the children of my thought—and bought my books in thousands. Failure? My soul rejected the idea in utter loathing. For a moment the social spirit, the heartness of my nature over-shadowed Reason, and caused me to forget that, even though confined by dungeon walls, stricken with poverty, deformity, sin or disease—even though left out to freeze in the cold world’s spite—yet the thinker is ever the world’s true— and only King. I had become, for a moment, oblivious of the fact that failure was an impossibility.

Rosicrucians never fail!”

But now, as I slowly moved along, I felt my human nature was at war with the God-nature within, and that Heart for a while was holding the Head in duress. I longed for release from Solitude; my humanity yearned for association, and would have there, on the breast of the great Eterne; given worlds for the company of the lowliest soul I had ever beheld—and despised, as I walked the streets of the cities of the far-off earth. I yearned for human society and—affection, and could even have found blissful solace with—a dog just such a dog as in times past, I had scornfully kicked in Cairo and Stambol—Even a dog was denied me now—all affection withheld from me—and in the terrible presence of its absence I longed for death, forgetting again that Soul can never die. I longed for that deeper extinguishment which should sweep the soul from being, and crown it with limitless eternal Night forgetful, again, that the Memories of Soul must live, though the rememberer cease to be, and that hence Horrors would echo through the universe—children mourning for their suicidal parent, and that parent myself!

“And I lay me down beneath a tree in despair—a tree which stood out all alone from its fellows in a grove hard by—a tree all ragged and lightning-scathed—an awful monument, mute, yet eloquently proclaiming to the wondering onlooker that God had passed that way, in fierce, deific wrath, once upon a time, in the dead ages, whose ashes now bestrewed the floors of the mighty temple of Eterne.

“It was dreadful, very dreadful, to be all alone. True, the pangs of hunger, the tortures of thirst, the fires of ambition, and the raging flames of earthly passion no longer marred my peace. Pain, such as mortals feel, was unknown; no disease racked my frame, or disturbed the serenity of my external being—for I was immortal, and could laugh all these and Death itself to scorn; and yet a keener anguish, a more fearful suffering, was mine. I wept, and my cries gave back no outer sound, but they rang in sombre echoes through the mighty arches, the bottomless caverns, the abyssmal deeps of Soul—my soul—racking it with torments such as only thinking things can feel. Such is the lot, such the discipline of the destined citizens of the Farther Empyrean—a region known only to the Brethren of the Temple of Peerless Rosicrucia!

“Sleep came—sweet sleep—deep and strange; and in it I dreamed. Methought I still wandered gloomily beneath the vast arches of the grand old hall, until at last, after countless cycles of ripe years had been gathered back into the treasury of the Etre Supreme, I stood before a solid, massive door, which an inscription thereabove announced as being the entrance to the Garden of the Beatitudes. This door was secured by a thousand locks, besides one larger than all the rest combined. Every one of these locks might be opened, but the opener could not pass through unless he unfastened the master—lock having ten thousand bolts and wards.

“Once more despair seized on my soul, in this dream which was not all a dream; for to achieve an entrance through the gate without the master-key was a task, so said the inscription, that would defy the labors of human armies for periods of time utterly defying man’s comprehension—so many were the difficulties, so vastly strong the bolts.

“Sadly, mournfully, I turned away, when, as if by chance—forgetting that there is no such thing as Chance—my eye encountered a rivetless space upon the solid brazen door—a circular space, around the periphery of which was an inscription running thus: ‘MAN ONLY FAILS THROUGH FEEBLENESS OF WILL!’ Within this smooth circle was the semblance of a golden triangle, embracing a crystalline globe, winged and beautiful, crowned with a Rosicrucian cypher, while beneath it stood out, in fiery characters, the single word, ‘Try.’ The very instant I caught the magic significance of these divine inscriptions, a new Hope was begotten in my soul; Despair fled from me, and I passed into

THE SECRET OF GREATNESS. “A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM.

“What a change! During my slumber it seemed that I had been transported to the summit of a very lofty mountain, yet still within the Temple. By my side stood an aged and saintly man, of regal and majestic presence. He was clad in an oriental garb of the long-gone ages, and his flowing robes were bound to his waist by a golden band, wrought into the similitude of a shining serpent—the sacred emblem of eternal wisdom. Around his broad and lofty brow was a coronet of silver, dusted with spiculae of finest diamond. On the sides of the centre were two scarabei, the symbol of immortality; and between them was a pyramid, on which was inscribed a mystical character which told, at the same time, that his name was Ramus the Great. [PBR notes: The same known historically as Thothmes, or Thotmor the Third, King of all Egypt, in the 18th dynasty, and sixty—ninth Chief or Grand Master of the Superlative Order of Gebel Al Maruk—since known, in Christian lands, as the Order of the Brethren of the Rosie Cross, and now known in America and Europe, where it still thrives, as the Imperial Order of Rosicrucia.]

“This royal personage spake kindly to me, and his soft tones fell upon the hearing of my soul like the words of pardon to the sense of sinners at the Judgment Seat. “Look, my son, said he, at the same time pointing toward a vast procession of the newly—risen dead—a spectral army on the sides of the mountain, slowly, steadily, mournfully wending their way toward the part of the temple I had quitted previous to the commencement of this dream within a dream. Said the man at my side: ‘Yonder host of pilgrims are men and women who are seeking, as thou hast sought, to unbar the Gates of Glory, that they may pass through them into the delightful Garden of the Beatitudes. It is one thing to be endowed with Intellectual Strength, Knowledge and Immortality; it is another to be Wise and Happy. The first is a boon granted to all the children of earth alike; the last can only be attained by integral development—by self endeavor by innate goodness and God-ness continually manifested—and this in material and aromal worlds alike. Man is man and woman is woman, wherever they may be! The true way to the garden lies not through Manifestation Corridor, but through the Hall of Silence! and each Aspirant must open the door for himself alone. Failing to enter, as thou hast failed, each must turn back, and, like thee, come hither to Mount Retrospect, and entering into the labyrinths within its sides, must search for the triple key, which alone can unbar the Gate, and admit to the Beautiful Garden I Remember! Despair not! Try! and in an instant the Phantom—man turned from me, and with outstretched arms, and benignance beaming from every feature, hied him toward the ascending army.

Again I stood alone, not now in despondency and gloom, but in all the serene strength of noble, conscious Manhood—not the. actual, but the certain and glorious possibility thereof. My soul had grown. It was aware of all its past short-comings, failures, and its hatreds toward two men who had done me deadly wrong. This feeling still survived—stronger than ever, now that I was across the Bridge of Hours, and had become a citizen of the inner land—a wanderer through Eternity. That hate was as immortal as my deathless soul. Will it ever be? And yet I had ever meant well. All was calm in my spirit, save this single awful thing. In this spirit, with this consciousness—not of deep malignance, but of outraged Justice—I began to look for the mysterious key; and as I looked, an instinct told me that the key must consist of certain grand human virtues, and corresponding good deeds, held and done before I left the shores of time and embarked upon the strange and mystic sea whereon my soul’s fortunes were now cast.”

And so I searched, and at last seemed to have found what I sought; and thereupon I wished myself once more before the brazen Gate. Instantly, as if by magic, the wish was realized, and I~ stood before .it, on the same spot formerly occupied. The first inscription, the symbols and circle had disappeared, and in their stead was another circle, containing these lines: ‘Speak, for thou shalt be heard! Tell what thou hast done to elevate thy fellow men, and to round out the angles of thine own soul. Whom hast thou uplifted, loved, hated? Speak, and when the words containing the key are spoken, the door will yield, and thou mayest pass the Threshold.’

“The writing slowly faded, and left naught but a surface, but that surface as of molten gold. I spoke aloud my claim to entrance, and, to my astonishment, my voice rang out shrill and clear, through the vaults and arches of the mighty dome towering far above my head. ‘I have suffered from infancy—been opposed from the cradle to maturity—been hated, robbed, slandered on all sides, yet pushed forward in defiance of all, until I reached all that I desired—all that earth could give me. Self-educated, I achieved triumphs where others failed; have reaped laurels and grasped the keys of fame, and laughed at my folly afterwards, because what is fame? A canker, gnawing out one’s life when living, disturbing his repose when dead—not worth a straw! But, in all this, despite the ending, I have set an example, by following which man might elevate himself, society be improved, and its constituents realize the bliss of moving in loftier spheres of usefulness!’ While giving voice to these truths, I firmly expected to see the gate fly open at their conclusion. But what was my horror and dismay to see that it moved not at all, while the echoes of my speech gave back in frightfully resonant waves of sound the last word, ‘USEFULNESS!’

“Not being able to think of any nobler achievements, I cast my eyes groundward, and, on again raising them, I beheld, across the clear space on the door, the single word TRY.

“Taking heart again, I said, ‘Alone I sought the secret of restoring health to the sick, and gave it freely to the world, without money, without price. I have made grand efforts to banish sloth, sin, ignorance; have ever upheld the honor of the Cross, and the sweet religion it symbolizes. Striving ever to upraise the veil that hides man from himself, in the effort I have been misapprehended, my motives impugned, and my reward has been poverty, slander, disgrace. In the strife, I have been heedless to every call save that of human duty, and, in obeying the behests of a nobler destiny, have been gardless of all worldly distinction; have ignored wealth,—fame, honorable place in the world’s esteem, and even been deaf to the calls of love!

“I ceased, and again the vault threw back my last word, and all the arches echoed ‘LOVE!’ The gate moved not, but once more appeared upon the golden lozenge on the door the word ‘TRY!’ in greater brightness than before, while it seemed to the hearing sense of my spirit’ that a thousand velvet whispers—low, so low, gently cadenced back ‘LOVE!’

“‘I have rebuked the immoral, humbled the lofty and overbearing, exposed deception, comforted the mourner, redeemed the harlot, reformed the thief, fed the orphan and upheld the rights and dignity of Labor!’

“Still the door moved not, but again the echoes gave back the last word, ‘LABOR.’

“‘I have preached immortality to thousands, and prevailed on them to believe it; have written of, and everywhere proclaimed its mighty truths. I have beaten the sceptic, confirmed the wavering, reassured the doubting, and through long and bitter years, in both hemispheres of the globe, have declared that if a man die, he shall live again; thus endeavoring to overthrow error, establish truth, banish superstition, and on their ruins lay the deep and broad foundations of a better faith.

If a myriad voices chimed out my last syllable, there rang through the spacious halls and corridors of the Temple, the sublime word, ‘FAITH’ and instantly the bolts appeared to move within their iron wards. Continuing, I said: ‘I have ever endeavored, save in one single instance, to foster, and in all cases have a spirit of forgiveness.'” This time there was no mistake. The thousand bolts flew back, the ponderous brazen gate moved forward and back, like—a vast curtain, as if swayed by a gentle wind; while a million silvery voices sang gloriously, ‘IN ALL CASES HAVE A SPIRIT OF FORGIVENESS!’

“Joyously I tried again, intuition plainly telling me that only one thing more was necessary to end my lonely pilgrimage, and exalt me to the blessed companionship of the dear ones whom I so longed to join in their glory—walks adown the celestial glades and vistas of God’s Garden of the Beatitudes. I spoke again:

“‘I have fallen from man’s esteem in pursuance of what appeared to be my duty. A new faith sprung up in the land, and unwise zealots brought shame and bitter reproach against and upon it. Lured by false reasoning, I yielded to the fascinations of a specious sophistry, and for awhile my soul languished under the iron bondage of a powerful and glittering falsehood. At length, seeing my errors, I strove to correct them, and to sift the chaff from the true and solid grain; but the people refused to believe me honest, and did not, would not understand me; but they insisted that in denouncing Error, I ignored the living truths of God’s great economy; yet still I labored on, trying to correct my faults, and to cultivate—the queen of human virtues, Charity! Scarcely had this last word escaped my lips, than the massive portals flew wide open, disclosing to my enraptured gaze such a sight of supernal and celestial beauty, grandeur, and magnificence, as human language is totally inadequate to describe; for it was such, as it stood there revealed before my ravished soul; and I may not here reveal the wondrous things I saw and heard. . . .Lara, Lara, my beautiful one, the dear dead maiden of the long agone, stood before me, just within the lines of Paradise. She loved me still—aye, the dear maiden of my youth had not forgotten the lover of her early and her earthly days.

“‘When I was a boy, and she was a girl, In the city by the sea, ere the cruel Death had snatched her from my arms and love, a long, long time ago; for the love of the Indian, as his hatred survives the grave. . . And she said, ‘Paschal, my beloved—lone student of the weary world—I await thy entrance here. But thou mayest not enter now, because no hatred can live inside these gates of Bliss. Wear it out, discard it. Thou art yet incomplete, thy work is still unfinished. Thou hast found the keys! Go back to earth, and give them to thy fellow-men. Teach, first thyself, and then thy brethren, that Usefulness, Love, Labor, Forgiveness, Faith and Charity, are the only keys which are potent to cure all ill, and unbar the Gates of Glory.’

“‘Lara! Beautiful Lara, I obey thee! Wait for me, love. I am coming soon!’ I cried, as she slowly retreated, and the gate closed again. ‘Not yet, not yet,’ I cried, as with extended arms I implored the beauteous vision to remain—but a single instant longer. But she was gone. I fell to the ground in a swoon. When I awoke again, I found the night had grown two hours older than it was Then I sat down in the chair in my little chamber in Bush street, the little chamber which I occupied in the goodly city of the Golden Gate.

“Thus spake the Rosicrucian. We were all deeply moved at the recital, and one after the other we retired to our rooms, pondering on the story and its splendid moral. Next day we reached Acapulco, and not till we had left and were far on our way toward Panama, did we have an opportunity of listening to the sermon to the eloquent text I have just recounted. At length he gave it, as nearly as it can possibly be reproduced, in the following words:

END OF THE PROEM

Now that Ronnie Pontiac’s book has been published, the Amazon page for it shows great enthusiasm from many writers and readers. I am reminded of my first encounter with his articles ten years ago, as described in this blog post.

https://adepts.light.org/wp-admin/post.php?post=1341&action=edit

The second volume of Letters to the Sage is again available as a Kindle ebook and Ronnie’s foreword greatly enhanced the book. Here is the Amazon link for his new book. “Number one in blasphemy, heresy, and apostasy” is quite the honor.

The second document, chronologically speaking, on ancestry.com about the man known to us as Randolph, gives Beverly as his last name. At the age of ten, he spent several months in the alms house after the death of his mother Flora.

Since this blog is devoted to historical, non-fictional adepts, I feel a responsibility to alert readers to a misleading “newly discovered non-fiction book by H.P. Blavatsky” that is neither newly discovered, non-fiction, nor authored by Blavatsky, yet is a huge 2022 best seller for her fans.  My own The Masters Revealed ends with a lengthy discussion of an autobiographical 1890 novel, The Talking Image of Urur, illuminating Franz Hartmann’s relationship with Theosophical leaders in India.

Three years earlier in 1887 Hartmann [1838-1912] had published another novel discussing adept brotherhoods, this time set in the Alps and featuring Rosicrucians. It was first titled An Adventure Among the Rosicrucians and finally reprinted in 1910 as With the Adepts. The name of this blog and subsequent book series was chosen after years of utter confusion caused by disinformation about “the Masters” which erases crucial historical distinctions between “Adepts” and “Mahatmas” illustrated by the two books.  One was a novel about Germany, the other a novel set in South Africa but transparently based on events in India, but in 2022 the former reappears as a non-fiction account by a Russian going to Shambhala.

[Adding credit where due to Marc Demarest whose Amazon review of Land of the Gods dissects the whole mess and asks Amazon to delete the book; and blame where due to the Theosophical leaders who decreed thirty years ago re my historical inquiries that “the Masters” were inherently inaccessible and unapproachable by means of ordinary, “material” historical research– the very same people from three different Theosophical groups and publishers who feigned interest in publishing me, encouraged me for ten years that I needed more evidence and better analysis only to say in the end, “NO EVIDENCE, NO REASONING ALLOWED re our sacred Mahatmas who are voices in our heads not figures in history and how dare you distract us from voices in our heads.”]

Free online versions of the Hartmann novels are available at Archive.org.

With the adepts: an adventure among the Rosicrucians : Franz Hartmann : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

The Talking image of Urur [electronic resource] : Hartmann, Franz : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

In 1996, I was honored to be invited to contribute an endorsement for the back cover of a book I have reread several times now: Paschal Beverly Randolph by John Patrick Deveney. Here is what I wrote: “It is fascinating, because the subject’s life was filled with dramatic adventure and hardship, and touched upon so many issues of the day. Deveney’s work is imporant in itself as a ground-breaking study of an intriguing character. I can think of no figure in nineteenth-century Western occultism who has been more unjustly ignored than Randolph. Deveney rescues him from obscurity in this biography, which will be regarded as authoritative for many years to come.”

As monumental and accomplished as this biography was and is, it suffers from one limitation my own SUNY Press books did: written before the age of Internet genealogy. Tracing some unexplained mysteries and loose ends in Randolph’s life, I will start at the beginning with the man he named as his father: William Beverly Randolph, as he spelled it. Paschal claims descent from white Virginia aristocrats, Native Americans, Spaniards, Arabs, and Africans (sometimes said to be from Madagascar) and one story was that he was a Pocahontas descendant. William Beverley Randolph definitely was, but whether he was really the father of Paschal is unsettled by the stories told. He admitted that his parents were not married when he was born in New York in 1825, but claimed that they later were married. The real William Beverley Randolph was married with several children by then, and spent his career in Washington, DC. This does not rule out an illegitimate mixed race son in New York, but how he gets into the story at all is a mystery. I have accumulated quite a store of new clues on ancestry sites.

From a 2020 interview with Melungeon Heritage Association President Heather Andolina for their annual Union held via podcast:

One of the most intriguing connections to me is that he takes this name Randolph, even though apparently only the best evidence is a father named Randon, R-A-N-D-O-N. Better evidence that his mother was free black, but allegedly born in Vermont, which on the one hand makes you think that, “How many black people of any kind were there in Vermont?” But on the other hand, any ones that were there were free because they were the first state to abolish slavery. But then he said he had Virginia Randolph ancestry. And to me, a lot of this reminds me of the Jefferson Hemings saga because Thomas Jefferson’s oldest bi-racial son, by Sally Hemings, was named Beverly Hemings. Thomas Jefferson’s mother was a Randolph. Thomas Jefferson’s daughter, Martha AKA, Patsy, married a Randolph. Therefore his grandchildren were… So apart from what if this guy was just making this up? Probably because he liked the sound of the name, but at the same time, probably there’s some kind of family connection that he would even want to make this claim.

So, both the Beverly and the Randolph sound interesting in terms of the mixed ancestry, but more interesting or more Melungeon like is that he definitely acknowledges aristocratic European as well as African American ancestry. Very emphatically claims Native American ancestry. Talks about it to some extent, but also claims Iberian and Middle Eastern. If you looked at Randolph’s ever-changing ethnic self-identifications, it’s like a catalog of everything that was ever said about Melungeons during the same time period. And yet his life is entirely lived in the North. So remains mysterious how much connection he has to Melungeons genealogically.

And yet one thing that I encountered frequently enough when working with MHA is the mixed ancestry folks in the Northeast have a lot in common with the ones in the Southeast. And even as far away as Nova Scotia, you meet people of mixed appearance with tri-racial heritage that once you start comparing notes, the stories sound similar. So I think Randolph is probably an example of a tri-racial New Yorker who doesn’t know a whole lot of truth about his heritage, but has heard all kinds of stories. And he’s just repeating all the stories he’s heard growing up and throwing in a few of his own. That’s the impression I get. And to me, that resonates tremendously with what Melungeons were saying about themselves at exactly the same time period.

Paschal Beverly Randolph is a rich source of information on predecessors of the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor, a group which studied some of his publications. Records on ancestry.com have enabled me to track down some biographical details in his writings, so for the rest of 2023 I will share this material already on hand about Randolph, along with news of interest that emerges.

The big news of interest this month is the arrival of Ronnie Pontiac’s long-awaited American Metaphysical Religion at the end of January. His interest in Alexander Wilder, Thomas Moore Johnson, and their associates preceded my own and will now reach a far wider readership than the Letters to the Sage volumes.

American Metaphysical Religion eBook by Ronnie Pontiac | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster (simonandschuster.net)

Kevin Dann’s Enchanted New York (NYU Press, 2020) is a historical walking tour through Manhattan focused on famous occultists who lived or visited there.  Of the 63 sites featured in seven chapters, five are related to Letters to the Sage correspondents: Emma Hardinge Britten, Henry Steel Olcott, Helena Blavatsky, William Quan Judge, and Thomas H. Burgoyne.  Paschal Beverly Randolph and Andrew Jackson Davis also are honored with sites. The entire book is well researched and entertaining and should fascinate readers of this blog. Highly recommended despite a discussion of Burgoyne that inspires me to comment (as his posthumous publisher) in his defense regarding The Light of Egypt in relation to the rest of his body of work.

“Zanoni” was the author of record, and we can now see that he was made up of Grimke and Burgoyne using material or ideas from Britten, Randolph, Chintamon, Davidson, Theon, Bulwer-Lytton, and others. The notion that the anti-TS polemicism of The Light of Egypt originated with Burgoyne is misguided.  The first attribution of blame for the book was Judge accusing Britten of being the author, echoed soon thereafter by Blavatsky herself. When Emma denied it they relented and said they knew that Zanoni was a young man. But within a year Blavatsky reiterated that Zanoni and Emma’s Chevalier Louis were closely related enemies of the TS, if not the same person. Burgoyne had never been a TS member, whereas Britten, Chintamon, and Davidson were all embittered formerly prominent Theosophists who did attack Blavatsky.  Burgoyne and Grimke may reflect intra-Theosophical turmoil of the 1880s but they certainly did not originate any of it.  (PS to CofL readers is that Elbert has to tiptoe around all this mess without calling out the villains, and I think he did a great job of it.)

Anyone wanting to hear the more authentic voice of the writer published as Zanoni will find it in Celestial Dynamics, The Language of the Stars, and The Quest of the Spirit, all published under pseudonyms after his legal name was Norman Astley. I would hope he can be judged on that basis, and on his letters to Thomas Moore Johnson in Letters to the Sage, more than The Light of Egypt and especially the corrupted two volume 1900 edition of the latter, due to confusion about the authorship thereof. An important fact about Burgoyne’s writings brought out by Patrick Bowen’s introduction to Letters to the Sage needs to be mentioned. He describes to Johnson getting a manuscript from his wife in England that had taken him a year to write, which consisted of 160 pages of astrological material. Some of this ended up as elements in The Light of Egypt in 1889, combined with work by Grimke, but most became Language of the Stars in 1892 and Celestial Dynamics in 1896. These “later” works in publication dates were earlier in terms of writing, so I would recommend reading them both before delving into The Light of Egypt to best understand him, and The Quest of the Spirit for his later thought. Links to free online versions of all three are found in the Recommended Reading page of this site.

Publishers get data about number of books sold by date, sorted only by country, so you can never be sure who might be buying them. But the big jump this year suggests that readers of this blog have been supporting the History of the Adepts book series, and I thank you. Here is a brief report:

256 books sold as of 10/31.  Only 62 from 2018 through 2020, 78 books in 2021, 116 so far in 2022.  This reflects the fact that there are now five paperbacks and five hardcovers whereas in 2018 and 2019 there was just one paperback, and in 2020 just two. Sales by author: Grimke 83, Johnson 72, Wilder 60, Chintamon 22, Astley 19.  (Chintamon and Astley were just added in recent months and may equal the others in time.) Although these are small sales numbers compared to trade publications, their Amazon rankings are higher than related academic press titles about the same subject matter. The blog continues to attract about 600  hits per month, whereas the related academia page receives that many per year. Royalties to date of $229.91 have been under $1 per sale, due to the minimum pricing.

David Christopher Lane and Andrea Diem-Lane have produced an intriguing body of scholarship about a wide range of spiritual movements associated with shabd yoga, sound current meditation, and Sant Mat.  David’s new contribution is a small, readable, affordable summary of their research for a major international university press.  He was helpful to me with my SUNY Press books twice in the 1990s, assisting with my portions on Radhasoami for Initiates of Theosophical Masters and again for Edgar Cayce in Context as both had links to Sant Mat gurus. These quotes from his Conclusion section suggest why his book is relevant to readers of this blog:

Today listening to the inner sound current is a well-established practice across a number of religious movements, old and new. The technical aspects of shabd yoga are no longer an esoteric secret known to the privileged few. Shabd and nad yoga have a long tradition as we have seen dating back to the Vedic period in India, and they are now a transcultural phenomenon not restricted to any country or ethnicity. (p57)

It seems certain that shabd yoga meditation and its various iterations will continue to become more popular in the future, depending in part on the success of Ching Hai’s Quan Yin teachings, Radhasoami and its various branches, and the emergence of nonsectarian groups that promote listening to the inner sound without requiring initiation or following a guru. (p59)

The Brotherhood of Light Lessons include passages referring to the Voice of the Silence as that of conscience and choice between right and wrong, as cited in the previous blog post quoting from Astrological Signatures.  But other volumes use the phrase in different ways.  In The Sacred Tarot, the reference is likewise ethical rather than mystical:

Remember, then, son of earth, that before saying of a man that he is fortunate or unfortunate, thou must know the use to which he has put his will; for every man creates his life in the image of his works. The genius of good is at thy right and the genius of evil at thy left. Their voice can be heard only by the conscience. If the hierophant should appear in the prophetic signs of thy horoscope, retire into the sanctuary of thy heart, listen to the voice of the silence, and guided by it thou wilt reach the goal of thy aspirations. (p90)

But in Delineating the Horoscope, the emphasis is much more mystical:

GEMINI—1st Decanate. By means of a bear—URSA MINOR—whose restless activity and power suggest that of the mind, the ancients depicted the Mercury decanate of Gemini. And because the unconscious mind is not so obvious as the objective mind, this bear is small. So too, it travels about the sky backward. Thus must one direct his attention contrary to the trend of objective life to hear “the voice of the silence.” (p21)

Spiritual Alchemy uses the phrase to relate both to animal instinct and human intuition:

Usually man’s instincts are atrophied, but they may be cultivated to a high degree of usefulness and accuracy by listening to their promptings. Properly cultivated they are a better guide to action than reason. Because they are frequently accompanied by thought processes which may intrude into the objective mind in the form of words and sentences, in man instinct is often called THE VOICE OF THE SILENCE. It is the most obvious factor associated with SIMPLE CONSCIOUSNESS.(p93)

Because they have self-consciousness, and thus the power to reason, most persons permit the other forms of consciousness to atrophy. They so thoroughly rely upon the reports of the five physical senses, that they neither heed nor recognize the reports of the various psychic senses. They so completely rely upon the bringing together in objective consciousness of the reports of the physical senses that they take no cognizance of the bringing together of these reports in a more perfect mental process by the astral brain. Already this process has been mentioned in relation to instinct and the voice of the silence. It is the instinct of animals reinforced by the reason of man; but this reasoning draws its information from both planes of life, and because it takes place in the astral brain its processes are almost instantaneous. Such reasoning carried out by the astral brain and then brought up into the region of objective consciousness is a surer guide to action than the limited perceptions and ponderous process of the physical brain. It is called INTUITION.(p94)

Page numbers are from various editions.

David Christopher Lane has a new book from Cambridge University Press that I will feature in the next blog post in November.  The publisher announcement explains The Sound Current Tradition thusly:

The practice of listening to subtle, inner sounds during meditation to concentrate and elevate the mind has a long history in various religions around the world, including Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism. Today there are a number of new religious movements that have made listening to the inner sound current a cornerstone of their teachings. These groups include the Radhasoamis, the Divine Light Mission, Eckankar, the Movement of Spiritual Inner Awareness (MSIA), MasterPath, the Sawan-Kirpal Mission, Quan Yin/Ching Hai, Manavta Mandir, ISHA, and a number of others. In this study we provide a historical and comprehensive overview of these movements and how they have incorporated listening to the inner sound as part of their spiritual discipline. We are particularly interested in the distinctive and nuanced ways that each group teaches how to listen to the inner sound current and how they interpret it in their own unique theologies.

I first heard of this practice in a Search for God group associated with Edgar Cayce, then found it as the title of a book by Helena Blavatsky; Lane was aware of both of these connections. The Brotherhood of Light and Church of Light are not mentioned, but references to “the Voice of the Silence” appear in multiple BofL lessons, not derived from Cayce or Blavatsky. The first two appear in Astrological Signatures:

The candidate has heard it said, “Knock and it will open; Ask and ye shall receive; Seek and ye shall find.” So, sustained by a love of justice, he stands with clean hands and a pure heart at the gate to the sanctuary. After a time his efforts are rewarded by glimpses of the interior as the gates are opened by other hands, or the intuitions of his soul penetrate their opaqueness. His summons are finally answered by the Voice of the Silence, encouraging him to further endeavor; but at the same time admonishing him that there is no vicarious atonement or attainment. Each must unlock the doors that bar his progress and that guard the temple from profanation, for himself.

The harmless cup symbolizes love and virtue; the poison cup, passion and vice. Each soul is confronted with the trial of this choice, and only by obeying the Voice of the Silence can it safely be passed. If, in spite of his oath of submission, the neophyte refuses to obey, he is informed that the initiation is broken and he is confined to a dungeon for seven months and then allowed a second trial. If he thus fails at the first test he may never rise higher in the ranks of the Magi, though he may gain freedom later by successfully passing the test. In such a case he represents a weak and wavering soul who fears to obey the dictates of his inner self. The neophyte’s only hope of escaping extinction is to pass the ordeal, though once failing he does not have the opportunities that would have been open to him had he taken the decisive step at once. The laws of the Magi compel him to pass the trial or perish in the dungeon cell.

Several more will be cited with the full review of the book, which I am still reading.  Meanwhile here is the publisher link. The Sound Current Tradition (cambridge.org)

These are the narratives for yesterday’s slide presentation to the International Theosophical History conference in Naarden, the Netherlands. It comprises less than half the complete talk which included ten minutes of commentary followed by another ten minutes of discussion. It will be released on Youtube video with all the other presentations, but meanwhile I wanted to share a foretaste. Although I disagree with Cayce about reincarnation, mediumship and “alternative history,” his more philosophical teachings have many points in common with those of the Brotherhood of Light lessons.

• My initial interest in Theosophical history resulted from an encounter with a large collection of books, many by Theosophical authors, at the newly opened A.R.E. Library and Conference Center in Virginia Beach in the 1970s.  This led eventually to two dozen other libraries in America, France, England, and India, and to publication of three books by SUNY Press as part of its Western Esoteric Traditions series.  The first two focused on Theosophical origins in Europe and Asia in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries.

• My last book in the series has a very different focus with a central figure who spent almost his entire life in the American South, who was a faithful churchgoer and popular Sunday School teacher—hardly comparable to Helena Blavatsky’s global travels and language proficiency.  The cover shows Edgar Cayce in similar attire and pose over five decades, from his mid-twenties to his mid-sixties from bottom to top.  Although they clearly are photographs of the same person, a professional photographer himself, each decade defines a different stage in his development as a clairvoyant counselor.  Son of a farm family in rural Christian County, Kentucky, he moved to the county seat Hopkinsville where he worked as a bookstore clerk.  A mysterious loss of his voice for months led to a local medical doctor placing him in trance and asking him to diagnose his affliction and recommend a course of treatment.  The treatment’s success led to local media attention as Cayce was used as a medical clairvoyant by osteopaths, allopaths, and chiropractors.  Eventually he made national headlines in 1910.  His photography career took him to Selma, Alabama, where he joined the Birmingham TS in 1922 soon after he delivered a lecture there.  By 1925 when his spiritual source directed him to relocate to Virginia Beach, past life readings entered his vocabulary and brought Atlantis and ancient Egypt into the picture.  Medical readings still predominated through the brief history of the Cayce Hospital and the National Society of Investigators.  The Association for Research and Enlightenment, founded in 1931, defines his shift of focus as the clients for his readings become more numerous and the questions they ask more complicated.  Astrology, the Great White Brotherhood, Earth Changes, along with other predictions of world events, become elements in the organizational synthesis.  Finally, in the 1940s another new emphasis appears, as the Search for God books are created in dialogue with Study Group Number 1 in Norfolk which solicits each reading and then responds with further questions.  Practical occultism, yoga, self-awareness of attitudes and emotions, the Collective Unconscious, all reflect Theosophists, Fourth Way disciples, students of analytic psychology, posing questions to Cayce from all over the country.  Through every phase of his career, however, the Bible is always the most frequently cited source and he claimed to have read it from cover to cover once for every year of his life.

• Along with the 14000+ transcribed trance discourses recorded by Cayce’s secretary, the library collection also includes more than 80,000 books on related subjects: Alternative medicine, metaphysical spirituality, esoteric lore about lost civilzations.  Blavatsky is one of the most influential writers of the 19th century in this collection.

• I grew up familiar with the Cayces as a child because my five first cousins in Virginia Beach were all related to Edgar’s wife Gertrude Cayce through the House family with whom the Cayces lived in 1930.  My uncle Cecil’s wife Irma Anderson had a younger sister later married to Thomas House Jr.

• Dr. House had come to Kentucky to become director of the Cayce Hospital, and after his 1929 untimely death his widow and son lived with the Cayces.

• The A.R.E. lost ownership of the hospital building during the Depression which went through various uses before being bought again in 1956.

•  The area along the Virginia Beach boardwalk is completely transformed from its appearance during Cayce’s life.  This scene is of a community filled with hotels and rooming houses as well as private beach cottages.

• By 2022 the boardwalk area had lost every vestige of historic frame architecture.

• Doris Anderson married Tommy House in 1936 and they lived with her mother intermittently while raising three children, until Mrs. Anderson died in 1969.

• Dolly Rice, who published under her married name as Doris Agee, was the firstborn of all the Rice cousins, and in 1969 became the author of an extremely successful small paperback that was among the earliest of a series of Cayce related paperbacks.

• Her younger cousin Caroline House was called Stephanie in this 1973 book about the past life reading she had received from Edgar at the time of her birth, and her quest to confirm his statement that her most recent past life was as the Woman’s Suffrage and Temperance leader Frances Willard.

• In conclusion, regarding Theosophy and its influence, the beginning of past life readings thereafter must be related to his exposure to Theosophy where Leadbeater had been providing them for years. Although his health readings combine allopathic, homeopathic, osteopathic, and naturopathic treatments, the context always include New Thought and Spiritualist approaches to spiritual healing as well. Cayce’s interpretation of Christianity manifested his own roots in Disciples theology, mixed up with endorsements of such works as the Aquarian Gospel, but his acceptance of reincarnation, the Great White Brotherhood, and a universalistic embrace of all world religions were largely determined by his Theosophical associations of the early 1920s. His specific descriptions of Atlantis and Lemuria vary in details from those of Theosophical writers but his general context for such description is questions raised by such authors. The final section of the book examines the Indian origins of key elements of Cayce’s elaborate meditation instructions for participants in Search for God groups. They open with a series of hatha yoga stretches and breathing and chanting of Om.  This is followed by recital of the Lord’s Prayer which is tied to kundalini awakening and the chakras.  This is followed by a period of silent meditation in which one hears the voice of the silence while focusing attention on the pineal gland as the “third eye.”  The absorption of yogic influences in the readings bears the imprint of Cayce’s long association with Bhagat Singh Thind, a Punjabi Sikh immigrant to California who wrote several books promoting Surat Shabd Yoga, the set of practices developed by the Radhasoami movement. (The remainder of the talk focused on Thind and his connections to Cayce and Theosophy.)

This concludes the series of Letters to the Sage correspondents by decanates. From The Last Eighteen Decanates Analyzed:

PISCES—3rd Decanate. The last decanate of Pisces is pictured among the constellations by CASSIOPEIA the Queen on her throne. It is the sex decanate of the sign of imprisonment, and mythology attributes the imprisonment of her daughter to the pride of this queen in her beauty. However, in another story she is the queen who furnished her children with the Ram that bore the golden fleece and carried them to heaven.

Therefore, we find those born under this influence to have eventful lives, and to be capable of entering upon and succeeding in a wide variety of careers. It is the last section of the zodiac, and they seem often to recapitulate in their lives the events and conditions we expect from many other decanates. They are unusually adaptable, are likable people, and require excitement and change. They reach their highest value in psychical research, and in adopting and advocating such a life as will prepare man for existence after the change called death.

Sir Richard Burton, the famous traveler, who was so expert at disguise and as a linguist that he passed as a native in many lands, was born when the Sun was here. Evelyn Nesbit Thaw, actress over whom her husband shot Stanford White, and whose life has been filled with drama and pathos was born with her Mentality in this decanate. And Empress Frederick of Germany, mother of Kaiser Wilhelm of world-war notoriety, was born with this section of the zodiac on the Ascendant. It is the decanate of VICISSITUDES.

Note—With a few exceptions, so that the students may have easy access to the charts cited and thus study the other factors contributing to character and accomplishment, I have used as examples persons whose charts may be found in The Book of Notable Nativities.

From Letters to the Sage, Volume One”

            William B. Shelley—born on March 17, 1825—was one of the eight children of Nathan and Dorcas Shelley, prosperous farmers in Gaines, Orleans County, New York. In 1850 he was single and working as a clerk in Rochester. By 1860 he was still in Rochester, married to Caroline, with whom in 1880 he shared the household of James and Josephine Cables in Rochester. He became president of the Rochester TS lodge in 1883 and a member of the Board of Control the following year. In 1886 he was found guilty of spousal abandonment but the judgment was reversed on appeal to the New York Supreme Court. He died January 29, 1892 in Grenville, Ontario, and was buried in his hometown of Gaines, New York. His letter in this volume is the official announcement Johnson received about the creation of the Board of Control.

Rochester

 June 8, 1884

Dear Sir and F.T.S.

            It is with pleasure and by request of Wm Q. Judge I enclose the within letter and rule relating to the interest of Theosophy in America.

            Seven persons are named to form an American Board of Control, yourself, one of them. How and when can they be together to organise and mature plans for the responsible work. Geographically, Rochester is the center and Mrs Cables cordially invites the members to meet at her house No 40 Ambrose St. time to be fixed by correspondence with all members. An early meeting is desirable. Sickness and death in Mrs Cables house has prevented earlier attention, and also delayed the issue of our publication, the “Occult Word—“ devoted to the interest of Theosophy after reading and considering please reply with such suggestions as in your judgment will best promote the object to be attained  –

            Fraternally yours

            WB Shelley

            President

            Rochester Branch

from The Last Eighteen Decanates Analyzed:

PISCES—2nd Decanate. The second decanate of Pisces is pictured among the constellations by ANDROMEDA—the Princess chained to the rock for the sea monster to devour. It symbolizes the earthbound condition of the human soul that passes to the spirit side of life obsessed with the desire for material reincarnation. It also represents those noblest of all mankind who suffer persecution and imprisonment that the rest of humanity may prosper.

The lives of persons born under this section of the sky are usually filled with restrictions and limitations. Often these conditions are assumed voluntarily as the price enacted by the world for the sake of assisting in its progress. When living at their best they are readily impressed by those on the spirit side of life, and are often chosen to carry out some important mission on earth. They grasp more readily than others the true meaning of universal brotherhood, and they get the most out of life through alleviating the physical and mental suffering of their fellowman.

Nicholas Copernicus, who was largely responsible for the adoption of the present system of astronomy, and suffered for his apparent heresy, was born with the Sun here. Charubel, author of Degrees of the Zodiac Symbolized, a seer and worker in behalf of the esoteric wisdom, had his Mentality in this decanate. And T. H. Burgoyne, author of Light of Egypt, and adept in the highest sense of the word, who suffered persecution for his views, was born with this part of the zodiac on the Ascendant. It is the decanate of SELF-SACRIFICE.

From Letters to the Sage, Volume One

            Sylvester Clark Gould, born March 1, 1840, was a New Hampshire editor and publisher, well-known for his knowledge of both New Hampshire history and esoterica. Gould entered the publishing industry as a newspaper printer in 1862, and in the following year he became a part-owner of and writer for the same newspaper. Although, starting in 1870s, Gould found stable employment as a depot manager for Concord Railroad, he maintained his interest in publishing and in 1883, with his brother Leroy, he began the journal Notes and Queries, which would be a popular periodical for fraternal, fringe math and science, and esoteric topics. This was followed 1907 with a new journal of the same type, the Rosicrucian Brotherhood. Gould himself was a member of over three dozen fraternal and esoteric groups, including the Massachusetts College of the Societas Rosicruciana, the Theosophical Society, the Order of the Sufis, the original H.B. of L., and a later group known as the Hermetic Brotherhood of Light. He often held leadership positions in these organizations, and was put on the H.B. of L. Committee of Seven in September 1886. He died July 20, 1909, leaving a wife and daughter, Annie.

            Gould’s letters are primarily valuable for demonstrating his initial connecting with Johnson in 1885, and his reconnecting with him just prior to his 1908 claim that Johnson was still a member of the Order of Sufis. They also reveal that in later years Gould—who in 1883 Alexander Wilder described as someone who “hears everything”[1]—was somewhat out of the loop of Theosophical circles. In his December 27, 1906 letter, Gould asks if William Throckmorton—who died in 1893—is still living.

Manchester, NH

December 15, 1885

Friend Johnson—The enclosed letter speaks for itself—I have been for years a student of some of the mysteries. But not until I fell in with friend Peter Davidson did I discover an avenue to be escorted into the door—I had read “Isis Unveiled”. and noted the reference on page 308 of Vol II.[2] Also the M^ckenzies Cyclopedia page 309. H.B. of L. invoice but did not know how to proceed—

I now await orders—[3]

Please rehand the letter of the Private Sec—Burgoyne—

I have read the Theosophist from beginning. And many others of kindred nature—not omitting The Platonist)—(No. 8. Vol. II. just at hand)

I am now about half through Godfrey Higgins’ “Anacalypsis”[4]—a remarkable work—

I am sure glad you are to—give us the “Dogma et Ritual” and “Denudota.”[5]             “the Perfect Way or the Finding of Christ”[6] &c.(4to)—has just reached me—  

I found in Boston last week a neat copy of “Hymns of Orpheus” from the original Greek with—Pre. Dis. on Life and Theology of Orpheus” London 1792[7]—pp 227.

I suppose you have all three books—but I only mention them as I have not the opportunities that some have to pick them up—they please me and all add interest to the subjects which interest me

            I have but few mystical works—perhaps 200—

            But more anon —

            Fraternally yours

            SC Gould

Office of Notes and Queries, S.C. Gould, Editor and Publisher

Manchester, NH

December 18, 1906

By Dear Sir and Bro—

            Having had some correspondence with our mutual co-laborer Dr. A. Wilder, he incidentally mentioned you. I had not heard from you for quite a long time, and really did not know whether you was still with us yet on this sphere. However, I am now, and always was, glad to hear your name mentioned.

            I gladly send you the last volume of N & Q,[8] free, and will send the 1905 volume if you care to have one for old friendship sake and pleasant memories.

            I send you also the first nos of The Rosicrucian—a new venture.

            I even now read The Platonist with great pleasure, and remember the many past [illegible] editions from you.

            Always yours

            S.C. Gould

Office of Notes and Queries, S.C. Gould, Editor and Publisher

Manchester, NH

December 27, 1906

My Dear Sir and Bro—

            I am delighted to again hear from you, and read your good letter just at hand. I always did. and do now, admire the head of Plato, Homer, and many others. I could name, and I had to first gaze at that head of Plato.

            I am glad to be corrected on the Concordance[9] author. I have had some knowledge of Platonic literature, had Thomas Taylor’s works and was surprised at the volume when I find it that I had never seen or heard of it. And so started the surprise and when I scrutinized my list of his works published by in Vol XI. p. 21 and did not find it (I send you that number now).

            Well. I thank you and shall published my mistake. But first I shall try and find who this Thomas Taylor was. And ascertain the facts

            When the Concordance came from London, I said to myself what a poor Concordance it was, and not any of our Thomas Taylor’s handi-work. I am glad for the information of the Alcott piece and will make a note of it. etc.

            This leads me to send you an advance sheet. of same Greek lines. and ask you to give me a free translation of them at your leisure

            I send you vols. 1905. and 1901. and some other pamphlets. reprints mostly as I frequently run off some for friends.

            You can have more of the later vols. if you wish as I have a good supply at present. I formerly sent N. and Q. to you. But when your name got off I know not. unless in reviewing the list at some time.

            I have been very free with the N. & Q. There is no money in it now. There is such a immense lot of stuff now published by machinery and so much is distributed free (sample copies) that many more get their reading free by the asking.

            Anyway vol. XXV, 1907, will round out 25 years. and the Matter in N. & Q. has out-grown title. and if I am spared and health[y] the second series will be under a new name and somewhat different in matter.

            I, being an old printer, have set nearly all my type and hence the saving in issuing the N. & Q. The Rosicrucian is a side issue for a while to I am writing answers to letters of inquiry—as to the RC.

            Some of the articles will also appear in N. & Q. in 1907.

            Dr Wilder’s art. in the R.P. Journal in the ’80’s will be the leader in July No. now in type.[10]

            Gen. E. N. Buford’s  lecture in Chicago in the ’80’s will be the leader in the April No 1907.[11] It is on “the Philosophers Stone”. But really it is a review of Gen E.A. Hitchcock’s works, a list of which will appear the article.

            Some way it seems to me there are but few platonic students now compared to former times or at least I do not know of them. Is Throckmorton still living?

            Good H.K. Jones has passed beyond several years ago. Dr Wilder is with us yet. I hear from him about once a month. I once had a few students here, but they have flown, or back slidden.

            Well, enough now—

            Always yours S.C. Gould  

Office of Notes and Queries, S.C. Gould, Editor and Publisher

Manchester, NH

August 30, 1907

Dear Sir and Bro—

            Your card at hand, and in answer will say, that the address of The Tantrik Order[12] is not given as to Box, or Street. My notice gives all, except that the journals are $2.00 a copy to be had of G.E. Stechert & Co. 129-133

West 20^th St. New York City

I will loan you my copy, and do hereby send it by mail. You can have it a month or more

I shall be in New York City about Sept 12, 1907, and shall call on several whom I am in touch with and shall try and obtain more information about it, and if I do more than stated in the Journal I will enlighten you—and if you should obtain more light, please let me know—

            Always yours

            S.G. Gould

Tantrik Journal goes same mail as this Aug 30, 1907 11 a.m. 

---

[1] Alexander Wilder to Johnson, July 31, 1883.

[2] In which Blavatsky explains that Mackenzie was correct to note the existence of the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor, but was incorrect in asserting it was Rosicrucian-based, an idea most likely derived from Rev. James H. Wiggin (see H.P. Blavatsky Collected Writings (hereafter, BCW) (Wheaton , Illinois: Quest Books), 1:121).

[3] This language seems to imply, curiously, that Davidson directed Gould to Johnson and not Cables, as might have been expected, since Gould was a member of Cables’ Rochester lodge and Davidson was also Cables’ guru, while Johnson’s guru was Ayton.

[4] Godfrey Higgins’ (1772-1833) posthumously-published two-volume tome that compares the world’s religions and myths with the intention of proving the existence of a since ancient, universal religion. Its full title is Anacalypsis: An Attempt to Draw Aside the Veil of the Saitic Isis or an Inquiry into the Origin of Languages, Nations and Religions (1833).

[5] The Kabbala Denudata (1677-78) by German cabalist Christian Knorr von Rosenroth (1636 -1689). The first English translation was made by S.L.M. Mathers in 1887, nearly two years after Gould’s letter.

[6] An 1881 book by Anna Kingsford and Edward Maitland.

[7] This was written by Thomas Taylor.

[8] Gould’s journal, Notes and Queries.

[9] Gould had incorrectly assumed this to beThomas Taylor’s Concordance to the Holy Scriptures.

[10] The only article by Wilder to be published in Gould’s journal that year was his “The Rosicrucians,” which appeared in the September issue. So far, we have been unable to find the original in the Religio-Philosophical Journal.

[11] It in fact appeared in the August issue.

[12] Established by the American yogi Pierre Bernard on the US West Coast in 1905.

This is the first newspaper mention I have found of the Brotherhood of Light.

It has been quite a learning curve, moving from author and editor to publisher and there is still a lot to learn. But one principle I have learned is that it is OK to share for free public access small PORTIONS of a book but not the entire publication. (The former promotes the financial interests of Amazon/Kindle, the latter undermines them.) Hence, the prologues or prefaces to the Grimke Collected Works, the Wilder Letters to Thomas Moore Johnson, Chintamon’s Gita commentary, and my own Pell Mell, are all now uploaded to the academia page at—

https://independent.academia.edu/KennethJohnson24/Books

This blog and academia.edu both provide statistical reports which are certainly of interest to me, and may be of interest to readers of the blog. Over the year the average number of readers is about 500 per month. No breakdown by nationality is provided, but for academia we see more detail, while the annual visit numbers are about a typical month here on History of the Adepts.

Rounding out the series of spiritual ancestors by decanates, Pisces appropriately concludes with some of the most important characters. At the dawning of the sign of Aquarius, I will devote this post to the only Aquarian in the correspondence and then in February report relevant news about the entire field of inquiry, with international ramifications.

From The Last Eighteen Decanates Analyzed:

AQUARIUS—2nd Decanate. The Flying Horse —PEGASUS—pictures among the constellations the Mercury decanate of Aquarius. The wings pictured upon the symbol of mind indicate the ability to leave the material body and travel in the super-physical world in the astral form. This may take place volitionally, or quite unconsciously so far as the objective mind is concerned, during sleep. And those who can bring through into the objective state the information so contacted have a never-ending supply of interesting material that they often are able to present in a fascinating manner.

People under this decanate possess naturally the ability to gain information from invisible sources. Consequently, they have unlimited resourcefulness in imaginative creation. And they are able to present their conceptions in a most dramatic manner. So, by all means, they should follow some occupation where the mind has power to exert itself. And when not inclined to literature they should read much and learn to express their thoughts in conversation. They convey their ideas to others in a most convincing manner, and through this faculty lies their greatest good, both to themselves and to humanity.

Charles Dickens, the famous novelist, was born with his Individuality here. H. Rider Haggard, another famous novelist, had his Moon in this decanate. And Robert Louis Stevenson, still another wonderful writer of romance, had this section of the zodiac on the Ascendant at his birth. It is the decanate of INSPIRATION.

From Letters to the Sage, Volume One:

            William Austin Kelsoe was born February 1, 1851 in western Illinois, where he was raised by his maternal uncle’s family. After earning his bachelor’s degree at McKendree College, he spent about two years at the University of Heidelberg, where he studied philology, history, literature, law, and physics. Upon returning to the US, he obtained a master’s degree and began working for St. Louis newspapers. Kelsoe soon became a prominent newspaper editor in the city as well as an active member of the community, participating in numerous literary and fraternal organizations, and helping found St. Louis’ Ethical Society. Kelsoe died in St. Louis on March 9, 1932.

            Kelsoe was one of the first members of the St. Louis Theosophical Society,[1] so his letters to Johnson add details about Johnson’s relationship with the group and therefore give a better glimpse into how organized Theosophy began to spread in the US Kelsoe was also friend of Alexander Russell Webb, the famous Muslim convert and former resident of St. Louis who, with Kelsoe, joined both the Society for Psychical Research and the local TS in the 1880s. His letters, therefore, help give insight into Webb’s own network of religiously experimental friends just before his 1888 conversion.

[undated, probably late 1884/early 1885]

Mr. Johnson—I owe an apology to you for running off from Memphis. We (Mrs. K. and myself) had been wanting (all day) to get away that night, but until 11 o’clock at night did not know that we would be able to get the necessary letter from Mr. Rogers, the railroad passenger agt. in charge of the excursion. We had a very pleasant trip and went as far south as Key West. When you come to the city, pay us a visit. We live at 827 Tayon avenue (South 18^th Street) and take Fourteenth street car line on Washington avenue (passes by door) or Fourth street Clouteau avenue line get off at Tayon avenue and walk one block north. You can find me at “Republican”[2] office any time between 1 pm and 3 am.

I wish to subscribe for the “Platonist” and have also two other subscribers for you. Send paper to following addresses for one year commencing with last number:

Thomas M. Knapp

818 Gratiot Street St. Louis, M.

Graham Young

“Mo. Republican”

St Louis, Mo.

W.A. Kelsoe

827 Tayon Avenue

            (South 18^th St)

St Louis, Mo.

If I mistake not, the subscription price is $2. If more, let me know and I will send the rest. Our T.S. meetings are now held Wednesday evenings. You are an officer, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you there yet. I think you ought to take a run over here to get acquainted with your brothers.

Fraternally Yours

W.A. Kelsoe

“Mo. Republican”

St Louis, Mo.

St. Louis

May 21, 1885

Dear Sir—Glad to hear from you. We are not going to the press association’s meeting this year, nor going on the excursion to Macinac. We just returned from a trip to Mexico and must wait a year before we can take another. Can’t afford two in one year. But that shouldn’t prevent our meeting each other. The convention opens Tuesday, June 2.[3] You must arrange it so that you can spend Sunday, May 31, with us. You can leave here Monday evening, and that will give you two days here, one with my wife and myself and one in which to run around and see Mr. Throckmorton, or, Field,[4] Mr. Page and other theosophists. Our society now numbers about 30 members, most of whom are regular attendants at the meetings. We meet Wednesday evenings. On your return from the editorial excursion you may be able to stop over here and attend one of them. If I mistake not, the intention is to get back to St. Louis Wednesday, June 10, and if so you could attend our meeting that night and go on home next morning. We had a very pleasant trip in Mexico, but I will save myself the trouble of telling you about it by sending you the account of it published in the “Republican”. We still live at 827 Tayon Avenue (also called South 18^th street). Mrs. K. sends regards.

            Yours fraternally

            W.A. Kelsoe

November 12, 1886

My dear friend and Brother—

I have found the “Platonist” sent me intensely interesting and am anxious to secure the print volume, as many numbers of it as possible. I hope you will not discontinue the publication of the paper. I think I can secure you new subscribers from time to time and I know that if you keep it up long enough, it will be more than self sustaining. I send you $3 for the eleven minutes[5] you have of the first volume. At the end of the present year, I will have the two volumes bound together.

            In haste

            Your friend and brother

            Theosophically

            W.A. Kelsoe

            827 Tayon Ave

            (or South 28^th st)

            St Louis, Mo.

Mrs. K. sends best regards and we would both be glad to see you. We are having interesting theosophical meetings now & are experimenting psychologically with success.

            Kelsoe

St. Louis Post-Dispatch

November 30, 1910

Dear Friend,

            Many thanks for the copy of Proclus’ Metaphysical Elements.[6] I have your sketch of Proclus’ life and found it very interesting. The “Elements,” however, are too deep for the time I can give to them at present.

            In translating Proclus’ words, you have, I am confident, conferred a lasting benefit on mankind. Without being able to grasp the subtleties of Plato philosophical writings, I am an admirer of the great philosopher himself, the more so, perhaps, because I was once a member of a “Platonian Literary Society”.

            Your book is dedicated, I see, to Dr. W.T. Harris, and you also mention Prof. Thomas Davidson. Both were my personal friends and Davidson I first met when I was a student in Germany and Harris’ acquaintance I made soon after beginning my newspaper career here in St. Louis in 1874.

            The Post -Dispatch’s story about you was received from some correspondent of the paper (I think an Oseola man, but am not sure as to that) and I understand he also sent the picture. I enclose two clippings of this article, and one cut from the Detroit Free Press of Nov. 29, which may interest you.[7]

            Yours truly

            W.A. Kelsoe

---

[1] William Austin Kelsoe TS membership, entered April 28, 1884, Theosophical Society General Register Vol. I, http://www.theartarchives.org.

[2] The Missouri Republican newspaper.

[3] What kind of convention this was is unknown.

[4] George Hamilton Field; TS membership entered March 17, 1884, Theosophical Society General Register Vol. I, http://www.theartarchives.org.

[5] It is uncertain if this is the word Kelsoe was actually writing.

[6] This was Johnson’s translation, published in Osceola in 1909.

[7] We were unable to locate the Post-Dispatch article on Johnson. The Detroit Free Press article was most likely “Every Religion Ends in Dogma” (page 8), which reports on a lecture of a Prof. Wenley of the University of Michigan who argued, following Hegel, that all religious and philosophical movements will eventually be overcome by opposing types.

The three authors included in the History of the Adepts series were all published under their own names in the 1870s and 80s.  But unlike Alexander Wilder, Sarah Stanley Grimke and Hurrychund Chintamon were also involved in writing under aliases while associated with Thomas Henry Burgoyne. The debut of this blog was greeted in 2010 by denunciation from a trio of Blavatsky experts writing under the pseudonyms Hari Hamsa, Jaigurudeva, and Padma, aroused specifically by rancor at Chintamon. Their site vanished in December 2014 without anyone ever identifying them to me. There is also a longstanding Blavatsky oriented website in which one person writes under three names, two of which, Terry Hobbes and David Green, specifically targeted me (by Hobbes in 1993) and the late Gregory Tillett (as Green starting in 1998) while defrauding dozens of members of online discussion groups.

A common thread in the lives of these authors using literary pseudonyms is that it always has unintended consequences. Emma Hardinge Britten creates Chevalier Louis de B_ out of a half dozen or more acquaintances in Europe and America; Blavatsky then outdoes her both in terms of the number of acquaintances in India and the aliases she gives them.  Thomas Henry Dalton is recruited into the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor, adopting a pseudonym under the influence of Hurrychund Chintamon and Peter Davidson who are also writing under aliases.  But his existence as Burgoyne lasts only five years, from 1886 to 1891 after which he becomes Norman Astley for the rest of his long life. Yet his publishers the Wagners appropriate his material, declare him dead, and publish what he had entrusted to them as channeled from a spirit. Hence his remaining unpublished manuscripts pile up for two decades at the end of which his wife edits and publishes excerpts under “A Pilgrim of the Way.” She did a very creditable job as editor but the book had little or no impact on readers at the dawn of the first world war, at the end of which the Astleys came to California. The unintended consequence of becoming Burgoyne in 1886 is that his literary light is under a bushel, permanently, and the same is true for Grimke when writing with him as Zanoni. But Blavatsky’s unintended consequence for alias games was far greater, the Society for Psychical Research investigation and her forced departure from India.  Britten tries to revive Chevalier Louis in 1892 in a new volume, but it is never published in book form. Hence indulging in aliases early on came back to “haunt” all three of them at the end of their writing careers.

Nothing in the transition from Benny Williams to Elbert Benjamine to C.C. Zain was comparable to this, in that his name was legally changed after he married Elizabeth. It was understood that Zain was a pen name for Benjamine, no secret.  The name change was a matter of public record and newspaper coverage at the time, explained by the Williamses opposition to his work with the Brotherhood of Light. [The fact that his mother Emma visited LA right before this and was sister in law of the governor of Iowa at the time suggests it was Elbert’s maternal relatives who were most opposed.] But when his children came back into his life by moving to California, one adopted Benjamine as a surname and the other three did not. Now his descendants (one grandson was named Elbert Benjamine) include both Williamses and Benjamines, a peculiar unintended consequence indeed.

The term occultism has problems in the 21^st century and esotericism is the preferred label among academic scholars.  My observation of the difference is that there are opposite approaches to secrecy and transparency. Esotericists have always been generous and constructive to me, while occultists have often approached historical research with four dangerous proclivities: obscurantism (the practice of deliberately preventing the facts or full details of something from becoming known), obstructionism (the practice of deliberately impeding or delaying the course of legal, legislative, or other procedures), obfuscation (the action of making something obscure, unclear, or unintelligible), and ostracism (exclusion from a society or group.)  Occultist types hoard, hide, misrepresent, and even destroy historical evidence seeking power through secrecy. Esotericists collect, explain, publish, and preserve literature from past secret traditions, not feeling bound by an ethos of secrecy or religious rivalry.

History of the Adepts was chosen first as the name of this blog and then as a series title for books for two reasons. 1) The focus is always primarily on historical evidence about sources or influences apparent in the Brotherhood of Light lessons. 2) My book The Masters Revealed had chapters about 18 Adepts and 14 Mahatmas, but the sectarian noise surrounding “the Masters” being equated with only two pseudonymous “Mahatmas” has drowned out all the historical signals in my research.   “Adepts” does not evoke the same level of smears and disinformation. Calling these people and associates adepts does not imply any judgment about their interior spiritual qualities or status; it describes their historical accomplishments in esoteric studies. One striking difference between Wilder, Grimke, Johnson, Stebbins, Astley, Chintamon, and their contemporaries in the worlds of Theosophy and Spiritualism is the prioritization of philosophical wisdom and scientific knowledge over religious belief in their writings. We see this reflected in the work of Benjamine throughout the BOL lessons, making for a more Aquarian Age flavor in this twentieth century organization than in its Piscean Age belief-based nineteenth century ancestors.

My Seven Years in Occult Los Angeles with Manly Palmer Hall is the subtitle of Tamra Lucid’s beautifully written memoir, Making the Ordinary Extraordinary. My own seven years of annual visits to occult Los Angeles lasted from 1981 to 1988, coinciding roughly with the period in which Tamra and her husband as newlyweds were involved in Hall’s Philosophical Research Society and its library.  I wish I could have known them then, but this book makes readers feel as if we have.

Instead of a biography of Hall and or his wife Marie, or an autobiography, what we have is a series of colorful anecdotes, humorously retold, about a diverse cast of characters in a unique subculture of eccentrics. The humor becomes an alchemical transformation of lead into gold, in which the author tells the story of these seven years with the benefit of thirty years of hindsight, finding many levels of meaning that were not apparent at the time.

My last trip to the LA area in any official capacity was to speak at the 1988 Secret Doctrine Centenary in Pasadena which had Mr. Hall as the featured keynote speaker, the same day I spoke about the Chaldean Book of Numbers.  In the 1990s I had a comparable amount of experience with occult Virginia Beach. The tragic circumstances of Hall’s death resonated among the milieux of Cayce and Blavatsky fans I had met; his PRS Library was the closest analogue to those in Virginia Beach, Altadena, or Wheaton I had consulted where his name was instantly recognizable, along with his magnum opus The Secret Teachings of All Ages.  Grace Knoche, Leader of the Pasadena TS which organized the event spoke of him by first name as a personal friend before this event and was the convener of the conference.

The astrology-savvy readers of this blog will appreciate Tamra’s frequent astrological references.  Chapter nine, Pluto, describes Ronnie Pontiac’s initiation into the mysteries of astrology: “Of course, Edith knew about the astrology challenge, and gave Ronnie a carefully chosen list of books, including several early editions from C.C. Zain’s Religion of the Stars set. She wanted to see our charts for herself so we got another lesson in interpretation.  She got a kick out of blowing our minds.”

I am mentioned in reference to Marie Hall’s infamy in my native southeastern Virginia on page 74: “Marie upset the locals.  I know she traumatized the town because of friend of mine, Paul Johnson, was a young man there when it happened.”  Marie Hall’s psychic visions told her and dozens of fanatical followers that Bruton Parish church yard in Williamsburg contained not just the original manuscripts of all Shakespeare’s works in Francis Bacon’s handwriting, but various kinds of other buried literary treasures revealing all the secrets of the universe.  Years of legal harassment and vandalism against the good people of Williamsburg ensued. 

Both Halls fell into the hands of unscrupulous characters among the motley crew they had collected, as described by Tamra: “And so I met many casualties of spirituality gone wrong. The seekers of wisdom who were actually seeking dominion. The ceremonial magicians who opened portals they could not close into realms they could not understand. The positive thinkers whose shadows erupted into inexplicably negative predicaments.” The most ominous line appears on page 109: “his name was Daniel Fritz, and he claimed to be a reincarnated Atlantean priest.” He claimed a great many other things, and did tremendous damage to the organization, but very soon after his appearance on the scene, Tamra and Ronnie were shown the door. “Mr. Hall asked Ronnie to see him at home, not PRS.  ‘Ron,’, Mr. Hall said, `I want you to go.’  Naturally, Ronnie wondered why.  Mr. Hall explained that all those wonderful elders, including himself, who had shown such kindness weren’t long for this world.  He did not want us to witness the demise of PRS.  ‘This is my flock,’ he told Ronnie, and I have to take them home.’

Readers of this blog may recall that my enthusiasm for Thomas Moore Johnson and Alexander Wilder was largely inspired by Ronnie’s 2013 Newtopia articles about them and Hiram K. Jones.  Very soon after reading them, I learned that Patrick Bowen had obtained permission to transcribe and publish the entire voluminous incoming correspondence to Johnson, with Wilder the most prolific correspondent by a wide margin.  Now Ronnie’s research into Johnson, Wilder, Jones, and associates is part of a forthcoming book which I will feature here when it appears. Both Tamra and Ronnie have vivid “authorial voices” which is something I have tried to avoid in a lifetime of scholarly writing with mostly academic publishing outlets. Making The Ordinary Extraordinary deserves the popular and critical success which is inevitable (or deserves to be so in my estimation.) In addition to being a book, it will also become an audiobook and subject of several podcast interviews to which I will give links in the comments. Her “voice” needs to be heard.

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Making-the-Ordinary-Extraordinary/Tamra-Lucid/9781644113752

Mysteries of the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor– Ronnie Pontiac

(Henceforth I will post two chapters per month– editorial comments will appear in February about the first half of the book)

CHAPTER TWO-BEING A BRIEF SURVEY OF SOME OF THE FUNDAMENTAL PROBLEMS

§ l.  Time:  Space:  Movement:  Form:  these are the cardinal features of the eternal reality. Time and movement are the same, viz.: Duration. Form and Space are the same, that is, imply each other; and the whole, inter-related, and co-dependent, are relative terms to express the one ultimate and fundamental fact of existence- which is Life. These cardinal features are accepted as undeniable facts of  experience. A metaphysic that would deny the reality of any one of them is unworthy of any sane thinker. Nevertheless, we are reminded that there are those who would question each and all. “Doubting Castle” is no myth, but a mighty fortress in the wilderness of the mind, and many there be who dwell therein. There   is   also   in   that strange  and “hollow land” a great shrine most wondrously fashioned by cunning craftsmen, called the Cave of Solipsism, in whose sub-mundane gloom there is reflected nothing but the images of self. Each worshipper, being his own idol, is blind to everything but the phantasmagora of his own creating.  The atmosphere is mephitic! Let us pass on!  We have not forgotten the days of captivity on “Devil’s Island,” and need a breath of pure ozone from the sea.

§ 2. What am I myself?  We think of organic life, and at once, the matter of fact mechanical intellect answers, “An organism.”    Quite true, an apt word, a rhythmic expression that sounds so   grand, comes   so   near · to   the   body, and yet carries the mind so far beyond.  And we ask, what kind of an organism? Turning the spiritual light of intuition upon the lens of intellect, we dimly see, through their penetrating rays, the machinery at work behind the outward screen of matter. So viewed, man is an individual vortex of vital activities in the psychical stream of life-a microcosm within the macrocosm of Being- a living centre of self-consciousness upon  the shoreless  ocean  of the  sub-conscious­ a focus, wherein myriad rays of the intermingling relationships of the world converge, react upon this psychical vortex, and  create a living light. This illumination is “the magnetic field” of consciousness, or sphere of mind, wherein memory, thought, and feeling have their birth.

We are dazed with the vision! We are in the presence of one of the innermost secrets of life I But, before we can grasp its meaning the whence? the why? it is gone. The movement has escaped us. A veil is thrown across the sight.  The intellect reassumes control. And there remains unanswered, the age-long question: “Whence?” whose apparent simplicity marks a problem of world-wide complexity.

Myself! How shall we question this microcosm of mystery, and bring this self-conscious organic unity of spirit and matter to an inward revelation of itself?  Some things, or features we already know, and some, as yet, we only feel through that subliminal sense of inward evidence. We have before us a form, constantly changing as a whole, yet retaining a continuous identity of self-hood. Subject to dissolution as a unit in the struggle for existence, yet possessing the possibility of survival through measureless eons of time which can only be voiced in words as the gift of immortal life. Verily we have much to learn. That ancient Delphic command: “Know thyself” is the task of Eternity.

§ 3. What is the consciousness of myself?­ that which sits enthroned upon the egoism of the I? There is no permanent unchangeable I; no imperishable ego of the self. This is the great illusion-to be more fully considered in a later chapter.

Reflect! The child thinks as a child, lives in the mental atmosphere of pure innocence and acts in consequence. Later he is a different being; he has become a youth, has all the romantic dreams of youth. Experience in the world has tarnished the mirror of his mind.   In no sense of the word can these two be caIled the same individual. There is only one link that continues the identity.  In manhood, again, the youth has disappeared. He has become to a great extent disillusioned. The romantic possibilities of earlier years turn out to be the impossible, and are relegated for safe keeping to his castles in the air, to be dreamed over again when he has reached that second childhood that hopes for their realisation in his children’s children.

Remember this:   There is an eternity behind us, as well as an eternity before us. If the indestructible ego is a fact, this monad must, also, have existed from all eternity; must have already passed through innumerable existences; hence, without change, must be the same in child­ hood, youth, and manhood.   This we know is not a fact. We are distinctly different in thought, deed, and ability. There is but one link which binds the changing states from infancy to age into one continuous identity, and that is memory. We have no memory of  any previous state of existence; therefore this I of myself is a very fleeting personality.   The consciousness of the I of myself is limited to the memorable period of the life which I now live; and this consciousness is growing and changing daily, nay, every minute of existence. It is not a. static ego looking on; not .an indestructible monad gathering experience in the world, to be sealed and signed, and then stored up in the pantechnicon of the sub-conscious for future use.

The I of my conscious self is memory; that which we remember is a part of this self; and the charioteer which is the centre around which these memories drape themselves is the only ego we possess in a conscious form. The form of. this consciousness is that magnetic field of psychical awareness of which we have already spoken. But there is a deeper, much more fundamental self than this surface field of awareness, and questions regarding this sub-conscious self, and our relations with the subliminal order of being will come before us anon.

§ 4. What is Truth? Truth, like life, assumes many forms. Truth is a conception, an idea. of consistency in statement.   It is the observation of a fact, or of the co-ordinated result of a series of facts.  It is a perception of the meaning of the facts of experience to ourselves. Every truth, under whatever form it appears, is founded upon some order of facts. For instance, the psychical facts of religious experience- are just as true, on their own plane, as the physical facts of science are upon theirs.  Natural appearances are more real to our senses than are the abstract realities behind them to our intellect. In the fervour of religious ecstasy, the saint may have visions. They may be real in the sense of being visions of a super-physical order of reality, or they may be the hallucinations arising from pathological conditions. Under any circumstances they are true for the seer as a form of experience. Finally, Truth is the expression of Reality to the mind.

§5.  What then to us is reality in a world of relativity? The answer is simple and direct:­ Reality is Life. There is no reality in the universe apart from the changing complex movements which are the  manifestations  of  life; and the meaning of life for each living soul can only be found in that centre of our being wherein lieth the Kingdom of God.  The whence, the why, and the whither can only be surveyed from that centre. The wider our horizon, the broader the view, and the deeper we can extend our feeling of life, the greater is the grasp of Truth.

Truth and Reality, for man here on earth as a centre of consciousness, consists in the flow of life in the appearances of things as they surge to the surface of his sphere of awareness, and materialize themselves into the facts of experience. It is quite true that below, or behind this flux of phenomenal appearance, there is a deeper reality- the   ceaseless   push   of the invisible spirit-the ever-changing impetus of life as it arises from the psychical ground of Nature. But this ground is no unknowable mystery; it is what the appearances proclaim it to be  a continuum of infinitely complex movements and relationships in which we are carried along, unconscious of the whirl, through the majestic shadow-land of  Nature.  And these shadows are to us the realities of Life; for our conscious centre is our only direct, unimpeachable witness as to the truth, or falsity of things; our only undisputed view-point of the world and its content. From this standpoint, it is seen that things are true and therefore real, only upon the plane of their appearance, whatever that plane may be: The idea of there being some arcane centre of Reality at the “back o’ beyont,” where all appearances disappear, and the fundamental truth, alone, comes to the surface, we have already judged to be  metaphysical absurdity, or  mystical  delirium.  The universal life has no centre apart from the psychical centre of each self-conscious being.

§  6.  Are there “Things in themselves “?

Let us re-state the question squarely. We mean a thing in itself and by itself, apart from its relationship with the rest of things. If the atomic theory of matter which postulated the eternal duration of the separate individual atoms, had been an absolute truth, then, these atoms would have been “things in themselves” independent of any series of relation they might form with the rest of the world; hence, static and unchangeable, so far as structure and qualities are concerned.

In other words, the atoms of physical science were “things in themselves” reduced to a conceptual point. We now know that they are not simple elements, but on the contrary possess a highly complex organisation. So far as material bodies are concerned, the “things in themselves” have vanished into the ether of space.  There are, however, other and more subtle conceptions of the reality of “things in themselves.”

One of the central ideas of Kant, and the foundation of much of his metaphysics, is that we cannot know things as they really are, that we live in a purely noumenal world, from which all true knowledge of the objective reality is excluded.

“Nothing,” says Kant, “which is intuited in space is a thing in itself.”    He further declares “that space is not a form which belongs as a property to things; but that objects are quite unknown to us in themselves; what we call outward objects, are nothing but mere representations of our sensibility, whose form is space, but whose real correlate, the thing in itself, is not known by means of these representations, nor ever can be.” (The italics are ours.)  Here the “thing in itself” means, of course, the original object, as it is, independent of the thinking subjects cognition.  “For instance, a tree or a waterfall is not a thing in itself, but the appearance of a thing in itself. The colours of the rainbow, in fact all colours, sky, clouds, rocks, or living beings are sensations only. They are subjective appearances representing objective realities, but they are not those realities themselves. The world of sense around us is woven into the web of consciousness from the warp and weft of our sensations. It is mere appearance. This is not a question concerning which there is any doubt; it is simply a matter of fact.  But the question arises: Can we know things as they are independent of sensation? Science is engaged with the problem, and with strangely remarkable results. Take colour, for instance: light is a sensation of vision; but what is the objective process that takes place when the human eye perceives light? This question, the physicist answers, by eliminating in his mind the sense element, and by describing the facts of the process in terms of matter and motion. Objectively considered, his answer is: A certain vibration in the ether.” But the truth of such an answer depends not only upon the reality of the ether, but upon many other things besides which are purely hypothetical. “In this instance, we may reasonably suspect that the physicist is simply substituting an intellectual conception for the sense impression; whereas, the reality of the subjective image depends only upon the indisputable fact that appearances appear, and that these appearances correspond with objective form. To the senses, the reality of a thing consists in that feature of its existence which we call matter; but it is not the matter, but the form this matter assumes that  makes  the   thing   that   which   it really is. That objective phenomena can be described   in   terms of form, or process, Kant himself would not have denied, but his fundamental error consisted in thinking  that  the formal quality of nature was purely mental and merely subjective.

Not one word can be said against the statements of Science as to the modus operandi whereby the objective world becomes known to us through our sensory organisation. All serious thinkers have long ago abandoned the idea that there is an independent entity incamated within; [1 Dr. P. Carus], that the eyes are the windows of the body through which the soul looks out upon the extemal world; and that this metaphysical entity is the thing that thinks through the medium of the brain as its organ, or sounding-board. All such conceptions, together with the various schemes of metempsychosis, must be relegated to the obsolete intellectual transcendentalisms of the past. But what must be protested against is the substitution of a scientific conception of process for the reality behind the appearance, and then calling the appearance a sensation merely, an illusion of the senses. By this scientific and philosophical method, pure conceptions are given for things, and replace direct experience with ideas of causes. To cap the climax, these intellectual models of process are held up as the reality of the phenomenaI world. We know the appearance to be real upon the plane of its appearance- there is no psychical illusion going on within the lens of a camera.   But we do not know and we have no certain means of knowing, that the conceptions of science are anything more than a. working-model of possibility, a. rational explanation of process in terms of matter and motion. As time advances, they may, and in all probability will, turn out to be, like so many other cherished ideas of the great, “a figment of the brain.”

Let it be understood, distinctly, that process of becoming is not the same thing as that which becomes- that the operations of Nature are not barely mechanical, but psycho-mechanical-that motion is one sort of reality and the product quite another. For instance, the physicist’s explanation of the so-called reality behind the sensations of light is only (if it be a. fact) the reality of the modus operandi, and not the thing in itself. The true reality is the light itself.

And all that the light means to life must be included in a true conception of the whole reality.

The web of woven tapestry is entirely different from the loom and raw material from which it came; the physiological process of vegetable­ growth different from the resulting vegetation. The process in the oak and the blade of grass is the same, but the reality is widely different. To try to make reality out of an operation, and fiction out of the product, is to ascribe “The Origin of Species ” to a process of physiological activity, and the mind and soul of Darwin to an imaginary appearance.

Appearances appear; and these appearances, within our conscious centre, possess an unique reality of their own of which the process behind is only a small part of the whole. Neither process nor appearance are things in themselves, but a complex, being of one tissue with the whole continuum of Nature.

As we write these words, a brilliant rainbow spans the sky. We look, and to our sense of sight and feeling, it is a beautiful and wonderful thing, yes, a reality; a snap-shot with the camera confirms belief in its objective existence.   The form is something   more than a   subjective image; it is a formal reality of relationships; for, apart from sun, cloud, sky, and an invisible ethereal medium, the rainbow would have no objective existence.   But the rainbow, as it shines within our own sphere of consciousness, is indescribably more than sun, cloud, sky, and vibration in the ether.   The majestic arch spanning the heavens- the glorious bands of colour with their inter­mingling divisions, realised in the mind-though invisible to the sight- the  richness  of  effect upon the entire environment, which words fail to express, surely, all these must be weighed. Now, while the objective reality before us embraces these features-is indirect relation to them, there arises within us an invisible but richer content: wonder, grandeur, mystery, and thetic pleasure. These must ever be included in a true measure of the whole of the reality to which the object gives birth. Before we realise the true meaning of reality to conscious being, a synthetic vision of the whole, together with our thoughts and emotions, must be taken.

Features or qualities abstracted from things, are not things, but only features and qualities;  so that the final abstract of these abstractions, far from being the inmost reality of the thing in itself, is only the skeleton of a reality-and not even a  real skeleton,  but  only the  conception of a skeleton, utterly unreal to the whole of  the object dissected.

In order to get down at once to the root of the subject, we will illustrate our meaning:  Let us admit for a moment that we have a piece of gold before us, the reality of which, beyond all knowledge, appears to be a thing in itself. Very well! How shall we prove the absurdity of this conception! Only by asking ourselves what are the qualities of gold! And we know these qualities because we have associated certain features of matter together and given them names which express to our mind certain definite qualities, so that when we find a certain particular group of these qualities in combination, they always pre­ sent the same form of substance. Now, the subjective object of our consciousness must correspond, in every important particular, with the objective reality, because, under every possible change of time and place, gold, when it appears, always presents the same features. This permanent correspondence could not obtain without equally permanent reality behind it- could not appear to our consciousness as the same. All word-jugglery aside, this is a fact! The reaIity of everything in existence, in the same manner, can be known through its formal qualities.  Begin to eliminate in your mind colour, density, ductability, etc., one after the other, and  the thing we call gold instantly disappears from sight; ceases to exist, because those features which made it what it was vanish with the abstractions; and with such disappearance, the thing in itself is reduced to an unsubstantial idea. The subjective images in the conscious centre are true reflections, particular features of the objective world of the realities in space.   Name, form, and quality are the psychical garments in which reality arrays itself before the conscious mind. Without these, there is nothing. The abstract movement is not the reality itself, but the vital impulse from which reality is born.   The “thing in itself ” has no existence outside of the heads of those who think it.

There is, however, a still deeper and richer content in the psychical reality of our conscious awareness than we can find in the abstract, bare appearance of the objective thing. This deeper life is the flow of the sub-conscious strata of our being. This is ever rising to the surface to mingle with and enrich the illuminated centre of the mind with countless ramifications  of   thought  and [This is not “Parallelism,”] feeling connected with the direct object in view. But this is a noumenal embroidery- a world of our very own- having no existence, in the form we perceive it, outside of ourselves; though it is as real and complex as the greater world to which it is related, and of which it forms an indissolvable part.

In summing up our thought upon this triune riddle of appearance, reality, and things in themselves, we are convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, of the existence of an external objective world which corresponds in all its important features with the world of our sensations. We are, also, equally certain that the psychical element- the sphere of consciousness enriches and idealises much that it receives from without, and that the mighty abyss of our sub-conscious self, also, adds to and improvises, so to say, with forgotten experiences of the whole of our racial past, whenever some objective reality attracts that self to the surface, thus enabling it to well up and be recognised by the conscious centre.         At the same time, undoubtedly, our limitations of sensibility leave out of our direct cognition a wealth of content existing in the whole of the objective reality-a richness of existence that we  may never be able to fathom.

§  7.   MATTER:         It seems almost unnecessary to say anything regarding the problem of matter after denying the existence of things in themselves. We will, therefore, only add that it is a concept to account for the physical reality of the cosmos. Matter is that part of the universal movement that appeals to our consciousness through the physical senses as solid and real by reason of its inertia and resistant qualities. Upon this plane of its action it is quite true. Speaking comparatively, matter is a descending, condensing movement; life, on the contrary, is an ascending, expanding movement.            Flowing in opposite directions, there arises resistance, friction, struggle, and its consequences.

Matter is the dying energy, the defeated residuum of the cosmic strife, slowly sinking into the tomb of time to weave the crystallised garments of equilibrium and death.  In this mausoleum of matter lie the vanquished forms of the fight, sleeping until the day of resurrection shall come.

But Life- the eternal victor- conquers, only to save. The formative mother-spirit broods over the vanquished and from the congealing shroud of death snatches the reeling forms of inertia, and transforms them into living substance from which she weaves the organic web of life. So the victor slays, only that she may bring forth a higher form, a greater life.   Life, the spinner of the web, is ever at work to realise itself. The web of existence, from single cell to sphere of self-consciousness, is the cosmic tapestry of Expression that issues from the living looms of time.

§ 8. COSMOS OR CHAOS? What then, in view of the foregoing, are we to think of the world order? Is it a cosmos, or a chaos?

As a whole, it is a cosmos of unknown limitations and innumerable dimensions of activity-a. psychical whole. Our own world of matter and sense is limited to one aspect only- a universe of three dimensions. But there are other dimensional aspects of reality to which our ideas of time, space, and motion do not apply. To the mortal mind of humanity, the nature of the ground is such that it would, perhaps, be more correct to describe this cosmos as chaos, because of the turmoil, contradictions, and unpredictable contingencies that are ever surging to the surface in Nature.

According to our conception of the terms, in life, there is neither logical sequence nor mathematical movement. What we know and describe as disorder, disease, suffering, and failure are as natural and firmly rooted in the ground as order, health, pleasure, and success. This ground, as before stated, is alogical and subconscious. Good and Evil, in themselves as such, are our own creations, arising from our consciousness of difference in relative states of being. But this difference is real, not imaginary. It is the expression of the strife and resistance of opposing forces, or interests, if you will, in which might alone is victor. Disorder in Nature is only some­thing which differs from our conception of order. Everything in existence, by virtue of such existence, is endowed with the inalienable right to continue to live. Below the state of self-consciousness, there is neither cruelty nor immorality in themselves. Selfishness, on this plane, is merely the struggle to survive. It is the ground immediately below the human attainment; and it is from this realm of being that the great conflict between mind and matter arose which terminated in the victory of mind.

When self-consciousness dawned in the bra.in of primitive man, a new order of energy was born into the world: henceforward there was a spiritual power of purposive direction towards definite ends.

So the universe, ever in a state of Becoming, is ever more conscious, and its operations more rational.

§ 9. The survival of the human personality beyond the grave now craves our serious attention. To the writer the question:  “Is it possible for the individual consciousness of the soul, to continue in a super-physical state of being after death?” can no longer arise.    It was answered in the affirmative many years ago; under circumstances which rendered self-deception, telepathy or fraud upon the part of others utterly impossible.      Here we must be personal. This experience came at a time when thoughts and work lay in a wholly different direction: when spirit communion, if it occupied a place in the mind at all, was certainly in the back-most of the back seats of the brain; for the “I” was entirely unconscious of entertaining such ideas. A brief statement of all the necessary facts of the experience will be found in Appendix I “A case of Spirit Identity.” It is only necessary here to point out, that coming without prejudice, as it did, with no self-seeking wish to father the issue, there was no self-deception. There was no tricky form of mediumship; no dubious clairvoyance describing symbolic images that might have any meaning and be construed to any end. On the contrary a genuine vision was perceived by a normal person in good health. A clearly defined personality appeared almost as objective as any other of the surroundings. I distinctly heard the voice speaking, (or I imagined I did) giving names, dates, and other important items, not necessary to recount here.  And the result? a complete verification of every detail. In view of proposition “7” that Reality is the verification of experience. I accept this and affirm as sincerely as I can affirm any experience in my life that the communication received was a reality; that the soul of a departed person did appear- hence   survived   death.      What is possible in one instance is possible in others.  Since that time scores of instances of identity have crossed the path of my research, but none that stands out so clearly as this. This is the one unique gem in a vast collection. But it has one tiny flaw. It is not perfect  when  studied  from an orthodox religious point-of-view. For purposes unknown to us, some other order of spiritual intelligence may have impersonated the mother. But the absence of any conceivable reason for deception, and the fact that the message was fraught   with   momentous consequences and formed the turning-point  in  a  career,  compels  me to reject any idea of deception. The consequences, at any rate, have been nothing but beneficial to those concerned.

The possibility of the survival of the human peronality beyond the grave, then, is assumed in the chapters which follow; and this tremendous fact makes all the difference in the world to the philosophical attitude of a thinker’s mind.

A philosophy of life which neglects to take account of the super-normal facts of psychical research, together with the facts of religious experience, fails most lamentably to justify its name. Ere the close of the present century it will become as obsolete as medieval scholasticism.

§ 10. We now come to the final and so far as the writer is concerned, the central and only vital problem of the quest for truth. “What shall I do to inherit   eternal   life?”-Mark   x.  17.     

A long familiarity with, and study of various oriental forms of mystical and religious philosophy convinces us quite clearly that each race must work out its own redemption along the special lines of its own psychical evolution.  The Vedanta, the Sufi, and the Buddhist philosophies are adapted exclusively to what may be called the Asiatic temperament.      We may cull precious gems from each form of thought, but the spiritual fabric for the European mind must be fundamentally Gothic (to use a metaphor) in its psychical structure.  Though the end to be attained is the same for each, their racial idiosyncrasies are radically different and demand religious conceptions that are in perfect harmony with that special psychical constitution of mind which has been evolved through long ages of thought, work and environment. In the last part of the book we have attempted to give the essence of a spiritual truth that will reveal the results attained to those who have eyes to see.

The language used there is necessarily allegorical. Only in images which require spiritual interpretation can spiritual things be spoken of.

“The King’s Highway,” far from being fiction, is the outcome and record of a spiritual experience. It is the mystic “way of the cross” entered upon only by those who, in addition to an unbiased mind, have proved through experience, the worthlessness of the purely material rewards which the world of to-day has to offer in exchange for life.   It is the “Path of Light” for the soul free from the greatest of all earthly illusions: the illusion of self.

To know, and to be able to feel that the human soul is not a separate unit of existence, but one with the soul of the universe, is to obtain a deathless grip upon the universal reality, and realise that there is nothing absolute but LIFE-the Formless.    All below this pure spiritual principle is manifest through form, and all forms are relative. The human soul is but a living chalice in which coruscations of the spirit rise to the surface of consciousness. As forms of consciousness, we are one with the forms in so far as the spirit of life manifests through us; yet separated from, though related to all other forms of being.   He who grasps this idea will apprehend the writer’s meaning of infinite unity in a world of relativity. Perceiving this, the illusion of ” things in themselves” will vanish. The soul is then free.   It may enter the “Path of Light” and partake of “The Gospel which is glorious!”

Major changes in the publishing landscape this fall have resulted in a lot of new publications and formats on Amazon/Kindle. The Sarah Stanley Grimke Collected Works, originally published as public domain in 2019 in paperback, is now out of print in that format and available as a hardcover and ebook copyrighted by Patrick D. Bowen and myself with more original content. Newly in print in paperback for the first time is Hurrychund Chintamon’s Commentary on the Text of the Bhagavad-Gita, published prior to his involvement in the origins of the Theosophical Society, Arya Samaj, and Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor and hence not part of the series. I have also created a hardcover of this book. The 2018 second volume of Letters to the Sage in paperback, and both hardcover and paperback editions of its condensation as Letters to Thomas Moore Johnson by Alexander Wilder, are part of the series. My own Pell Mell is listed as a related title, prequel to the series, since it deals mainly with the 1860s-70s whereas the series titles focus on the 1880s and 1890s. As for the twentieth century Brotherhood, I will be issuing The Quest of the Spirit, edited by Genevieve Stebbins and authored by “A Pilgrim of the Way” in 1913, in serial installments here as blog posts in 2022 rather than in book format.

Otherwise, there is so much happening with living authors, younger authors, that my 2022 blog posts will feature them rather than any of the defunct 19thc authors heretofore featured, but the Astleys in the 20thc and their influence on Elbert and Elizabeth Benjamine will also be a theme in 2022.

We have only one January Capricorn and one Aquarius February birthdate in the Letters to the Sage, but much else to report in 2022, so am sharing this one in December.

From The Last Eighteen Decanates Analyzed:

CAPRICORN—3rd Decanate. The Southern Fish—PISCES AUSTRALIS—is the constellation picturing the Mercury decanate of Capricorn. It is shown as eagerly drinking the water that flows from the urn of Aquarius. This symbolizes the conception that through the cultivation of the higher emotions it is possible to communicate volitionally with those who have passed to the spirit side of life. Also, that those on earth are, to an undreamed of extent, the recipients of love and wisdom poured down upon them by those who are of earth no more.

People born under this decanate have natural ability to grasp the ideal and express it in concrete form. Their power of imagination is marked, and is united to the faculty of intensive labor. They can follow clerical lines, but to develop their highest talents they should be permitted to develop and execute plans of their own. They readily contact the interior planes and draw valuable information from that source, even when unconscious of the origin of their ideas.

Joan of Arc, who under spirit guidance led France to victory, was born when the Sun was in this decanate. George Eliot, who attained fame through the ideals expressed in her novels, was born with her Mentality here. And Michelangelo, the greatest sculptor and artist of all time, was born with this portion of the zodiac on the Ascendant. It is the decanate of IDEALISM.

From Letters to the Sage, Volume One

T.H. Pattinson

            Thomas Henry Pattinson was born in Tranmere, England on January 11, 1851 and died in 1939. By the 1880s he had settled in the borough of Bradford in Yorkshire where he worked as a watchmaker and jeweler. Interested in esotericism, he joined the Society Rosicruciana in Anglia (SRIA) and was an early and leading member of both Bradford’s Theosophical Society lodge[i] as well as the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. Pattinson was also a friend of the important British H.B. of L. leader Rev. William Ayton—whom Pattinson made an honorary member of Bradford’s Golden Dawn Horus Temple—although Pattinson himself was rejected by the H.B. of L.[ii]

            Pattinson’s letters to Johnson are important because they reveal details suggestive about both Johnson’s early involvement in the H.B. of L. and the early interest in the Tarot among Western occultists. The earliest of Pattinson’s letters, dated August 18, 1884, shows that by that time he, Johnson, and Ayton had all been corresponding on the subject of the Tarot. Pattinson was preparing to send Johnson Tarot cards (which he appears to have drafted himself) as well as, at the instruction of Ayton, a manuscript and book on the subject, both of which were probably authored or edited by Kenneth Mackenzie.[iii] The fact that the letter from August—which was presumably written before the H.B. of L. was known to any of these men—indicates that the Tarot was the main shared interest between Pattinson, Johnson, and Ayton at that time, which suggests that Ayton and Johnson’s relationship may have started due to this shared interest. Ayton—the eager occultist and Theosophist who had been interested in Lévi for several years—undoubtedly read the Platonist and took great interest in the Lévi translations.[iv] This pre-H.B. of L. occult connection with Ayton would explain why it is that Ayton—as opposed to Burgoyne or Davidson, who had been the early promoters of the H.B. of L.—became Johnson’s guru for the group’s teachings. Meanwhile, Pattinson’s letters to Johnson also reveal that the latter had taken an interest in magic mirrors prior to joining the H.B. of L. and he may have also wanted to use an ancient Hebrew type of ephod for magical practices—something that does not seem consistent with what is known about H.B. of L. magical ceremonies and therefore may be indicative of Johnson being involved with another occult group (perhaps a precursor to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn) or possibly attempting to privately pursue Jewish mysticism.

T.H. Pattinson. Jeweller

6, Piccadilly, Late Manchester Road. Bradford, England

18 Aug. 1884

Dear Mr. Johnson

            I must apologise for not answering your letter enclosing 11/-8 for the Taro Cards sooner.

            Since you wrote I have been mostly away from home and amongst other places I have visited is W^m. Aytons he spoke of you and I promised him seeing he is so busy to supply you with all the necessary manuscripts of the Taro. I have studied this subject from an occult point of view now for almost 3 years and It is undoubtedly a very difficult subject to get into. But I will do my best in my next letter to put what I can of it before you. It will take one about a week to put the Hebrew letters on the Cards and get you the Papers ready.

            It will give me very great pleasure indeed to send you the Cards & M.S any thing I can do for an occult friend is always done with pleasure and a sense of duty.

            I am only sorry that more prompt attention to your letter could have Been paid. However I will at once get them out of hand for you

            Yours fraternally

            TH Pattinson 

T.H. Pattinson. Jeweller

6, Piccadilly, Late Manchester Road. Bradford, England

2 Nov.[v] 1884

Dear Mr. Johnson. I received your letter of octob^er – 10 and waited a week hoping you would again send acknowledging the receipt of the Taro Cards which were sent off same time the M.S Book was. I[t] is possible the custom house officers have the cards and will confiscate them unless duly duty is Paid upon them. I sent them unregistered and as papers the postage was so heavy I believe the postage of the 2 was 8/ or 9/- the cards would have cost 9/- by themselves. If sent as registered letter. If you have not yet got them request and also let me know.

            I send you the Book on the History of Cards[vi] mentioned in my last letter do not be in any haste to return it. I have no immediate use for it & you can return it at your leasure.

            I have several little bits of information I have got told of lately in reference to cards which I will send on to you in the course of time. But first I must get hold of the cards, which I respect shortly.

            Referring to the magnetic mirrors. I will put one in hand for you in about a week I shall send it on to you. I am at present trying some experiments on the Black mirrors and If one I made yesterday is what I think it is. I will send you one on also.

            Friar no doubt wants money and will use any kind of knowledge for the purpose. I do not remember the Book you refer to. (that he is about to publish.) If you will let me know I will give you all the information I can about it. But any thing he sells is charged 5 times to much money.

            I have a good lot of occult Books and any Book I have I will lend you with pleasure. I have the devine Poimander (original Edition) of Hermes and some of Aggrippa’s works. I am anxious to read Randolph Works which Friar advertises. are they as expensive in America as in England. If not I should like have Eulis and several others and If they are cheaper will you kindly let me know. Friar asks 20/- & 12/- for some of the minor ones. Are they worth reading? in your opinion.

            Anything I can do for you will be done with pleasure at any time

            Yours Fraternally

            TH Pattinson

T.H. Pattinson. Jeweller

6, Piccadilly, Late Manchester Road. Bradford, England

1 Nov. 1885

Dear Sir.

            Do not be bothered about the Books it is not so very particular and I will let you know in due course, if you have not done with it keep it a little longer.

            I want you if you will to kindly send me the Feby 1884 No of the Platonist I have noticed a very important translation from Eliphas Levi which I think throws a great light upon The practical working of the Taro,[vii] I have enclosed this translation and I think I shall be able to find out the use of the number Cards. If you Can give me any more translations of a similar nature. I shall be gratefull and no doubt in turn it would come back in other form. That is if you are interested in Taro researches.

            Referring to magic mirror I do not want to charge you so much money for a thing that is useless. The 2 mirrors I made for you at the time turned out no use.[viii] So I did not send them. I[f] you still do wish for one of these metallic one[s] I will make you one with pleasure. or any thing else I can do for you

            I have fished out the correct dress of the High priest (cabbalistic) and have got an artist friend to paint it on paper for me.

            The 12 stones of the Ephod and their correct colours are shown also the correct colours of the dress.  

            If you would like to have this I will get one done for you. I do not know what the cost will be. I could let you know after I you though it worth your while.

            Yours obediently

            TH Pattinson

---

[i] His TS membership was entered February 15, 1889, Theosophical Society General Register Vol. I, http://www.theartarchives.org.

[ii] Godwin et al., HBL, 3 n. 1.

[iii] See Ronald Decker and Michael Dummett, A History of the Occult Tarot, 1870-1970 (London: Duckworth, 2002), 47-48.

[iv] For Ayton’s early interest in the Tarot, see Decker and Dummett, A History, 47-48; for his early involvement in the Theosophical Society, see ODL, 2:4-9 and BCW, 1:410, 421.

[v] Pattinson’s handwriting is a little unclear here. We have assumed that this is November based on the following: A) the way he wrote “Nov.” in his November 1, 1885 letter is very similar to the month he seems to have written here; and B) this letter was almost definitely sent after August, considering that in his August 18, 1884 letter he is promising to send Johnson Tarot cards and in this letter he is explaining why they have not yet arrived.

[vi] This was probably the A History of the Playing Card that Mackenzie had possibly helped edit, as mentioned in Mackenzie biography and the introduction to this volume.

[vii] Pattinson is referring to Doubleday’s “Kabbalistic Doctrine of the Spirits,” which Johnson published in the January and February 1884 issues of the Platonist.

[viii] See his letter for November 2, 1884.

This book consists primarily of Hurrychund Chintamon’s commentary on an English translation of the Gita but its opening pages provide a glimpse of his interests as an early “global esotericist” familiar with Freemasonry and Spiritualism as well as Indian religion. Sanskrit passages in the original were removed and marked by ellipses because OCR after scanning left them illegible. The entire book is available here and many other online sites, and is now being published in paperback.

PREFACE.

What little philosophy the reader may find in these pages is not that of Patanjali, or Epicurus, of Lucretius, or Kant, of Berkeley, or Cousin; let me call it the philosophy of common sense, and so appeal to all for its consideration. Its chief object is the cleansing of spiritual truth; for as in the material world gold and precious metals have at all times existed, but mixed with dross and dirt, and requiring purifi¬cation in the furnace of the refiner, so spiritual truth has likewise always existed in the world of knowledge, but has ever been mixed at first with some debasing alloy of ignorance or superstition, which must be removed by the refining influence of Reason.

The whole dictionary of ancient religion is made up of metaphor. Polytheism is but the polyonomy of religion; mythology is the baby talk of religion. The fault is ours if we now misunderstand that early speaking of a child to a child.       .

Various successive religions answer the purpose of God in proriding suitable meats for various digestions. Nor are the worshippers in every religion but one excluded from salvation.

“WHAT new thing is contained in this?” is the common question of those who are careless or incapable of understanding the importance of philosophical inquiry, when any work on the philosophy of religion is produced. There is no new thing contained in this work. The author of the sacred song, its subject, did but endeavour, as many before and after him, to raise the veil of ignorance and superstition from the heart of man, and so enable him to read the characters written there by Reason in her own fair hand. The old saying of the Greek sage “Know thyself,” is here, as everywhere, all-important. Man, who finds delight in the reason of others, must find yet greater delight in his own— still greater delight in considering that its origin is from God, and that it is the only path by which to approach Him. As man, before he can love God, whom he has not seen, must love his brother, whom he has seen, so, before he can know and feel pleasure in God, he must know and feel pleasure in himself.

The Indian pundits, from the age of Kapila, the modern Descartes, to that of Krishna Dwaipayana, whether they have been Nishvara or Seshvara, Charvaka, or the disciples of Atmabodha, care as little for the thirty-three millions of gods which people the Hindu Pantheon, as the educated ministers of the Church for the Saints of the Anglican Calendar. But the policy of priests in Asia, as in Europe, has ever been to hide knowledge from the vulgar, as nurses hide knives from children—not to throw pearls before swine, or that which is holy before dogs. In Hindustan, as in England, there are doctrines for the learned, and dogmas for the unlearned; strong meat for men, and milk for babes; facts for the few, and fictions for the many; realities for the wise, and romances for the simple; esoteric truth for the philosopher, and exoteric fable for the fool. The Chandala knows no more of Sanscrit than the French peasant of Latin, yet it is in these languages only that it is given to them respectively to know the mysteries of heaven,—in these, and in idle, if imposing, rites and ceremonies, and in profane and old wives’ fables, against which Timothy was cautioned by Paul. Divine service may be divided, therefore, into knowledge of external fable or ceremony, and knowledge of internal fact or truth. The latter finds fit audience, though few; the disciples of the former are the world at large.

I need not, I think, warn those for whom this book is intended, not to reject as nonsense that which is merely new, or to consider that which is barbarous, therefore bad. I presume they will judge for them-selves, like the old Berseans, whether these things are so; and if they are not, I shall at least have had the credit of assisting in the detection of error. Nor is the philosophy contained in this book difficult to understand. Its object is simply the removal of those mists of error which hide from man the beauty of his own spiritual nature; its end is to attract and reduce them to nothing by the warm, radiant light of Reason, in a time when the icy chains of error and superstition which have circled him so long and with so cold a clasp, are being fast melted by the increasing heat of education and intelligence.

The text, with the aid of the commentary, will, it is to be hoped, be sufficiently plain. One or two observations only, which seemed out of place in the notes, may be made here.

First, it is worth while to remark that pithy climax of Arjuna’s creed: after he has addressed Krishna as the formless form, mortal and immortal, indivisible and divisible, being and non-being, motion and rest, the great omnipresent and everlasting God, with whom one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day, he ends his hymn of praise with those sublime and impassioned words, “ Thou All I” The “Bhagavad-Gita” describes Him, in whom we live and move and have our being, and without whom nothing is, as the origin of all birth, death, might, wisdom, and goodness. It says He receives no one’s virtue or vice; that is, it is a matter of indifference to the Supreme whether man or any other animal be what man calls good, or what man calls bad. It is the pride of humanity alone which considers itself worthy of the notice of God…

The reader will notice especially the following opinions of philosophic latitudinarianism. Indifference to doctrines will be the result of escape from delusion. God is to be worshipped without any religious form. In the end, as Paul preached to the Corinthians, God is to be all in all. The real philosophical Nirvana is to be the final state, after all vicissitude and misery, of everlasting and supreme repose. Knowledge is throughout represented as power, and the worst form of poverty as the poverty of wisdom. Learning is more than loveliness, more than hidden treasure, a companion and a consoler. It distinguishes between what is transitory and what is eternal, and so subdues sorrow; it shows the sturdy tree carried away by the flood which passes by the bending rush, and so prevents pride; it teaches that religious ceremony cannot alone absolve from sin. It is the path by which man may pass from the unreal to the real, from night to dawn, from death to immortality; it is the ladder which leads to God.

I have only, in conclusion, to add my obligations to Mr. J. C. Thomson, whose excellent translation of the “Bhagavad-Gita ” into English—the best that is known to me—I have taken the liberty of choosing as the subject of my Commentary; and to Mr. Brockie, from whom I have borrowed some excellent remarks. I have also had throughout in my book the assistance of a distinguished English scholar, whose modesty, I regret to say, forbids my rendering my work more valuable with his name.

QUESTIONS ON UNIVERSAL THEOLOGY.

SINCE my arrival in this country I have visited several places both of amusement and of instruction, and have been astonished at the stride of progress in both ; but in the department of self-improvement, or that department which is the most vital and fundamental to mankind, the religious instruction communicated to the public in several denominatory institutions has, in this civilized country, in no small degree surprised me, and I have been at a loss to understand the aims and objects of these institutes; hence, I earnestly desire to be enlightened on the following few Questions:—

1.       Is not God, the creator of the universe, one without a second?

2.       Does not the fatherhood of God establish the brotherhood of mankind?

3.       Is not mankind in all countries and nations virtually the same, though differing in form, colour, dress, and speech?

4.       Is not reason a natural gift to all, by which men are superior to other animals?

5.       Since reason has the quality of discrimination, does it not presuppose the existence of the evil of ignorance?

6.       On what grounds are the differences in belief to be defended?

7.       On what ground is the conclusive opinion of the sole authenticity of each to be supported, and how can the pride of its supporters be upheld?

8.       Should such beliefs be allowed to remain—sources, as they me, of hatred in humanity, and stagnation in progress?

9.       If universality of belief and nationalization are to be united, what means are best conducive to the attainment of this end?

MORAL PRECEPTS.

1.       O MIND! desires are bad, and lead to sin, Keep these without, and bind good thoughts within.

2.       O Mind! forsake desires, to truth adhere;

For from desire come sorrow, suffering, fear;

And who of men such fruits as these holds dear?

3.       O Mind I away with anger, from which grew First grief; away with lust, whose child is pain;

Away with pride and envy; peace ensue, Sweet as in sultry tides the summer rain.

4.       O Mind! be constant always, and forbear

Vain talk, which murders time, of talk the worst. 0 Mind! let all your words be clean, and fair,

And sweet, to satisfy the hearers’ thirst.

5.       O Mind! how precious is good fame ! It is The ointment of sweet savour, like the wood

Of the brown sandal tree, perfumed is this, Living for ever, and for ever good.

6.O Mind! who in this world of woe Rests happy in hamlet or on throne ?

Alas! we reap what seed we sow; The hands that smite us are our own.

7.  Mind! be not afflicted, be not grieved;

Be not afraid, be not forlorn, O Mind!

Peace is by reason in the heart received, By perfect reason grows rash man resigned.

8. O Mind! One grieves for his brother’s death, and he Dies; loud ambition has no lodging here, Or should have none; it fills the bond and free With rage and lean remorse and quaking fear, And guilt that ever looks behind, and lust, Those idle passions of the child of dust.

The Occult Nineteenth Century | SpringerLink

Your name, respected Sir, is well known among all intelligent Spiritualists in America. Personally I have heard much of you and your studies from Mrs. Emma H. Britten (a member of the Council of our Society) and Mr. J.M. Peebles. I have also read what has been contributed by your pen to the London Spiritualist. Your views upon the Spiritual States […] so coincide with those of our revered colleague and teacher Mme. H.P. Blavatsky, that the Council have instructed me to respectfully request the privilege of enrolling your name among our Corresponding Fellows […].

You live so far away from here, and it requires so much time to exchange letters, that I will venture to transmit your Diploma without waiting to hear from you; at the same time expressing the hope that it may please you to retain it

—H.S. Olcott’s letter to Peary Chand Mittra, dated June 5, 1877 (TS Adyar Archives, Adyar, India. Accessed 3 January 2019)

One of the most positive developments of recent years for my research interests is a veritable avalanche of new publications about nineteenth century international occultism. In addition to several contributors to Oxford’s 2020 Imagining the East and SUNY’s 2020 Theosophy Across Boundaries, the October history conference I was involved in was attended by a contributor to an even newer similar book, Palgrave’s 2021 Occult Nineteenth Century.

Occult’s First Foot Soldier in Bengal: Peary Chand Mittra and the Early Theosophical Movement | SpringerLink

I was in touch with Mriganka Mukhopadhyay just after my research on Bengal Theosophists was complete and his was ongoing with multiple projects. His page on academia.edu lists quite a few. What most impresses me is that before completing his PhD he has already made so many scholarly contributions all of which seem to be only prologues to a magnum opus that will be a comprehensive overview.

Mriganka Mukhopadhyay | University of Amsterdam – Academia.edu

From The Last Eighteen Decanates Analyzed:

SAGITTARIUS—2nd Decanate. The Eagle—AQUILA—symbol of transmuted sex, and the power of the higher mind to make lofty flights through the rare atmosphere of the spiritual world, pictures among the constellations the Aries decanate of Sagittarius.

The migratory instincts of Sagittarius are given a trend toward pioneering. Consequently, we find people born here to be unusually successful in searching out new fields of endeavor, physical, mental, and spiritual. They are usually restless. Their minds are constantly alert for new facts. And in order that they shall not become discontented it is very essential that they have at all times some definite work to accomplish, and that this work is of a nature to be well worth their best efforts. Confinement and restrictions are most depressing to these people, and if forced to be idle or to follow some uncongenial occupation they become rebellious and hypercritical. They require some task of importance to call out their wonderful executive ability.

Alfred de Musset, whose searching mind grasped the merits of both the classic and the romantic schools and welded them into a system of his own, becoming famous as a poet, playwright, and novelist, was born when the Sun was here. Alice Le Plongeon, author, and co-worker with her husband in his explorations among the ruins of Yucatan, was born with her Mentality under this decanate. And Dr. Sven Hedin, the great geographical explorer, had this section of the zodiac on his Ascendant. It is the decanate of EXPLORATION.

From Letters to the Sage:

Henry Liddell 

            In the short autobiographies that he sent out for publication in various books in the early 1900s, Henry Liddell claimed to have been born to a Henry George Liddell and Barbara W. Greetham in England on December 3, 1843 and educated at a “Burdis Academy, King Edward VI Grammar School, Newcastle-on-Tyne.” Unfortunately, none of this can be verified by external records, nor can his claims of having authored several books in the 1870s. However, records from the 1870s do exist that support his claims of having lived in Japan and of having been a member of that country’s Asiatic Society. In the early 1880s, when records of his American activities first appear, he was working as a book agent and writer of articles concerning Chinese and Japanese society. In 1887, Liddell married Eva L. Barnes in Boston and soon moved to New York City and claimed to have become a physician. Liddell was made a member of both the Theosophical Society and the H.B. of L. in 1886,[1] and an 1887 advertisement has him inquiring about books written by Britten and Randolph, but there is no trace of his esoteric interests after the latter year, and no trace of Liddell himself after 1910.

            Liddell’s letters to Johnson—replete with suggested Californian and Coloradan subscribers to the Platonist—are significant primarily because they reflect the Western US concentration of the American esotericist community and its early connection with mind cure/New Thought.[2] Furthermore, they reveal the importance of that western community for creating a cross-country network with which traveling esotericists could connect to reaffirm their affiliation with the growing American esotericist network. Finally, Liddell’s mention of Alexander Russell Webb is the only known preserved reference to Webb in a TS-authored letter in the 1880s.[3]

A. Roman, Agent, Publisher and Bookseller

San Francisco

August 3, 1884

Dear Sir,

            I beg to thank you for your kindness in forwarding me copies of your excellent brochure, “The Platonist,” which I have perused with great pleasure.

            I am a litterateur, and generally on the move. For this reason, I cannot well subscribe to The Platonist at present, but I am thinking of settling down for awhile, either here or in New Orleans; when I shall certainly do myself the pleasure of subscribing.

            I enclose you a list of names of persons to whom it may be worth your while to forward sample copies of your publication. My experience as a journalist tells me that it is not of much use sending a copy of one’s paper without an accompanying note. If you have time, or the necessary help, to enable you to do so, you might possibly increase your subscription list by sending copies.

            I have resided in China and Japan for some years, and may be able to send you an article or two on certain forms of philosophy, &c., in vogue in those countries, and adjoining territory, that may prove interesting; if they are not out of your line.

            I should feel under a further obligation to you if you would send me what information you have with respect to the Theosophical Society, and the American Akademe. I am a student of the occult sciences, and desire to ally myself with those bodies; particularly the first-named. Is there any branch of the Theosophical Society in San Francisco or Oakland?

            With best wishes, I am, Sincerely yours Henry Liddell

Prof. H.C. Gibson, Jones St., San Fran., Cal.

Hon. T.H. Rearden, San Francisco, Cal.

W.A. Lawson, Editor Bee, Sacramento, Cal.

Marysville, Yuba Co., Cal.

Judge Craddock,

Hon. Phil. N. Keyser,

Hon. E.A. Davis,

Jno. H. Jewett, Esq., Banker,

Chas. H. Brooks, Rideout’s Bank,

Dr David Powell,

Dr C.E. Stone,

Rev. E.M. Mott, (Episcopal)

Rev. Bishop O’Connell (R.C.)

Rev. Bishop Manogue (R.C.)

Rev. Father Coleman, Smartsville, Cal.

Rev. Father Hines, Chico,    ––“––

Rev. Father Graves, Sacramento, ––“––

(Please do not mention my name. I will send you a list of names for China and Japan, if you desire it.)

A. Roman, Agent, Publisher and Bookseller

San Francisco

September 13, 1884

Dear Sir,

            Your esteemed favor of the 11^th ult. Reached me only two days ago, owing to your having omitted to address me “c./o. A. Roman”, the building 120 Sutter St., being a very large one, with a number of tenants. Please note this.

            I am exceedingly obliged for your kind offer to have me proposed a member of the American Akademe, and gladly avail myself of it. The copy of bye-laws you enclosed does not mention the amount of the initiation fee, but whatever it is I will forward it on hearing from the secretary. My full name and address is:

            Henry Liddell,

            (Profession) Litterateur

            (Member of the Asiatic Socty. Of Japan)

            c./o. A. Roman,

            120 Sutter St.,

            San Francisco, Cal.

            I have not yet had an opportunity of calling on Dr Docking of Oakland,[4](whose name you kindly sent me), with reference to the Theosophical Society, but will do so. I hope to be in St. Louis about Novr., on my way to New Orleans, where I shall do myself the pleasure of calling on you at Osceola.

            I enclose you a short list of names of persons in China and Japan likely to appreciate the Platonist;[5] will send you a further list later on. Also an article or two that may prove of interest to your readers. Being on the point of leaving the city for the South, I have not much leisure for outside affairs.

            I have seen something of both Chinese and Japanese (alleged) magicians, but am not in a position to say just how much chicanery there is in their exhibitions.

            Sincerely yours Henry Liddell

San Francisco

October 4, 1884

Dear Sir,

            Your esteemed favor of 23^rd ult. came duly to hand, and contents have been noted. I gladly accept you kind offer to have me proposed as a member of the Pioneer Theosophical Society of St. Louis. This is an opportunity I may not otherwise have. It is not quite certain that I shall be in St. Louis as early as November, but I presume the will not matter greatly, so long as I am now posed and accepted. Very many thanks for your kind offer.

            I shall take with me into the country the sample copies of the Platonist you kindly sent, and “talk up” the journal wherever favorable opportunity occurs.

            Faithfully yours

            Henry Liddell

Col. Hollister, Santa Barbara, Cal.

Hon. J. Fernato, Santa Barbara, Cal.

Pioneer Club. Santa Barbara Cal

Dr Shaw Santa Barbara Cal

San Francisco, Cal

Pacific Club

Union Club

Loring Club

Bohemian Club

A. Roman, Agent, Publisher and Bookseller

San Francisco

November 19, 1884

Dear Sir,

            I beg to enclose you a postal note for $2, for a year’s subscription to The Platonist ending with Decr. (next month), as you have been good enough to forward the copies monthly for some time past. In the beginning of the coming month, I am to start for British Columbia, and as I shall be away from civilization for some time, and out of reach of the mails, I will not trouble you to continue providing the Platonist, after that time. I have lost no opportunity of putting in a good word for your excellent journal, and trust it may have had effect. Business on this coast is frightfully dull, and money very scarce. We have had a good harvest, but wheat is so low that farmers are obliged to hold on to their crops, and there is thus no coin in circulation.

            I regret to say that my plans for a visit to St. Louis during the present month will have to be foregone, as business interests require my presence north, this winter. Under the circumstances, therefore, I shall not need to trouble you to have me proposed for membership in the Pioneer Theosophical Lodge of St. Louis, as you kindly offered to do. Should the proposition have already been made, it will not matter I suppose; I shall certainly be able to visit your state next Spring. Theosophy is beginning to excite a great deal of interest in San Francisco.

            I received, a few days ago, my certificate of membership of the American Akademe. Many thanks to you for this.

            Believe me, Fraternally Yours

            Henry Liddell    

Denver

January 14, 1886

Dear Sir,

            I beg to thank you for copies of The Platonist for months of Augt. and Septr. last, forwarded on from San Francisco, and to hand only yesterday. I have been continually on the move since last April, having traveled from San Francisco to British Columbia, and thence through Washington Territory, to Idaho, Montana, Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado. I shall remain in Denver only about two weeks longer, and then go on south via St. Louis, probably as far as the City of Mexico. Should I come anywhere within a hundred miles of Osceola, will do myself the pleasure of calling on you. I hope the St. Louis branch of the Theosophical Society is still in existence, that I may avail myself of your kind introduction, and become a member thereof. As soon as I can get back to San Francisco, I mean to have a complete set of the Platonist; am glad to note that you have reprinted those nos that were out of print.

            I do what I can to push your admirable publication, wherever I go; but, as you know, the number of persons who appreciate such a journal is but small. Am pleased to see you intend publishing a translation of Eliphas Levy’s “Dogme”; I know it; it is a valuable work. Have you seen the Chevalier De Mousseaux’s[6] two famous books, “La Magie de la XIXme Siecle”, and (exact title forgotten— “de la Haute Magie”)? As soon as I get settled, I intend sending you an article on Chinese and Japanese Magic.

            I am trying to get up a class of 20 or more persons here, for a course of lectures on Occultism. Should I succeed, will not neglect the opportunity to recommend the Platonist. The people of Denver are at present greatly exercised over Mind Reading and mind cure. A man named J. Randall Brown[7] gave an entertainment in the Grand Opera House here a week ago, and took in $2,000. A professor Sherman[8] came from Boston lately, to instruct a class of 40 persons in “mind cure”, at $100 a head, and departed inside of two weeks with $4,000 in his gripsack. I have a young, Englishman with me who can do all the feats performed by the first-named.

            Below, you will find names of a few persons interested in Occultism; you might, if you wish, send them sample copies of the Platonist—with best wishes,

            Believe me to remain, faithfully yours

            Henry Liddell

(Don’t mention my name.)

Thos. Fell, Esq., Victoria, British Columbia.

Prof. J.E. Clayton, Territorial Geologist, Salt Lake City, Utah.

Prof. Aughey,        ­­–––“––––––––“––––––“––  Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Rev. Dr Rafter,   Cheyenne, Wyo.

T.W. Peters, Esq. Cheyenne, Wyo.

Rev. T.J. Van Hess, Denver, Colo.

Rev. C.J. Adams, So. 13^th St., Denver, Colo.

Mrs Prentice,[9] Curtis Street, Denver, Colo.

Mrs Hall, Metaphysician, Denver, Colo. (address so.)

Mrs Mason, –––“––––––––“––––––“–– (address so.)

Dr Russell,  –––“––––––––“––––––“––

Prof. J. LeConte, Berkeley University Oakland, Calif. “Overland Monthly Maga. San Francisco, Cal.

St. Louis

November 4, 1886

Dear Sir,

            Your favor of yesterday’s date is to hand. Mr Page returned from Cincinnati yesterday, and I found him every whit as good a man as you represented him to be. Mr Webb I have not yet met. Shall perhaps see him (and Mr Kelsoe) tomorrow. From a hint dropped by Mr Page, I should judge the St. L. branch of the T. Soc. will soon cease to be. They meet on a week from next Sunday. Should have met tonight. As soon as I get settled somewhere, would like to have what other MSS. in connection with the H.B. of L. you can spare.

            As to the books I have to dispose of: “Albertus Magnus”,[10] “The 6^th and 7^th Books of Moses”,[11] and “Formulas for White and Black Magic,”[12] are all in German. I do not think you would care for Albertus Magnus, but the other two are well worth going to the expense of translating. “The 6^th and 7^th Books of Moses” contains over 100 diagrams, and figures, and has a lengthy introduction culled from Ennemoser, on the “Magic of the Israelites.” I have also a copy of Dr C.N. Roback’s “Mysteries of Astrology and Founders of Magic”,[13] containing the formula for the Elixir of Youth, from “Hermippus Redivivus”. Price $5 (out of print, and scarce.) “Tractatus De Fasciuatione”, by Johanne Christians Frommann, Korimbergae, MDCLXXV, is a volume of 1067 pp., quarto, rebound in cloth, with a plate and several small cuts. It is a thoroughly exhaustive work on white and black magic, in every conceivable phase, and judging from the references made to it by other writers of mediaeval times (on occultism) seems to be a sort of test-book of magic. What it has not got to say about magic is not worth learning, I should judge. I fear you would not care to say the price for it; I want $25 for it. I shall take it to Cincinnati, and think Dr Buck will take it; or Robb. Clarke and Co. For the Aldus Manutius, 1589, “De Naturae, De-Monum”, I ask $15. It is worth it. It is small but good. I have a great many other books, but you would probably not care for them.

            Yours Henry Liddell

P.S.—I think I shall leave for Cincinnati next week.

---

[1] However, he was not officially entered as a member of the TS until June 30, 1887, at which point he was staying in Denver; see the Theosophical Society General Register Vol. I, http://www.theartarchives.org.

[2] See the introduction to this volume.

[3] That is, besides Webb’s own 1887 letter to Josephine Cables, which was published in Cables’ Occult Word journal; see Alex. R. Webb, “A Letter from a Friend,” Occult Word 3, nos. 3&4 (1887): 13.

[4] For more on Docking, see the introduction to his letters.

[5] We have not included these names.

[6] Roger Gougenot des Mousseaux (1805-1876), a French Mason and esotericist.

[7] A popular mind cure stage performer.

[8] Another popular mind curer from the period.

[9] Alice L. Prentice, TS membership, entered August 29, 1886, Theosophical Society General Register Vol. I, 94, http://www.theartarchives.org. She, along with another H.B. of L. member, Ernest Sasserville, was one of the founding members of Denver’s TS lodge in 1894; see “Theosophy in Denver,” Daily News (Denver), May 19, 1894, 2.

[10] Liddell is referring to a German edition of Albertus Magnus: Being the Approved, Verified, Sympathetic and Natural Egyptian Secrets: White and Black Art for Man and Beast, which was falsely attributed to the thirteenth-century Dominican philosopher, Albertus Magnus.

[11] Another book spuriously attributed to Albertus Magnus. Liddell is referring to Johann Scheible’s 1880 German edition published in New York.

[12] It is unclear as to which Albertus Magnus-attributed book Liddell is referring.

[13] Published in Boston in 1854

From The Last Eighteen Decanates Analyzed:

SAGITTARIUS—1st Decanate. The Harp of Seven Strings—LYRA—such a harp as David played upon to soothe the spirit of King Saul, pictures the Jupiter decanate of Sagittarius. The constellated instrument portrays the soul which places itself “In Tune with the Infinite,” and becomes responsive to the thoughts radiated by the Cosmic Mind.

Those born under this influence, when true to themselves, are the most religious of all and are capable of attaining Cosmic Consciousness. But their religion need not be tinctured with orthodoxy, and is often most expressed through their kinship with Nature and their love and sympathy for all living creatures. They live at their best, and accomplish most, when they constantly feel the abiding presence of the Cosmic Intelligence and place implicit trust in Its guidance. They then feel impressed to fill a definite mission, and if they follow the dictates of the “Inner Voice” they seldom err in judgment. But either in matters of spiritual progress or in mere worldly affairs, they must rely upon their own judgment, for when they take the advice of others they most signally fail.

Comment by KPJ: Bronson and Louisa share the same birthday, November 29, 1799 and 1832 respectively. They died two days apart in 1888.

William Blake, poet and painter, author of Books of Prophecy and designer of illustrations to The Book of Job, was born with his Individuality here. Dr. Alfred Russel Wallace, whose research led him independently to the theory of evolution so ably expounded by Darwin, and who was famous as a naturalist, and who embraced the cause of spiritualism in spite of the ridicule of his contemporary scientists, was born with his Mentality in this decanate. And Abraham Lincoln, man of destiny, deeply religious and the instrument through whom human slavery was abolished in America, was born with his Personality under this section of the sky. It is the decanate of DEVOTION.

From The Last Eighteen Decanates:

SCORPIO—3rd Decanate. Unlike the crown of spikes that pictures the last of Virgo, CORONA AUSTRALIS—the Southern Crown—is the laurel crown of victory. Picturing among the constellations the Cancer decanate of Scorpio, it reveals the potency of sex when sublimated to carry the soul to the loftiest summit of physical and mental achievement.

Adjacent to the religious sign Sagittarius, and under the subinfluences of the sign of domestic life, Cancer, those born here have intense emotions and vivid ideas. When the spirit of chivalry is developed and they sense their value to country and home they are capable of lofty effort. But for the greatest success it seems essential that they have some person of the opposite sex to stimulate their ambitions and ideals, and for whom they strive to make a success of life. Social life, therefore, is always, an important factor contributing to or detracting from their usefulness to society.

Franz Hartman, who wrote Life of Paracelsus, Magic White and Black, and achieved other success along occult lines, was born with the Sun in this decanate. Thomas Moore, whose social grace and patriotism were second only to his achievements as a poet, had his Mentality here. And the chivalrous Benjamin Disraeli, who became Prime Minister of England, was born with this part of the zodiac on his Ascendant. It is the decanate of ATTAINMENT.

From Letters to the Sage:

James M. Pryse

            James Morgan Pryse, Theosophical author and printer, was born November 14, 1859 in New London, Ohio, the son of a Welsh-born minister. His childhood and youth were spent in the Upper Midwest and his early work life included periods as a teacher, photographer, newspaper editor, and printer in various small towns. Pryse began corresponding with Johnson after having recently arrived in Los Angeles from New York where he was active as a Theosophist and closely associated with William Q. Judge and “Jasper Niemand” (Mrs. J. C. Ver Planck), editors of The Path. With his brother John he traveled to South America before being called back to New York where they started the Aryan Press in 1889. Later that year he was summoned to London by Blavatsky where he established the H.P.B. Press and lived under the same roof until her death in 1891. In the TS secession crisis of 1894-95 he sided with the Judge faction. His career as an author began in Dublin with the 1896 publication of The Sermon on the Mount. His second book in 1900 was Reincarnation in the New Testament published by Elliott Page in New York. In 1901 he married Jessie Mayer in Galesville, Wisconsin, and returned with her to Los Angeles in 1904, spending the rest of his life in southern California. There he wrote for Katherine Tingley’s Universal Brotherhood and its successor Universal Brotherhood Path. His later books were Prometheus Bound and The Adorers of Dionysos (1925). He was widowed in 1928 and died in Los Angeles on August 27, 1942.

Los Angeles

 November 20, 1887

Dear Sir:

            It is with much pleasure I learn that you have decided to continue the Platonist. Enclosed please find $3.00, for which send me the magazine at 89 East Pico St.

            As you say, we differ only in the position from which we regard truth.

            Of course I have no sympathy with the methods of the anarchists; yet this class, who have come to realize the evils of the industrial feudalism of this age, and yet, not knowing that all reform must begin with the inner man, (of whose desires the eternal world is but the expressions), have attempted reform through force, are morally in advance of their executioner, who do not even recognize industrial evils.

            In the study of magnetism, very little can be learned from the works of modern physiologists, anatomists, mesmerists, phrenologists, etc., for as a ruler they are hopelessly astray in regarding the brain as a sort of battery supplying nervous power to other portions of the system, also as the seat of the intellectual faculties and emotions; also in the supposition that the body is a stove, its activities being sustained by oxidation. For its proper comprehension the subject must be approached by a radically different method.

            About the first things seen in the astral light are points of flame; they vary from mere dots of light to great globes of fire. These are centers of energy in the world-soul—“elementals.” By its vibration a thought creates these little whirlwinds in the astral light. Being semi-intelligent, they are also shaped in conformity with the thoughts of the seer. Thus in the macrocosm, the akasa, set in vibration by the Logos, forms the great centers of energy called suns. Just such a center of magnetic forces is the human soul, or fifth principle. It is a sphere in action. Considering the individual as a radiant astral sphere, centering at the heart, it is easy to trace the action of the magnetic forces in their work of building the body and the brain; for evidently in the first astral stages of his existence man was but a glowing sphere with no foundational organs, and having no faculty but motion. The manas, or human soul, is the bright central spot of the magnetic globes, and is the seat of will, memory, intellection, volition, reason, etc. In producing the special organs of her body, naturally those whose functions are most essential would be formed first; their formation therefore commences with the solar plexus, the ganglia of the dorsal region, and the heart and blood vessels. The heart pumps the astral fluid through the nerves, and the blood (which is the astral fluid materialized) through the blood vessels. The ganglionic system resolves itself into consecutive magnetic poles regulating the alternate attractions and repulsions by which the bodily functions are carried and on the blue-white matter of the nerves and ganglia being positive and the red-white negative. (In the astral consciousness I see blue sparks issuing from the right eye and golden ones from the left.) The brain serves to reflect the higher faculties, as the moon reflects the light of the sun. A clue to the matter of the brain may be found by tracing it through the lower forms of animal life up to man. First the spinal cord is evolved, whose first expansion constitutes that part of the brain devoted to the animal propensities, then follow the moral sentiments, and finally the intellectual faculties. Continuing this incomplete cycle, we find the higher faculties manifested in front of the face, clairvoyance being near the nose. The yogee, taking conscious control of the forces of evolution, is said in the Gita to have “his eyes fixed in contemplation between his brows,” and again having “his eyes fixed on the point of his nose,” thus artificially completing the cycles. In the brain is a central pole, with four minor poles, alternately positive and negative, ranged about it like satellites, their axes crossing at the center.

            Placing the finger-tip in the ear, one can hear the blood coursing through the arteries, also one can, of course, easily hear the “beating” of the heart. Similarly, astral senses hear the astral light singing along the nerves and in the brain, and the musical tones of the heart.

            The soul, being a magnetic force, that has created the body, possesses complete knowledge of magnetism, though obscured by its contact with “matter;” as the occultist progresses, the soul regains its knowledge, and the developed will can free the fluidic (or astral) body from the gross body. The astral body in such a case is self-conscious. When the will is undeveloped the necessary force is lacking, and if the fluidic body is set free, the result is the same as ordinary sleep. The astral body may be liberated by creating a current in the akasa and precipitating it upon ones self, or by restraining the breaths so as to produce self-mesmeriation.

            The body may be left under any one of the three gunas; of course it should not be left except under the influence of satvas.

            Of course on this plane one must face the elementals created by his thoughts and deeds during his past, and in the resultant hades of horrors purer motive is essential. In fact, occult study must be mainly the study of motive. No motive that refers to self, on any plane, can rise above black magic and personal annihilation; for the will for nature is for unity, and the personal will that opposes it cannot endure. So the only true motive for the occultist is the desire to aid all creatures. “Near to renunciation is salvation”—the state of jivanmukta. Since illumination comes only to one who has freed himself from the fluidic body, it would seem impossible to gain the truer goal without passing through this intervening sphere. Yet here, as all through life, no two persons have precisely the same experiences, and since astral sights, sounds, etc., vary so greatly with different persons, little is written of them in mystic works.

            Doubtless much, if not all of this is stale to you: but perhaps you may find something useful in it.

            With all good wishes, I am,

            Yours respectfully,

            Jas. M. Pryse

Los Angeles

April 27, 1888

Private

Dear Friend:

            Answering yours of the 17^th, I would say that Mr. Colville[1] is a gentleman of about 28 years of age who has been for the past ten or eleven years an “inspirational speaker.” He has the reputation of being personally pure and of strict integrity. He is a spiritualist, and lectures upon the “mind-cures”, calling it “theosophy.” The plans for the institution to which you refer are as yet nebulous. It is proposed to start a “mind-cure” sanitarium, and the thousand-dollar contribution of which you speak is for that purpose; four acres at Inglewood and five at Clearwater have been offered.

            In addition to this “mind-cure” institute, Mr. Colville proposes to inaugurate a school for the study of “mind-cure”—variously termed “Christian science,” “spiritual science” and “metaphysics”—and incidentally of such branches as spiritualism and what projectors of the institution imagine to be “philosophy” and “theosophy.” No definite action has been taken in the matter; but Mr. Colville (who is now at San Diego) is to return to this city by the 7^th of next month to organize a class in “Theosophy” at a private residence, when the subject of the “mind-cure” college will be further discussed.

            Mr. C., it seems, is not a classical scholar; and it is claimed that his knowledge of “spiritual science,” “theosophy,” “philosophy,” K.T. λ[2] has come to him through his being a “medium” and “inspirational speaker,” he being rather unintellectual and having no command of language when not “inspired.” At the close of his “inspirational” lectures he improvises poems upon any subject suggested by his audience. Dr. Henry Abbot, the well-known “mesmeric healer”, a really fine mesmerist but bogus “medium”, once confessed to me that his “mediumship” was all trickery, and in explaining some of the tricks of the trade implicated Mr. Colville, claiming that the latter had been carefully educated by his mother as a public speaker and also trained to appear stupid off the rostrum. That the penitent doctor spoke truly concerning himself I am quite certain, and I incline to the belief that his statements relative to Mr. C. were equally reliable.

            To speak frankly of the whole matter, I do not think that a “school of philosophy and occultism” composed of the advocates of that spiritualism which is but spookism, and that “Christian science”, which is the product of dogmatic theology and fallacious psychology, would be in any way a success. I do not know Mr. C. personally, but am well acquainted with many of his adherents here. Professor Roehrig[3] (formerly of the oriental chair at Cornell) has had to leave the city, to work in a real-estate office in a neighboring town, not being able to earn a living here as a philologist. If the three or four members of the Theosophical Society who began the study of Sanskrit with him all became discouraged and abandoned their inchoate pursuit of “oriental literature and philosophy” before mastering the Devanagari alphabet, save Miss Off, who came to grief amid the samadhi rules. Such a school of philosophy could be successfully organized by an association of competent classical scholars, but the true mystic and philosopher is usually as impecunious as Sokrates. Doubtless, as number of scholars will spring up in the next generation or so; and in time the mysteries be taught as in ancient Greece; but that will hardly come in one day. Personally I know of but one place where the mysteries are indeed taught, and that is an ancient, half-ruined temple amid the inaccessible mountains of a “heathen” land. That I may some day be esteemed worthy to enter there is the hope of my life. Meantime, the childish antics of these people, playing blind-man’s-buff with shadows, make me sad at heart.

            If Dr. Wagner is interested in the advancement of mind-cure and Spiritualism,[4] this movement might call for his support. If he desires to aid in founding an institution for the sober study of greek and Oriental philosophy and the occult sciences, this project would not interest him.

            Yours very Truly,

            Jas. M Pryse.

Los Angeles

 May 17, 1888

Dear Friend:

             Enclosed please find the conclusion of the articles on Welsh Druidism.[5] The few lines from Taliesin’s prophetic ode are printed, to avoid the liability of typographical errors. Have the printer set it in pica, with the interlined translation in nonpareil, in the style of Silver’s classics.

            Relative to seeing fairies, etc., it is quite easy to awaken the clairvoyant faculty and attain practical knowledge of magnetic forces, but it is extremely dangerous to do so—Of this I can speak from experience. Motive, the polarity of the soul, is the one important study for occultists. And in purifying our motives there seems to be no more “sweetness and light” than may be encountered in clearing underground sewers. Thus at times when the would-be occultist is expecting words of commendation for his good qualities he is liable instead to be flayed alive for his faults. Ah! The agony and heart-ache we must endure before the brute within us is slain! And so vile has humanity become that one sees more demons than fairies in the psychic world in these degenerate days. Have you ever had the night-marish experience of meeting one of these things? The abject terror they inspire is more awful than the tortures of the inquisition. I have had this experience but a half-dozen or so times since childhood.

            I have an invitation to work for and with certain occultists in England,[6] which poverty and duties toward relatives preclude my accepting, but I hope to make arrangements to visit England and Wales for a short time during the latter part of this year.

            Yours very truly,

            Jas. M. Pryse

---

[1]W.J. Colville (1862-1917) was a spiritualist and mind curer who authored nine books, including three novels, on spiritualist and occult themes, but never created the mind cure sanitarium in California to which Pryse refers.

[2] It is unclear if this is the letter Pryse was writing.

[3] Frederick Louis Roehrig (1857-1948), an orientalist scholar who was also an acquaintance of Louise Off.

[4] This is the only reference in our letters to Henry Wagner’s interest in mind cure and spiritualism.

[5] This was published in several issues of the Platonist in 1888 under the title “Druidism and Popular Welsh Occultism.”

[6] Whom these “certain occultists in England” were exactly is unclear, but it was around this time that the occult organization called the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn—which had many of England’s prominent occultists as members—was formed. It is also possible, in light of Pryse’s invitation from Blavatsky, which led him to relocate to England in 1889 to form the H.P.B. Press, that this possibly refers to earlier overtures from Theosophists in London.

The several things that struck me most profoundly as both an “independent historian” square peg amid academicians and Theosophical believers and as a Church of Light member at this international conference:

1. “Western Esoteric Traditions” might be the labels of academic press series, which includes all my own books BUT: none of the younger European scholars like that label one bit. Participants from (either by origin or present residence) Denmark, Sweden, Austria, Greece, France, Brazil, Cuba, the US, the UK, Russia, Italy, Bulgaria, Switzerland… ALL seemed to prefer “Global Esoteric Studies.”
2. I brought this up to Simon Magus, a speaker who followed me the same day, that as an American, every schoolchild knows Atlantic is East and Pacific is West, so all this “East-West encounter” framing strikes me as Eurocentric. He replied that his scholarly focus is on ancient Egypt which has been simultaneously worshipped as the cradle of Western Civilization and the epitome of the Mysterious East, since… forever. With our Church of Light ancestry in Hermetic Alexandria, caring about West versus East seems beside the point– it was a place where they met.
3. Not only is our remote spiritual ancestry in North Africa, in Egypt, but more recently (1887) Max Theon relocated to Algeria and letters from Burgoyne to Johnson indicate some sort of initiatory relationship with an Arab or Moor there. Algeria is quite far west, Theon is a Polish Jew and his wife is an English former Anglican nun, but are their teachings Western or Eastern? [And when Theon’s disciple Mirra Alfassa, a Turkish/Egyptian French Jew, became the partner of a Bengali in “Integral Yoga” in Pondicherry, were their teachings Eastern or Western?] Global Esoteric Studies makes a better home for future writings about them so I hope it catches on. And therefore am pleased to find Africa the home of a blog that is friendly to our Tarot legacy.

It will take me weeks or months to sort out all that I saw and heard participating in a virtual conference and I promise to write up a report eventually, but meanwhile I have learned of a blog with extensive Tarot information including on Zain. Stay tuned for further background.