It is true that, as St. Jerome says, "The art of interpreting the Scriptures is the only one of which all men everywhere claim to be masters. To quote Horace again: "Taught or untaught we all write poetry.' The chatty old woman, the doting old man, and the wordy sophist one and all take in hand the Scriptures, rend them in pieces, and teach them before they have learned them." But St. Jerome himself follows with a cautious but lengthy indication of the mysteries in the Bible: "Exodus, no doubt, is equally plain, containing as it does merely an account of the ten plagues, the decalogue, and sundry mysterious and divine precepts. The meaning of Leviticus. contains the description of Aaron's vestments, and all the regulations connected with the Levites", which "are symbols of heavenly things. The book of Numbers . . Balaam's prophecy, and the forty-two camping places in the wilderness" are "so many mysteries." " So that both Origen and Jerome give patristic authority to the triple interpretation of Scripture, including the mystical. Cassian, a monk of Gallic birth (c. 360), who went to Palestine and Egypt, was the first to see the necessity for, and to divide the allegorical interpretation into two-the strictly allegorical and the anagogical, which he defines as follows: "But the anagogical sense rises from spiritual mysteries even to still more sublime and sacred secrets of heaven. . . For it is one thing to have a ready tongue and elegant language, and quite another to penetrate into the very heart and marrow of heavenly utterances, and to gaze with the pure eye of the soul on profound and hidden mysteries; for this can be gained by no learning of man's, nor condition of this world, only by purity of soul, by means of the illumination of the Holy Ghost."

These passages, quoted from three eminent Church Fathers, were the basis and authority constantly cited by the Schoolmen to justify the fourfold interpretation of Holy Scriptures. Possibly because NeoPlatonic allegorizing became so extravagant, Cassian's fourfold distinction, including the strictly allegorical and the anagogical, or truly mystical, was preferred to the earlier threefold division of Origen. Dante outlines the fourfold, using Cassian's word, anagogical; though, as already quoted, he points out to Can Grande that virtually the two are the same, all genuine allegorizing bordering on the mystical.

The existence of a tradition favouring mystical writing and mystical interpretation being established, it remains to be shown that Dante not only claimed to be himself both such a writer and such an interpreter, but that he used many of the time-honoured symbols, and also in many places expressed himself in language almost identical with that of the mystical writers of all ages. The "bread of angels" is probably one such symbol. MARION HALE.

Letter liii, sections 7, 8 and also ff.

The First Conference of Abbot Nestores, caps. viii and ix.

A

LETTER has reached me from a friend about a mutual friend, whom I will call X. "Bad news." X. is in difficulties, and the writer of the letter is deeply concerned on his behalf. Will it seem unsympathetic if I tell them both what I really think? Perhaps I could tell Y., the writer of the letter. Perhaps I could say to him that his "bad news" may be read in another light, for it may mean that the whole process is being speeded up as far as X. is concerned, that the high gods are being infinitely kind to him, that with increased pressure there may come increasing light, and that, finally, his entire will may be swung over once and for all to the side of the spiritual world.

But there is a note almost of despair in Y.'s letter. He says: "X. has such a limited horizon that he is totally unable to see. And although he admits the truth of nearly all of this, I have come almost to the point of believing that he will never really be able to see these things as they are."

It interested me enormously, that paragraph, for in it seemed to me to be the key to the whole situation. Y. implies, of course, that any one who is so restricted by the outward surroundings and circumstances of his life, in his opportunities for expansion and "self-expression," to use the present popular term, is thereby immediately and automatically hemmed in as well, in regard to his inner life; that while he may be able to see certain things with his mind, these same fatal and unfortunate restrictions of circumstances are going forever to make it impossible for him to do anything more than think feebly and intermittently about them, to gaze at this "limited horizon" with a sort of despairing longing.

"He has such a limited horizon": what exactly do we mean by the word "horizon"? I suppose that it could be defined in general terms as the line in one's vision where earth and heaven meet. And that line, to the physical eye, will seem near or far away, depending upon the light, the atmosphere, the configuration of the landscape. But in any event the view that one is going to get of the horizon must depend upon one's vision. If one looks clear-eyed, far-sightedly, one sees the outline clear-cut; one sees, too, the detail of all the intervening country, the up-sweep of the hills to the horizon's line, all the tangle and undergrowth and shadows of the valleys where the hills begin. But if one is physically near-sighted there is only, and at all times, a confused blur. At best, in certain lights, one may get passing glimpses of things slightly more remote. But for one so physically unfortunate there must be, in spite of straining and effort, a range outside the limit of vision for ever impossible as long as the disability persists.

Surely the parallel is clear. For when the eyes of the soul are nearsighted and blurred, when the man himself is self-centred and selfish,

when as a result he is constantly thinking in terms of the material, and of how things will affect him personally for good or for ill, then the soul's horizon, too, must be contracted and hemmed in. Such a man, missing utterly the presence of unselfish or heroic motive in the lives of others, must miss, too, the beauty of the lights and shadows and colours in his life's landscape. He sees, in the drab and gray atmosphere of his own chief motive and interest, not vistas of gladness and sunshine, farstretched to the horizon where earth reaches up to heaven in aspiration and yearning, where heaven's blue comes down into and touches earth in blessing, but only a cloudy and lowering sky-line without promise and without form, the threatening of a storm always about to break upon him. And not only is his outlook upon his life's uttermost limit of possibility restricted and blurred, but he misses, too, the perspective of all those things which go to make up the more immediate surroundings of his soul. They, too, are indistinct, unrelated. Now and then, in a moment of unselfishness, one or other of them may appear for a time relatively clear against the darkness of its background. But for the near-sighted eyes of such a soul it will be too great an effort and a strain to hold it for long in this proper perspective, and the vision must fade again.

But when the eyes of the soul see clearly, when the Vision is clear and strong, when Love and not self fills the heart, the horizon changes and broadens, the man himself is alive to the significance of that which he sees. His light is that light which lighteth every man and illumines him who desires illumination; his atmosphere, in which he finds all things clearly outlined and defined, is the spirit in which he performs his duties. He recognizes as part of the configuration of his landscape, the immediate surroundings and practical circumstances of his life; but he sees them not as bounds or as limits, but as opportunities; not as barriers, but as endless. possibilities. He rejoices in the sunshine and glory and uplift of the hills, but he rejoices still more in that tangle and undergrowth of the valleys, for he recognizes that there, in the shadows, are those problems and sorrows which make for life's fullness and fruition; he knows, if they are used aright, and are not allowed to use him, that therein is the Father glorified.

And he sees, too, in the proper and right perspective: the interrelation of objects is plain. Now in the light of his motive of selflessness and of service, in his effort to do all things for his Master and for love of Him, he sees that all duties are inter-related and part of a great plan, that each least duty is consecrated and holy and so a joy to perform. And he knows, too, that no action is unimportant, that no duty is so trivial as to be without spiritual significance. Now he comes to see that the Master whom he loves and serves can take for His own, and can use in His greater work, the spiritual force generated by that consecrated motive and effort. And he sees that the help for the world that can be so given will -must-depend upon his own faithfulness and perseverance, upon his own courage and energy, upon his continuing effort, upon his holding

always the view of his life's horizon and landscape in that right perspective.

X. is so self-centred now as to be astigmatic; his horizon is limited by his vision, and by the atmosphere which he himself is helping to create. But once let in that Light, and all will be changed. Once substitute love for self-love, service of others for concentration upon self, and those restricted boundaries will vanish; all limits for the future will be removed.

"Not easy," it may be said. But X. already "admits the truth of nearly all" of these things upon which I have touched now, and of which Y. and I have talked together so often. He already feels his disability sufficiently keenly to be discontented about it. He must make a beginning, by a conscious effort of will; he must pray for strength and perseverance, and trust that these will come. Perhaps it will not be easy. But Y. might be able gradually to help him to more and more concentrated effort, to greater inner quiet. And Y. will be able, too, to help him with practical suggestions; to remind him that useless and unnecessary talk dissipates energy; that if he reads a worthless book he not only fills his mind with. its worthless contents, but that he wastes time which might have been spent in quite another kind of reading, with the resulting benefits. And with the deeper peace, with the always improving motive, the desire on his part will be ever greater.

Only let him make a beginning and he will see better, little by little, where earth and heaven meet, the line clear and distinct at times and the horizon defined beyond peradventure, at others seemingly blended because of the glory of tender light suffusing all. And that light will reach first those darkest places farthest removed from the horizon itself, as a winter's sunrise penetrates first with a rosy glow the recesses of the woods and the cold hollows in the hills, before the sun itself beats down upon the world. He will see, too, and more and more often as he tries to see, the Cross outlined against his horizon's sky, as one sees it so often on the hilltops of France. As there, he will see it now dark and clear and steadfast against life's sunset sky, now radiant and glorious with promise in the beauty of an always resurrected day, of a new opportunity. But he must search his horizon. If he only glances up occasionally, he will miss it. He must look, and keep on looking.

Yet perhaps, before I write all this to Y., it would be wise to reinforce the written word with a week of intense practice. I want so much to help them. Can I afford to preach until I have more perfectly performed? STUART DUDLEY.

He that has never known adversity is but half acquainted with himself.-CALTON.

T

HEOSOPHY has been summarized as "intellectually an attitude, practically a method, ethically a spirit, and religiously a life." More than any other modern philosopher, Henri Bergson has grasped and utilized the first two elements of this theosophic quarternary, so that the technique of his work is of scarcely less interest. to readers of the QUARTERLY than is the striking theosophic character of many of his conclusions. In his most recent volume of lectures and essays, L'Énergie spirituelle, published in English a few months ago, under the less attractive title of Mind-Energy, we have a discussion of the fundamental problems of the relation of life and consciousness, mind and matter, body and soul, dreams, memory, phantoms, and the significance of intellectual effort, whose study will repay our time and effort, and which may serve to continue and to supplement the line of thought pursued in our consideration of Dr. M'Taggart's work on Human Immortality and Pre-existence.

Let us look first to the attitude and method which Bergson adopts in his search for a solution of the fundamental problems of life, and to which he gives us the key in the opening pages of the book.

"Whence are we? What are we? Whither tend we? These are the vital questions which immediately present themselves when we give ourselves up to philosophical reflexion without regard to philosophical systems. But between us and these problems, systematic philosophy interposes other problems. 'Before seeking the solution of a problem,' it says, 'must we not first know how to seek it? Study the mechanism of thinking, then discuss the nature of knowledge and criticize the faculty of criticizing: when you have assured yourself of the value of the instrument, you will know how to use it.' That moment, alas! will never come. I see only one means of knowing how far I can go: that is by going. If the knowledge we are in search of be real instruction, a knowledge which expands thought, then to analyse the mechanism of thought before seeking knowledge could only show the impossibility of ever getting it, since we should be studying thought before the expansion of it, which it is the business of knowledge to obtain. A premature reflexion of the mind on itself would discourage it from advancing, whilst by simply advancing it would have come nearer to its goal and perceived, moreover, that the so-called obstacles were for the most part the effects of a mirage. How much better a more modest philosophy would be, one which would go straight to its object without worrying about the principles on which it depends! It would not aim at immediate certainty, which can only be ephemeral. It would take its time. It would be a gradual ascent to the light. Borne along in an experience growing