attained the stage at which the eyes are incapable of tears? Is he therefore indifferent, far removed from the scene of the conflict, as we might be from participation in the struggles of an ant which was trying to carry a load much too cumbersome for it to manage? Certainly not; if that were his feeling he could not be a disciple. He sees (and this is only one way of stating it) that the better part of this man has temporarily lost control and is struggling to regain it, while the particular form taken by the outbreak has significance for him only as indicative of the point at which he might hope to be of some help. From long experience with himself and with others, he may form a quick and intuitive judgment as to the treatment which will best reinforce the efforts of the man's better nature. Dispassionately, but with burning desire to help one of his Master's struggling children, he would decide what line to take. It might be that he would not appear to notice the commotion but would speak with quiet confidence of some new phase in the work in which they were both interested. Or he might feel that overstrained nerves needed to be soothed by a friendly recognition of the condition, by the sense that the disciple, too, had known the need for such emotional relief. Or he might think the man needed to be brought sharply to his senses, needed the help of a direct demand upon his flagging will, and so might tell him in a few short words how disagreeable he was making himself, emphasizing the simple statement by leaving him. You say that you have not the wisdom to deal with another in this fashion, and you are right. The practical point, however, seems to be that you want to learn to use, in service, all the understanding that has been given you; want to see as truly as your imperfect vision will permit. Then you must look to the tears, first recognizing them for what they are, and then learning how to get them under control. You already know how often, as onlooker at a conference in which you had no interests or desires at stake, you have seen clearly the right course of action, to which the participants in the difficulty may have been wholly blind. For that moment tears were not blurring your vision. The next step is to learn to use your present vision as clearly, when all that you hold dear seems to be at stake. Yes, impartiality describes one angle of the attitude we must acquire; but a partisan desire that the will of Masters shall be done, that their cause shall be advanced through every incident of life, would be a form of statement more sympathetic to my own point of view. This is only the beginning of what is suggested by that first unnumbered rule; you will discover far more about it as you work with it. One thing you may learn, as I have, is to be especially alert to the possible significance of the suggestions that do not at first appeal to you. We pass by so much that would give us the clues for which we are looking; it does not exactly accord with our mood of the moment, with our expectation of the form in which truth must appear. In other words, our ears are so sensitive to what accords with our own desires and wishes that they miss most of the teaching which they are meant to hear. E. "THE GATES OF GOLD"* "When the strong man has crossed the threshold he speaks no more to those at the other (this) side. And even the words he utters when he is outside are so full of mystery, so veiled and profound, that only those who follow in his steps can see the light within them."-Through the Gates of Gold, p. 19. H E fails to speak when he has crossed, because, if he did, they would neither hear nor understand him. All the language he can use when on this side is language based upon experience gained outside the Gates, and when he uses that language, it calls up in the minds of his hearers only the ideas corresponding to the plane they are on and experience they have undergone; for if he speaks of that kind of idea and experience which he has found on the other side, his hearers do not know what is beneath his words, and therefore his utterances seem profound. They are not veiled and profound because he wishes to be a mystic whose words no other can expound, but solely because of the necessities of the case. He is willing and anxious to tell all who wish to know, but cannot convey what he desires, and he is sometimes accused of being unnecessarily vague and misleading. But there are some who pretend to have passed through these Gates and who utter mere nothings, mere juggles of words that cannot be understood because there is nothing behind them rooted in experience. Then the question arises, "How are we to distinguish between these two?" There are two ways. 1. By having an immense erudition, a profound knowledge of the various and numberless utterances of those known Masters throughout the ages whose words are full of power. But this is obviously an immense and difficult task, one which involves years devoted to reading and a rarely-found retentiveness of memory. So it cannot be the one most useful to us. It is the path of mere book-knowledge. 2. The other mode is by testing those utterances by our intuition. There is scarcely any one who has not got an internal voice-a silent monitor-who, so to say, strikes within us the bell that corresponds to Reprinted from The Path, May, 1888. truth, just as a piano's wires each report the vibrations peculiar to it, but not due to striking the wire itself. It is just as if we had within us a series of wires whose vibrations are all true, but which will not be vibrated except by those words and propositions which are in themselves true. So that false and pretending individual who speaks in veiled language only mere nothingness, will never vibrate within us those wires which correspond to truth. But when one who has been taken through these Gates speaks ordinary words really veiling grand ideas, then all the invisible wires within immediately vibrate in unison. The inner monitor has struck them, and we feel that what he has said is true, and whether we understand him or not, we feel the power of the vibration and the value of the words we have heard. Many persons are inclined to doubt the existence in themselves of this intuition, who in fact possess it. It is a common heritage of man, and only needs unselfish effort to develop it. Many selfish men have it in their selfish lives; many a great financier and manager has it and exercises it. This is merely its lowest use and expression. By constantly referring mentally all propositions to it and thus giving it an opportunity for growth, it will grow and speak soon with no uncertain tones. This is what is meant in old Hindu books by the expression, "a knowledge of the real meaning of sacred books." It ought to be cultivated because it is one of the first steps in knowing ourselves and understanding others. In this civilization especially we are inclined to look outside instead of inside ourselves. Nearly all our progress is material and thus superficial. Spirit is neglected or forgotten, while that which is not spirit is enshrined as such. The intuitions of the little child are stifled until at last they are almost lost, leaving the many at the mercy of judgments based upon exterior reason. How, then, can one who has been near the Golden Gates-much more he who passed through them-be other than silent in surroundings where the golden refulgence is unknown or denied. Obliged to use the words of his fellow travellers, he gives them a meaning unknown to them, or detaches them from their accustomed relation. Hence he is sometimes vague, often misleading, seldom properly understood. But not lost are any of these words, for they sound through the ages, and in future eras they will turn themselves into sentences of gold in the hearts of disciples yet to come. MOULVIE DEAR LETTERS TO STUDENTS September 10th, 1914. You must not permit yourself to be drawn into the current views of war; and to regard it as an unmitigated evil which the devil has thrust upon mankind in spite of the efforts of a not sufficiently omnipotent God. It is God who sends war as well as peace. It is God who sends hunger as well as plenty. It is God who sends work and poverty as well as leisure and wealth. Nor must you allow yourself to become contaminated by the modern western horror of death, which is rapidly making wretched cowards of us all. These are the horrible, materialistic views of an unreligious and selfish, comfort-loving generation. I do not mean that war is not dreadful, that the pain and suffering are not pitiable; but I do mean that they are necessary, salutary and remedial. War is a crude remedy. It is the calomel of nature, to purge us of our sins when they have accumulated to an undue degree. In this particular case I believe that either a class war or an international war was necessary, and of the two the former is infinitely the more terrible both in action and results. You are quite right in feeling it to be a frightful burden on the Master. You are also quite right in thinking that we can help him,— not figuratively, but actually-if we deliberately try to do so. One way is to consider our various faults as foes, and to fight them daily and hourly with the intention of offering him the results of our efforts for him to use as he pleases in the actual war. I know that he can and does use such efforts and that they are much more potent than we dream. With kindest regards and best wishes to you all, I am DEAR Sincerely yours, When a person is in pain, your desire is to comfort. The least idea of criticism or argument is abhorrent:—and yet, if I see you taking your experiences in a wrong way, I am tempted to point this out at the expense of my own reputation for sympathy and kind-heartedness. If a woman has no beliefs at all, one can understand how her world would seem to be upset and life seem worthless and hollow if some loved one has to go off to danger and perhaps to death. But millions of women have the courage and moral stamina, even without any religious belief, to accept such a situation with calmness, poise, serenity and resignation. How much more then should you, who have an immense advantage over most other women in your beliefs, show by your attitude and conduct an example to those less fortunately placed. You, a firm believer in immortality, in reincarnation, knowing that suffering and death are not evils, but are sent by God for our regeneration and best interests,-you, especially, should not allow yourself to waver a single instant before such a common-almost universal-experience as that of having a loved one go forth to war. And yet you write about it as if your world had suddenly caved in and your life ended in chaos. Are we T. S. members to fall short of the common standard instead of being away above it? It is our mission to set an example to others, not to follow some distance after;—an example of courage, of faith, of poise, of selflessness. We stand in the vanguard; we hew out the way for others to tread; we are the point of the wedge which the Master is driving into the weakness and materiality of the world: therefore our task, our duty, our ordinary conduct, must be in accordance with a much higher standard than yet exists in the world. Suffer? Yes, of course, suffer, if need be as Mary suffered when she had the courage to stand at the foot of the Cross and watch her son die a disgraceful and agonizing death. There is an example for you. But no amount of suffering must be allowed to break our wills, to lower our colours, to lessen our faith that whatever happens is for the best. Any giving way, any emotionalism, any excitement, any abandonment to grief,-self-centredness of any kind, is a lowering of standards, a failure and a disgrace. Does this seem hard? Do I seem harsh and unsympathetic? I can assure you that my heart is wrung with the thought of the suffering you must have, and I would do my utmost to help you bear each single pang; but that does not blind me to the ideal towards which you should strive and it is my duty to remind you of that ideal at a time when circumstances seem to have obscured it. It is false kindness to let your friends give way to selfish and unreasoning grief; it makes things worse, not better. Remember this in your efforts to help others. They may think you hard and unsympathetic, for a time. If so, offer that as a part of your sacrifice in trying to help. With kind regards, I am Sincerely, DEAR C. A. GRISCOM. September 27th, 1914. I was, and am, exceedingly glad to see that you had of your own accord, braced to meet the emergencies which the war has called upon you to confront, and that in large measure you did not need my effort to help you. These are terrible times, for all of us, not only for you who are so personally close to and connected with the war. I do not know anyone |