Chapter III: The Teachings (8)

If she looks outward at all--and she does that too, at times--it is from her own standpoint, and in the eternal manner. She does not then criticise; her tones do not mince nor falter. The bardic schools had a law, that the office of the Bard was solely to extol what was noble; there were other orders, not sacred like the bardic, whose business was to satirize or to amuse. One can see that such a law must have come from a time when that one force which, as was said above, alone can move poetry to anger absolute, was not in evidence: for, except that they must fight that force, that old law holds for the bards now. So poetry, looking down into this world, criticises no one and nothing. She exalts whom she will; she mantles humanity with godhood: and whom she will--the antihumanists, the plotters against the freedom and beauty of the soul--she thunders upon.

Swinburne, looking at the roadside crucifix ghastly in its deification of decay and death, criticises _that_--nay, scourges the idea it symbolizes, the soul-fettering dogmatism; pours on it the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, if you like--but it is because the awful vision of the real Crucified burns up before him; the tragedy of the ages, the enslaved, thwarted, hindered, persecuted _Soul of Man_. Dante beholds the severe mercy of the Great Law, "that straightens us, whom the world has made crooked." Milton, vainly endeavoring to be orthodox, to write within the limits of the dogmas, justifying the ways of his strange deity, and holding up Satan for our abhorrence, gives way to the great spirit of the Poet within him time and again; and shows, time and again, the sublime pathos of the Soul, Unchanged, though fallen on evil days. Nay, but they do not tell of these things; they make them live; they are revelations shown before us; so that our own eyes have seen, and the universe has undergone transfiguration, and ourselves. For Poetry is no little thing, no mere refinement. It is magic; it is the life of the Gods; it is the secret and spiritual nature of things. Without it, this Universe like a rotten bough, would break off from the Tree of Life. Without it, there would be no Tree of Life. It is the living sap, the greenness, the subtle vigor, and the beauty of the Tree.

"THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES":

by H. Coryn, M. D., M. R. C. S.

Hegel, commenting upon the Pythagorean doctrine of number as the basis of all things says:

Numbers have been much used as the expression of ideas. This, on one side, has a look of depth. For, that another meaning is implied in them than they immediately present, is seen at once; but how much is implied in them is known neither to him who proposes, nor by him who tries to understand.... The more obscure the thoughts, the deeper they seem; the thing is, that what is most essential, but also what is hardest, namely, the expression of one's self in definite notions--is precisely what the proposer spares himself.

Upon which Stirling remarks:

But the curious point is that Hegel himself adopts this very numerical symbolism, so far as it suits _the system_! It is only, indeed, when that agreement fails, that the agreement of Hegel fails also. The moment it does fail, however, his impatience breaks out. The one, the two, the three, he contentedly, even warmly and admiringly accepts, nay, "as far as five," he says, "there may well be something like a thought in numbers, _but_ on from six there are simply arbitrary determinations!"

Especially, said Hegel, there is meaning in _three_, the Trinity. The Trinity is only unintelligible when considered as three separate units; its divine meaning appears when we take it as a whole.

It would be a strange thing if there were no sense in what for two thousand years has been the holiest Christian idea.

It would be stranger if one of the profoundest thinkers that ever lived, a teacher whose grandeur of character made him almost an object of worship to his pupils, had selected his symbols to "spare himself" the labor of clear conception (or had let them conceal from himself the confusion of his own thought). According to Hegel we must respectfully see philosophy in the Christian Trinity; in the Pythagorean Dekad, none.

Pythagoras wrote nothing. And his teaching was esoteric, delivered under pledge of secrecy. The essence of the echoes that reach us amounts to this: that numbers and ratio are the soul of things; that the soul itself is a number and a harmony.

Is there any possible reading of this from which it might appear profoundly true and illuminating?

We sometimes estimate savage intelligence by the power of counting, of adding units. From one point of view the power does not seem to go very far with ourselves. We cannot in one act of perception count more than a very few dots irregularly placed on a sheet of paper. If more than that few they must have some arrangement. Nine must be perhaps in three threes, twelve in four threes or three fours. But even before twenty is reached, no arrangement will permit one act of perception to accomplish the numbering. There is merely a considerable number, and actual unitary counting--of units or groups--is necessary to know how large it is.

But now let there be a sufficient number of dots to suggest to the eye say a flower form or a frieze pattern, and let them be so arranged. Before that arrangement they were a mere horde of _ones_; in their definite arrangement they have a _meaning_, excite an idea, a state of consciousness. Is not the advent of this meaning, the perception of this form as a whole, a new and transcendental kind of counting? Number in this sense, is form; and the form is form and not inchoateness, chaos, just because of its meaning; that is, because of the state of consciousness it excites in us.

You can count the ticks of the clock--as ones. If they were four times as fast you could perhaps still count them. As they became more rapid than that they would pass beyond the power of counting. As they became still more rapid they would presently cease to be units at all _and become a musical note_. Now they excite what might be called an idea, a state of feeling peculiar to that number per second. Is not the perception of that number _as a note_ a kind of counting? Let the number per second be now suddenly doubled. Are we aware of the ratio of this new number to the previous one? Yes, but as a rise of an octave in the note, not as a counted doubling. To this corresponds another state of feeling, partly due to the new note as it is, partly due to its relation to the old one. It is a perception of ratio appearing in consciousness as aesthetic feeling.

Set this clock to beat twice as fast again, and having listened a moment so as to get the sense of the new note, stop it. Set a second clock to beat _five_ for the first one's four. Listen so as to get the sense of it and then stop that clock also. Set a third to beat _six_ for the first one's four and do the same.

Now start them all at once. You cannot by counting ascertain that whilst one beats six the other two are respectively beating five and four. But your appreciation of the fact takes the form of _hearing the musical chord do, mi, sol_, C, E, G, the common chord in its first position. Is not the perception of that chord, the acceptation of that state of feeling, really a recognition of the ratio, a highly transcendental counting? In the feeling you have the _meaning_ of the numbers and of the ratios between them. It is those numbers themselves viewed from a high standpoint.

The same might be said of every other chord. Listening to music is perceiving ratios of vibratory speed between the successive notes and chords, transcendental counting. The feelings aroused are what those ratios _mean_. The meaning, the feeling, of the composer gets out into expression through those numbers and ratios. Number in the ordinary one-plus-one sense is the body of music; number in the transcendental sense is its soul.

We cannot in the ordinary sense count ether-touches on the optic nerve. But when they reach a certain number of trillions per second we suddenly perceive the _meaning_ of that number--which we call the color red or the sensation of redness. When the rapidity is seven-fourths as many we get the sensation violet. But there is more than a sensation; the colors have an _aesthetic_ and emotional value. And when colors, that is rates, are juxtaposited in certain ways we get _art_ and the value may become _spiritual_.

But no two people are affected in exactly the same way by the same piece of music or of art work, though the souls of both may be touched. Since, as we have seen, the highest aspect of number and ratio is _spiritual meaning_, we can already see something in the Pythagorean saying that the soul is a number and a ratio or harmony. In its self-consciousness it has a spiritual meaning for itself; it means something to itself; it understands itself. And so each soul, each with its own special nature or meaning, reacts a little differently to the spiritual meaning of numbers and ratios coming to it from without.

Nature herself, thought the Pythagoreans, is instinct with spiritual meanings. Whilst the soul is embodied and limited by the senses she cannot ordinarily or easily get these meanings direct. They have to be clothed or bodied in those masses of units and ratios that are color, sound, and form. She touches these ordered aggregations (numbers them, understands them) on three planes: first as sensation; then as aesthetic feeling; then, perhaps, in their spiritual meaning. The musician, as he composes, does receive direct a bit of nature's spiritual meaning and then aggregates such numbers and ratios of vibration as will express it. And if his music, carrying this meaning, be so sounded as to affect plates of sand or other fine powder, forms will result such as nature herself makes--perhaps in the same way, though we cannot hear the sound for its subtlety--forms of flowers, trees, groves, and what not. For any of nature's meanings may get out along the ways of sound, color, or form. We can conceive that the whole of evolution is guided by number, ordered number, ratio. The electrons in an atom and the atoms in a molecule and the molecules in a cell or crystal are not only so many in number but definite in arrangement, in form. They _mean_ something; they express in arrangement and in successive changes in arrangement a unitary spiritual idea of nature's, and in that is the force of evolution. If the units disintegrate and scatter so that we speak of death, the idea, the real life, remains and embodies again in a new harmonized mass of units. The idea is the magnet that attracts and arranges them and incarnates among them. It is their spiritual number, the cause of their countable number and scientifically ascertainable arrangement.

Number, therefore, in the highest sense, is not the same as a heap, a mass, an anyhowness; it is an order expressive of a spiritual meaning. In the highest sense it is that spiritual meaning itself even before expression in an ordered mass of items or vibrations. And in this sense the soul is a number and nature the synthesis of numbers; both finding expression, the one in the soul's several garments (one only known to science) and works; the other in what we call "nature." Pythagoras will yet find his full vindication in philosophy. He is of the future, not the past.

DOES NIRVÂNA MEAN ANNIHILATION? by T. H.

It is sometimes said by superficial students that Nirvâna means total annihilation; while more accurate scholars point out that it means the extinction of the impermanent part of our nature, whereby the permanent prevails. This is well brought out in the following quotation from _The Kashf al-Mahjûb_, the oldest Persian treatise on Sûfiism, translated by Reynold A. Nicholson.

Annihilation is the annihilation of one attribute through the subsistence of another attribute.... Whoever is annihilated from his own will subsists in the will of God, as the power of fire transmutes to its own quality anything that falls into it ... but fire affects only the quality of iron without changing its substance.

It is evident that what is annihilated is the _personality_, which, according to the teachings, is an erroneous conception preventing the manifestation of the real Self. Thus the doctrine of annihilation is seen to be a consistent part of a logical teaching and not the untenable idea which some critics have represented it to be. The fact that most of us in our present state of development look with reluctance at the idea of losing our transitory personality does not invalidate the truth of the teaching; for the teaching relates to the destinies of the permanent Spirit, in which the wishes of our erring, transitory personality play but little part. Were we washed clean, standing forth in robes of light, as most religious believers hope to be at some time or other, we might consent in will and understanding to this teaching; seeing then that the personality is indeed a delusion and a source of woe, whose annihilation is even to be desired.

In the meantime, and for immediate practical purposes, we can consider annihilation as a process applicable to the development of our character; substituting, however, a less harsh word--say neutralization. There are in our character many elements which we should wish to reduce to nothing; there are many false selves which obtrude themselves on us, claiming a share of our life and crowding out the better phases of our character. The elimination of these, in order that the better elements may shine forth unobscured, is a process of purification. Why, then, may not Nirvâna be so considered? To what extent have our prejudices on the subject been aroused by the mere use of an inadequate word in translation? Nirvâna is extinction of the _false_. "Ring out the false, ring in the true!"

CATHEDRALS IN ANCIENT CRETE: by a Student

Great as is the reverence which we have for our religion, we scarcely realize how much more ancient and venerable it is than is usually supposed. But archaeology is doing much to enlighten opinion on that point. For instance, we read in _The Discoveries in Crete_, by Ronald M. Burrows, that

It was long ago suggested that the Roman Basilica, which formed the earliest type of Christian church, was derived both in structure and in name from the "Stoa Basilike" or King's Colonnade at Athens. This was the place where the King Archon, the particular member of the board of nine annual magistrates who inherited the sacred and judicial functions of the old kings, tried cases of impiety. It had further seemed possible that the building as well as the title was a survival from some earlier stage, when a king was a king in more than name. What we have found at Knossos seems curiously to confirm this suggested chain of inheritance.

At one end of a pillared hall, about thirty-seven feet long by fifteen wide there is a narrow raised dais, separated from the rest of the hall by stone balustrades, with an opening between them in which three steps give access to the center of the dais. At this center point, immediately in front of the steps, a square niche is set back in the wall, and in this niche are the remains of a gypsum throne.... We seem to have here ... a pillar hall with a raised "Tribunal" or dais bounded by "Cancelli" or balustrades, and with an "Exedra" or seated central niche which was the place of honor. Even the elements of a triple longitudinal division are indicated by the two rows of columns that run down the Hall. Is the Priest-King of Knossos, who here gave his judgments, a direct ancestor of Praetor and Bishop seated in the Apse within the Chancel, speaking to the people that stood below in Nave and Aisles?

The antiquity and universality of the doctrinal basis of Christianity forms the subject of frequent remarks in Theosophical writings, as it is a topic much to the fore in religious circles just now. But here the question is of ecclesiastical architecture; and that too, as we see, is ancient and pre-Christian. Little do many people seem to suspect that the grand cathedral, with its nave and aisles, its transept, its chancel, and its altar, are founded on such ancient models. While such facts are for the most part unknown or deliberately ignored, there are some Christian writers who admit them, but are disposed to regard Christianity as a capstone to the entire edifice of ancient wisdom, a final and complete revelation. Whether or not Christianity really occupies or can occupy such a commanding position is of course a question of fact; the proofs must be practical; by results we must judge.

Mere claims will not replace actualities, nor would claims be needed where actualities were present. If Christianity can maintain such a position, it will doubtless win the respect it so yearns for.

THE WORLD OF WOMANHOOD: by Grace Knoche

There are subjects which even thought floats round and round, as a bird above her nestlings or incense over the flame which gave it birth--subjects which the brain-mind hesitates to touch directly, so reverential is the appeal they make to the inner and the best in heart-life. Words seem out of place. Even reason before them pauses, makes obeisance, and dowered with glamor, passes on, as one might pass who stands for a moment in the presence of a new light. There are events, though they are few, that so enshrine within themselves the deeper sacredness of soul-life that words seem poor and mean as carriers of their _largess_. The heart feels intuitively that silence, "the great Empire of Silence," alone could hope to attune human lives to the voice of them.

Deep answereth unto deep, but sometimes not by the Marconi messages of the soul. There are times when from deep to deep the mystic, intangible bridge that is to be builded must use living words for its piers and masonry. But they must be _living_ words, golden-tongued words, words glowing with the lambent touch of flame rekindling flame. They must be vital, electric, surcharged with the mighty currents of compassion and that love that layeth down its life for a friend; heart-messengers of Wisdom herself they must be, and even then can build no bridge royal enough for Wisdom's whole mighty _entourage_ to pass over when the Event is such as recent days have brought forth in the world of womanhood--the _world of womanhood_, bear in mind, which is a larger, more soulful realm than the _world of women_, merely.

Yet words are the only masonry-stuff at hand, and so build we must with them. Hearts that respond to the finer harmonies of life and nature, and minds that have touched understandingly to a degree the great problem of woman's work and woman's true place in life, will quicken and respond.

At Isis Theater, San Diego, on the evening of Monday, February 19, and again on February 27, _Anno Fraternitatis Universalis XIV_, Katherine Tingley looked into the eager, upturned faces of more than a thousand women, respectful, waiting, aspiring, dead-in-earnest women. Both meetings had been called for women only. As I glanced over pit and gallery while the strains of music announced that the meeting was about to begin, the words which Mr. Judge once used in reference to right action and the altruistic life, seemed to sing out in tones of unmistakable triumph from the very bosom of the air: "It is better than philosophy, _for it enables us to know philosophy_."

Nothing in this world of unity can be rightly judged if conceived of as an isolated something, just a fragment. "A primrose by the river's brim" is far other than "a yellow primrose ... and nothing more" to the rational, open mind. It is a part of all the rich nature-environment which, when we think of it _in_ parts, as some mosaicist might think of his design, we call river and bank and forest-wildness and sedge and shimmer and sky. The distant mountain is no mountain, merely, but part of a noble panorama, its base melting into gentler slope and foreground at just what point no living soul can say, its heights suffused in sunshine, its edges softened and purpled and cooled and warmed in the shimmering atmosphere, its stature rising grandly undefined against the misty, illimitable Beyond of azure or gold or gray. No more can the artist in color say "Here, definitely _here_, the foreground or distance end and the mountain begins," than the artist in life can say, "Here we will mark off and limit _truthfulness_, and next to it, _virtue_, and beyond the next hard dividing-line, _compassion_, and a goodly collection of such separate items we will call _character_." Ah no, life is no rag-bag of scraps and shreds and patches, nor is nature. It is one grand whole and no part can be understood, or even seen _as it is_, unless looked at and studied in its relation to all the other parts which with it constitute the whole.

So also with historic truth. The mountain-peaks of history, rising as they do above the plain and level of general human action, never rise separate to the philosopher's vision from all that lies behind them, nor are they ever wholly unsuffused by the glow or the dimness that speaks to the prescient mind of glories or of disillusionments ahead.

There could be no question, in the minds of those whose duties led them both before and behind the scenes of action at the two meetings referred to, that the twentieth century call for women had come. Katherine Tingley, in inaugurating this work, issued a challenge to all the nobler possibilities of womanhood. Those who could look beyond the present into the dim aerial distance and adown the vistas of the past, knew the Event for what it was and made no mistake in prophesying wonderful things for the future from the glow of promise which fell upon it. It was part of the past, yes, but a nobler than the common part; one felt that it had somehow swung out from old limitations, as some great glorious member of a star group might be conceived of as swinging out into space, into a greater orbit and an orbit of its own. It was as a new note sounded in the long, ascending gamut of woman's evolution, a gamut in which there are, here and there, glorious notes, royal notes, with echoing overtones of soulfulness and strength, but which has, alas! its burden of discord to carry, as well.

There has been no unity of soul in past efforts, as a whole, and the keynote struck by Katherine Tingley had a ring of newness, somehow, on very real lines. Which does not mean that women have not worked together, often in large bodies, as we see them doing today. But both their aims and the quality of result that grew from these showed that real unity on lines of soul-strength and soul-effort has been lacking. For example, we have today the apparently united body of women who are storming council-chambers and invoking hand-to-hand battles with policemen; and yesterday we had their prototypes in old Rome, excited groups of fad-ridden women who even barred the approaches to the Forum as an argument in support of their demands for political equality--and Roman homes going to pieces by the hundred for lack of true womanhood at the helm. Oh, if women would read history _in a new way_!

Efforts characterized by a certain outer binding-together, while of real inner unity there was none, there have been in all ages. But, strange to say, until the inauguration of Theosophical work for women in this year of the twentieth century, the true note has been sounded, in most cases, by some one woman who was more or less _un_helped by the women about her. History inspires us with the virtues of Alcestis, that peerless wife; of Antigone; of that perfect exemplar of motherhood, Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi; of the queenly Thusnelda; of Cleopatra, Semiramis, and Zenobia; and let us not forget the peasant girl of Domremy, whose simple purity and absolute self-forgetfulness did more for the "woman movement" of the ages than even her generalship did for France.

Yet these are isolated types. Barring Sappho and her woman pupils, Birgitta of Sweden and her wonderful work for and with the women who flocked to the home centers that ecclesiastical enemies fortunately did not prevent her from establishing, history has little to say as to women who have _worked together_ for some truly spiritual cause, in which the noblest they had was placed on Humanity's altar.

"MAGNETONS," FORCE AND MATTER: by H. Travers

A man of science has presented to the Paris Academy of Sciences a paper in which he attempts to prove from the results of certain experiments that the atoms of magnetic bodies, such as iron and manganese, contain definite quantities of an elementary magnetic _substance_, which he proposes to call "magneton." This is regarded as a sequel to the new way of regarding electricity; for in the electrons we now seem to find a means of defining electricity in terms of a unit of substance. Electricity, light, and other physical forces, have at different times been defined either as kinds of matter or as modes of motion. At the present moment, many people think, we are passing from the kinetic to the corpuscular view again. But it is more likely that our present studies will end by giving us a more accurate and adequate notion of the nature of force on the one hand and matter on the other. We shall see more clearly that force and matter are inseparable, and that in our use of these words we are merely making mental abstractions for the purpose of calculation. What was at one time considered to be inert matter was later found to be teeming with energy; so that this kind of matter, instead of being inert substance, was found to be the result of forces acting in some finer kind of matter. This finer kind of matter--hypothetical so far--was denominated "ether"; and should we succeed in examining this ether, we should probably find that it too is the result of forces acting in a still more recondite form of matter--a sub-ether, as it were. At all events we should have no choice but to describe it in that way. In the same way force must always be inseparably associated with mass, for the quantity denoted by the term "mass" is included in the definition of force. Thus the question whether electricity, magnetism, etc., are "forces" or "forms of matter" loses its meaning, since (strictly speaking) they cannot be either but must be both.

The experiments mentioned seem to have shown that there is a definite physical unit of quantity for magnetism, just as the negative electron is said to be a definite unit of quantity for negative electricity. In this case we should have arrived at the conclusion that magnetic substances are those to whose atoms or molecules are attached these magnetic atoms.

As to the kinetic theory of electricity, light, and other physical forces, we certainly know that kinetic effects attend the manifestation of these forces; and where there is no physical matter present we have predicated an ether to serve as a substratum for these kinetic effects. But is that the same as saying that electricity and light are modes of energy or forms of motion? Later research has shown us that these physical forces are attended, not only by kinetic effects, but also by those other effects which we denote by such terms as "mass," "inertia," or "substance." Again, are we entitled to say that electricity, light, etc., _are_ substances, or forms of matter? It would seem more reasonable to say that both energy and mass are to be classed among the effects or accompaniments of electricity and light, electricity and light themselves being something that is neither energy nor mass but parent to both.

In brief, the life or _vis viva_ of the physical universe escapes observation and analysis, while its various effects, appearing in the forms which we describe as light, heat, electricity, etc., are defined by us in terms of our two mental concepts "mass" and "energy." The farthest limit to which physical observation has reached, or seems likely to reach, is that of minute and extremely active particles, whose motions are attended with luminous, thermal, and electric phenomena. To put the matter in a nutshell: we find that the so-called inert matter of the universe is composed of what are to all intents and purposes small beings, very much alive and endowed with proclivities. Given our electron or magneton, we are obliged to take for granted its innate properties of energy, etc., for we have no means of explaining them except by reducing them to smaller factors of precisely the same kind--and this is no explanation. That is, we have to assume the universal presence of active and purposeful life--for that is what it amounts to, whatever names we may give. And behind all this manifestation of life there of course lies _mind_; otherwise we must suppose the existence of causeless and purposeless life--a conception which is highly arbitrary and unnecessary.

Science has a great future before it, but at present it is laboring under limitations due to the restriction of its sphere. A large portion of its proper domain having been usurped by theology and wild deductive philosophy, science has confined itself to such limits as give it a free field. But if the careful and logical methods of true science could be applied to all departments of investigation, knowledge would take a great leap. Of late years we have seen many foolish attempts to establish a "higher science," many of them associated with "psychism" and similar eccentricities. All this naturally arouses the antagonism of true men of science and causes them to shun the possibility of association with such movements. Take the psychical research movements, for example; is it not evident that in many cases these are destined to achieve delusion rather than any useful truth? Or take hypnotism: how can such a dangerous pseudo-science be adequately studied without the grave risks which its knowledge brings upon society in the shape of credulous folly and a cover for cowardly vice?

It seems evident that science is too unorganized and indiscriminate at present, and that when it extends its boundaries so as to include the larger fields it will also have to raise its standards. Scientific work, if valuable, should be treated like other valuables--that is, protected. This can only be done by intrusting it to worthy and competent people; from which we see that the character of the professors becomes an important matter. This principle is recognized in many of our departments; for we do not intrust the performing of surgical operations nor the care of lunatics to all and sundry. Why then should other departments be thrown open, allowing dangerous drugs and dynamite to pass into the hands of weaklings and criminals? Above all, why should the far more dangerous powers of hypnotism and so forth be made thus free to all?

In brief, knowledge is as inseparably connected with conduct as force is with matter. He who attempts to separate them and to pursue knowledge independently of duty and conduct, does not achieve knowledge; he achieves only partial knowledge or harmful knowledge. The fair bride is won only by the pure and valiant knight. One of the most important adjustments which our views have to undergo is that of recognizing the proper relative positions of religion and science. They should be one and not separate. But before this can be done there is much rubbish to be cleared away from the foundations.

THE NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM, SOUTH KENSINGTON, LONDON

The British Museum was completed as recently as 1847, yet hardly thirty years elapsed before it was found to be too small to hold the continually accumulating specimens, and an enlargement had to be made. To preserve and properly exhibit the enormous collection of natural history objects a commodious building was erected at South Kensington, near the well-known Museum of Science and Art. It was finished in 1880 and stocked with the old specimens from the British Museum and many new ones; the crowded rooms from which the old specimens were taken being immediately filled with other objects which had been waiting for exhibition.

The Natural History Museum was designed by Waterhouse, and there has always been a strong difference of opinion as to its architectural beauty, at least externally. The interior design and decoration is generally approved. The large towers are 192 feet high, and the length of the building is 675 feet. The ornamental decoration is composed of terra cotta, and consists of bands and dressings of animals and other natural objects.

The interior consists of a great central hall with long side galleries and basement. The eastern galleries are devoted to the geological, mineralogical, and botanical collections; the western to the zoological collections. The great hall is an index or typical museum, arranged with such specimens as to give a general idea of the scope of the subject of natural history. The historical development of those species of whose past there is definite knowledge, the effect of seasonal changes upon the colors of certain animals and birds, protective resemblances and mimicry, etc., are here displayed. Among the most interesting and rare fossils are the gigantic kangaroo of Australia (six times larger than the present representative, which is placed near it), the gigantic armadillo of Buenos Aires and its modern dwarfed descendant, the huge megatherium from Buenos Aires compared with the sloth of today, etc. The collection of stuffed birds shown in natural positions and with the correct surroundings always attracts admiring attention from the general public. In a commanding position on the first landing of the main staircase there is a fine statue by Böhm of the great naturalist, Charles Darwin. The Natural History Museum faces Cromwell road, a street of palatial residences, called after one of Oliver Cromwell's sons, who lived in a house once existing there.

WAS H. P. BLAVATSKY A PLAGIARIST? by Henry T. Edge, B. A. (Cantab.), a Pupil under H. P. Blavatsky

This article, written by an old pupil under H. P. Blavatsky, and voicing the feelings of other students, is a vindication of the memory of that great teacher against certain charges brought against her. The charges are many and mutually inconsistent; so that if brought together they would confute each other and the various critics might be left to settle their own quarrel. Thus H. P. Blavatsky is accused both of inventing her teachings, and also of plagiarizing them from other people; her works are said to be at once a stale rehash, and a new fad. But, as any one of these charges may appear alone and thus gain a plausibility it would not otherwise have had, it is both the desire and the duty of those who uphold the truth about H. P. Blavatsky to show up the absurdity of the attacks.

The particular charge in question just now is that of unoriginality. It has been based on a quotation from the Introduction to H. P. Blavatsky's great work, _The Secret Doctrine_, which is as follows:

I may repeat what I have stated all along, and which I now clothe in the words of Montaigne: Gentlemen, "I HAVE HERE MADE ONLY A NOSEGAY OF CULLED FLOWERS, AND HAVE BROUGHT NOTHING OF MY OWN BUT THE STRING THAT TIES THEM."

The attempt to construe this into a charge of plagiarism signifies the wish to depreciate H. P. Blavatsky's writings, as being so stale and unoriginal that it is not worth while reading them. But, if this were so, why did the critics deign to notice them at all, instead of suffering them to sink into the rapid and perfect oblivion which awaits all works that are actually open to such a charge? Evidently there was a desire to prejudice the mind of the inquirer, so that he would be deterred from reading the works for himself and thus forming his own opinion. In short, the arguments of these critics, not resting upon fact, would have been disproved by such a reading; and therefore they have preferred to rest their statements upon mere assertion.

Of course the genuine truth-seeker will always derive his opinion from his own investigations; and if he finds anywhere the help and knowledge for which he is seeking, he will not hesitate to accept it from any doubts as to the popularity of the author. Rather he will base his opinion of the author upon his or her works. But as the conditions of life render it necessary for us to a great extent to be dependent upon the judgments of professional literary people, it is possible for any prejudice that may exist in that quarter to inflict much injustice by lending the weight of authority to false representations. We may find, for instance, some standard work, having great influence and repute, treating of H. P. Blavatsky and Theosophy in a way that would lead one to think the writers had studied these subjects; whereas the contrary is the case, and the apparently scholarly treatise is actually a misrepresentation of fact, amounting to throwing dust in the eyes of the inquirer.

The inquirer, the sincere seeker for knowledge, is therefore referred to _The Secret Doctrine_ itself, where he may ascertain what the author really does say in her Preface and Introduction and where he may study the actual teachings she thus introduces. Her attitude is both plain and frank; there should be no difficulty in understanding it, and its sincerity is apparent to anyone who has studied the book enough to see whether or not the writer has justified her claims. In the Preface we read:

These truths are in no sense put forward as a _revelation_; nor does the author claim the position of a revealer of mystic lore now made public for the first time in the world's history. For what is contained in this work is to be found scattered throughout thousands of volumes embodying the scriptures of the great Asiatic and early European religions, hidden under glyph and symbol, and hitherto left unnoticed because of this veil.

Here the charge of having invented a new system is met by the express affirmation that the materials are gleaned from ancient sources; while the charge of unoriginality is rendered pointless. A plagiarist is one who gives out the teachings of others as his own, and the charge of unoriginality is not usually brought against writers who set out with the deliberate and announced intention of quoting and expounding other writers. As H. P. Blavatsky herself says, in the very passage from which the words of the critic were selected, it would be as reasonable to charge Renan with having plagiarized his _Life of Jesus_ from the Gospels, or Max Müller his _Sacred Books of the East_ from the Indian philosophical writings.

And what shall be said of the insinuation that _The Secret Doctrine_ is merely a compost, a stale and profitless rehash? That it is equally absurd. A nosegay is not a mere heap of flowers, nor does a heap of stones make a temple. The riddle of ancient knowledge is not solved by merely collecting the scattered fragments. Anyone may bring together a lot of colored threads, but only a weaver and artist can make them into a beautiful and symmetrical fabric. The question is, What has H. P. Blavatsky made of her studies of the world's mystic lore? What use has she made of her quotations and references? Has she succeeded any better than other writers who have delved in the same soil? Is _The Secret Doctrine_ really but one more of those numerous compilations that find a speedy and eternal tomb on dusty shelves?

On consulting the Preface we find that the author has made the claim that she has been able to weave the tangled threads into a symmetrical whole, to put the various fragments in their right places, and to apply a key that will unlock mysteries. In proof of her claim she refers the reader to the book itself. This is the only test she demands; surely not an unreasonable one!

It is written in the service of humanity, and by humanity and the future generations it must be judged. Its author recognizes no inferior court of appeal.--_Preface._

Other authors who have compiled voluminous works on ancient lore have signally failed to render them profitable to the student. They have either been mere compilers having no definite purpose other than the production of a learned book, or they have been overruled by some theory or fad which they have sought to prove. But H. P. Blavatsky has pointed out the real clues and for the first time made sense of what was chaotic. To quote her words again:

What is now attempted is to gather the oldest tenets together and to make of them one harmonious and unbroken whole. The sole advantage which the writer has over her predecessors is that she need not resort to personal speculations and theories. For this work is a partial statement of what she herself has been taught by more advanced students, supplemented, in a few details only, by the results of her own study and observation.

It is not easy to see how a plainer and franker statement could have been made. The indebtedness to other sources is freely admitted; and, as the reader can see, all references to sources are fully given in the text. The author mentions her own teachers, but not for the purpose of lending a fictitious authority to her statements. For these statements do not need any such support, consisting, as they do, of appeals to reason, to the weight of testimony, and to accepted authorities in the different branches of learning. The reference to her teachers was made simply in modest and honorable disclaim of credit which the writer felt was due to others. As to the teachings thus received and thus transmitted by her, they are to be judged on their merits, and should neither be accepted or rejected on any other principle. Information is information, however gained; and a man lost in a forest, who has actually been conducted out of it, does not need any testimonials to the trustworthiness of his guide. If _The Secret Doctrine_ can really solve problems, answer questions, and remove doubts, that fact alone is sufficient for the genuine truth-seeker; and the author's statement as to the source of her knowledge will be taken for what it was intended for--a due acknowledgement of gratitude and indebtedness.

If H. P. Blavatsky's work is of the kind which these critics wish to make it out to be, surely the student may be trusted to find out that fact for himself; but if it is not of this kind, then the statement that it is, is a misrepresentation--founded possibly on ignorance, but in any case unworthy of a scholar. She claims that she has _pointed out_ many things that have hitherto _escaped the attention_ of scholars. And this is a statement which can only be tested by investigation; anyone presuming to affirm or deny it without such investigation is either a simpleton or a bigot. The pointing out of truths is not an act of dogmatism, since the person to whom they are pointed out is left perfectly free to use his own judgment (if he has any) as to whether that which he has been shown is true or not, whether it is what he was looking for or not.

H. P. Blavatsky did not write for recognition, but she has succeeded in the object for which she did write--that of arousing thought, calling attention. She desired to startle the world of thought; and this she has certainly done; for her opponents cannot let her alone. Moreover a kind of acknowledgement is to be found in the large and increasing number of facts, denied in her day but since admitted by scholars. It is true that for these revised views credit is not given to their originator; but that must be left to posterity when time shall have obliterated selfishness and ignorance. The question of originality may be settled by calling H. P. Blavatsky a pioneer. The lands into which she has led us are indeed ancient and many a foot has trod them of yore; yet to the modern world they were virgin forests.

But one word remains to be said. Fortunately for the credit due to Theosophy and its first promulgator in this age, H. P. Blavatsky's writings do not constitute the whole of her work. She has left behind her the Universal Brotherhood and Theosophical Society, an organization which embodies many teachings which could never be communicated by books alone. This means that her work is in hands that will take care that she gets the credit to which she is entitled, and that the real Theosophical work is of a kind that can only be done by Theosophists, and so can not be plagiarized. And even the clues given in her writings will prove inadequate unless taken in connexion with an application of Theosophy in the student's daily life; for she took good care to show the inseparable connexion between knowledge and conduct. Thus those who try to use _The Secret Doctrine_ as a mine from which they may dig out something that they can use to their own private advantage are more likely to serve the author's cause than their own; for the only use that can be made of half-truths is to point the way to the _missing_ halves.

BUCKINGHAM PALACE, LONDON

The illustration shows the eastern façade of Buckingham Palace, the residence of King George V when in London. It is taken from St. James' Park. The end of the lake, which is five acres in area, can be seen in the picture. The private gardens occupy fifty acres. The eastern wing of the palace, 360 feet long, was added by Blore in 1846, making the building a large quadrangle. Buckingham Palace was originally erected in 1703 by a Duke of Buckingham, on the site of Arlington House, where it is recorded that tea was first drunk in England. George III purchased it, and it was remodeled by Nash in 1825 for George IV. The exterior is generally condemned as an architectural failure, imposing only from its size, but the interior has some good features. The white marble staircase is considered very handsome. The palace contains a fine sculpture gallery, library, etc. The Throne Room is 66 feet long, the State Drawing Room 110 feet by 60. The Picture Gallery, which is 180 feet long, contains a very fine collection, chiefly Dutch pictures. There are excellent examples of Rembrandt (the great _Adoration of the Magi_--1667), Hals, Teniers, Rubens, Osrade, Van Dyck (_Charles I on horseback_), Cuyp, Potter, De Hooch, Titian, Carracci, Claude, etc. Permission for strangers to visit the gallery is difficult to obtain, but may sometimes be obtained when the court is not in residence. The new monument to Queen Victoria, just unveiled, stands in front of Buckingham Palace.

THE GOLDEN CHAIN OF PLATONIC SUCCESSION: by F. S. Darrow, A. M., Ph. D. (Harv.)

A key to the interpretation of Greek philosophy, generally neglected except by Platonists and Theosophists, is given by the following statement of Proklos, the "Platonic Successor":

What Orpheus delivered in hidden allegories, Pythagoras learned when he was initiated into the Orphic Mysteries, in which Plato next received a perfect knowledge from the Orphic and Pythagorean writings.

In this connexion it was pointed out by H. P. Blavatsky, the foundress of the Theosophical Society (_Isis Unveiled_, vol. II, p. 39, Point Loma edition) that Plato himself in his Letters declares that his teachings were derived from _ancient_ and _sacred_ doctrines. In the Seventh Letter of the collection which has come down to us he says:

It is ever necessary to believe in the truth of the _Sacred Accounts_ of the _Olden Time_, which inform us that the soul is immortal and has judges of its conduct and suffers the greatest punishments when it is liberated from the body. Hence it is requisite to regard it a lesser evil to suffer than to commit the greatest sins and injuries.

It is unjustifiable to assume as scholars usually do that we are in a position to judge correctly of all of Plato's thoughts because, most fortunately, it appears that all of his published works have been preserved. The last thirty-eight years of Plato's life were spent as Scholarch or Head of the Platonic School among the olive groves of the Academy where the philosopher dwelt with some of his principal students, namely, his successor and pupil Speusippos, Xenokrates, and others, teaching Divine Wisdom freely to those who were able to understand. The fact that Aristotle refers to various teachings of Plato not now extant in the Platonic works, as well as the request in the Second of our Platonic Letters that the letter be burned after its frequent reading so that it may not fall into improper hands, both afford corroborative evidence of the tradition that Plato refused to _publish_ any of his numerous lectures and oral teachings. It is therefore _a priori_ probable that Plato treated philosophy in two distinct ways, one treatment intended for public circulation and the other intended for School instruction. If this be true, presumably his published dialogs give mere indirect hints, illustrations, and applications of the central principles of his teachings, which were revealed only orally to a selected audience. Doubtless the character of his oral instructions also varied and certain teachings were given only to a few of his more advanced students, as even Grote admits. Therefore in seeking to understand Plato it is important to recollect that today "the Prince of Western Philosophers" is known only from his Dialogs, while his teachings as Scholarch are now unknown. It is, however, certain from the statement of Aristotle in regard to Plato's lectures "On the Supreme Good," that Plato in his oral instructions taught Pythagorean Doctrines, and dealt with the highest and most transcendental concepts in a mystical and enigmatical way.

In regard to this there are important declarations in the extant Letters of Plato, Letters which it is orthodox to declare to be apocryphal, but whose genuineness is rightly defended by Grote in his _Plato and Other Companions of Socrates_. In the Second Letter, which is addressed to Dionysios the Younger of Syracuse, Plato uses some very suggestive language in referring to the effect upon the newly fledged student of entering the School:

I must speak to you in enigmas that should this tablet meet with any accident by land or by sea, he, who might perchance read it, may not understand. This has not happened to you alone but in truth no one when he first hears me is otherwise affected. Some have greater troubles, others less but nearly every student has a struggle of no slight power from which in truth he is freed only with difficulty. Be careful, however, that these discussions do not become known by men devoid of knowledge--discussions which if continually heard for many years at length with great labor are purified like gold. Many persons apt at learning and remembering have heard them for not less than thirty years and after testing them in every way have recently declared that those things which formerly appeared to them to be least worthy of belief now appear to be most worthy of belief and perfectly clear. The most important protection is to learn but _not_ to _commit_ to _writing_ because what is written will almost certainly become public knowledge. _Therefore on this account I have never myself at any time written anything on these subjects. There neither is nor ever shall be any treatise of Plato. The opinions called by the name of Plato are those of Socrates in his days of youthful vigor and glory._

These words of Plato, if admitted to be genuine, especially when linked with the following statements made in the Seventh of our Letters, show the futility of the current dogmatism of what purport to be correct and complete modern expositions and criticisms of Platonism, and ought to instil more humility in the orthodox dogmatists who strive to interpret the thoughts of the Master. The declarations referred to in the Seventh Letter are set forth as follows: