But, now, how will these two types of spirit work when they come to, say, such a question as that of Mr. Leadbeater? You will have at once the working of the critical intelligence which sees faults more readily than virtues, and bad motives more readily than good. That is its weakness. But it also has its value in pointing out certain dangers into which the Society might otherwise slip. The Catholic spirit will be far more ready to take it for granted that one from whom they have learned much, whom they know to have far vaster knowledge than their own, may have some other reason which they do not see, which would justify to the doer what he has done, and they do not feel that curious sense that they must save their neighbours’ souls, whether their neighbours desire it or not. They are content to say, “This is my road, that is his”—a wider and more generous spirit. Nevertheless, I think we should do well also to recognise that the presence in the Society of the critical and even judging spirit has at some times its value. But it is not a foundation on which anything can be built, and that is sometimes forgotten. You cannot build an enduring edifice on the grounds of protest against someone else. It cannot endure. It is curious to notice that the same people who condemn personality when the tendency of the personality is love and devotion, are the people who show personality most strongly when they antagonise and dislike. I admit to the full that principle should guide, not personality; but I cannot admit that a love for a personality is wrong, whilst a hatred of a personality is right and admirable. Both may put persons above principles if the two come into clash. And it is putting a personality above a principle when you desert the Theosophical Society, forgetting the great principles which make it immortal, and leave it, protesting against it, because one or two people hold views with which you do not agree. It is the ne plus ultra of personality. Mr. Leadbeater and Mrs. Besant are both comparatively old, and cannot at the most live very long. What utter folly, then, to desert the great principles incarnated in the Society because of the antagonism of two transitory personalities! If Theosophy be anything at all, then it is everything in life, and is not to be given up for anyone, whether saint or criminal. Suppose a hundred murderers were members of the Society, is that any reason why you or I should go out of it? It seems to me that the fact that we disapprove of that so much is a reason for staying in the Society, in order to strengthen it in the hour of its peril and to carry it through.
We need in the whole of this to study our own nature first, and find out our weak points, and then to guard against that weakness in the time of storm and stress. And we need, more than that, to realise that very often when people oppose us, they oppose us because of their virtues, and not because of their vices. That is, that the people who are utterly against me now are against me because of their virtues. They are wrong in the view they take—they misconstrue; that does not matter. But the fundamental reason why they oppose is because they believe that I am condoning what is wrong. That is a good feeling and right. But it is not right when it goes into hatred and calumny, when people go about telling abominable stories of all kinds which are utterly false, using them as weapons to injure. But, none the less, the beginning lay in a virtue—the desire to guard the Society from harm; and that ought to be recognised even when it has run into excess. If we can do that, then, in the midst of struggle, we shall be learning the true Theosophical spirit, which sees the good first, and only recognises the excess afterwards. And my suggestion is: “Train yourself, in your ordinary thinking, to see first the good of a person or thing, and only afterwards allow yourself to see the weakness or evil.” Then you will get all the good of your critical spirit, and be guarded against much harm. But if you see the bad side first, you are likely not to see the good side at all. These things test our members, and show whether we are fit to go along this great path or not—show whether we are ready to be part of that great Sixth Race which is coming, or whether we are so wedded to our own opinions that outside those we can see nothing good.
The trouble is practically over, but we should remember its lessons—a wider tolerance, a sterner self-criticism, and a more charitable attitude towards our fellows. You cannot be too hard in criticising yourself, nor too tolerant and charitable towards your neighbour. Remember that in every one of us the Self is endeavouring to express something of himself. In our own case we have the right to criticise every obstacle put in the way of His manifestation, to be hard in our judgment of ourselves, pitiless in our condemnation of our every fault and weakness. But we cannot govern the manifestation of the Self in another; hence our criticism is useless and impertinent—does not help, but hinders; for if the other person is wrong, as you think he is, then your harsh judgment makes an added barrier in his way when the Self in him is trying to guide him back to the right, whereas your charity, your tolerant respect, will help him to realise the noblest in him. Hence the lesson of this great shaking should be criticism of ourselves and charity to all around us. Recognition of our own type, clear self-judgment, so that we may walk aright and help others as much as may be; and, above all, so to purify our own characters that we may be channels for the life that flows in the Society, and may not soil it as it passes through ourselves. The Society can never die by attacks from without, nor by desertions from within; it can only die when its members are careless of their own thought, their own character, their own ideas; that, and that alone, can make the Society unworthy of the guidance of its Teachers. It was once said: “So long as three men remain in the Society worthy of our Lord’s blessing it cannot perish.” That was a word spoken by a Master in the days when the Society was weak and struggling, and when the few people that belonged to it feared it would never survive the storm that shook it in the time of the Coulomb attack. Think of that if any other storm should approach us—although we are not likely now to have another for the next twelve years; but when a storm comes, remember that inspiring idea, that as long as three remain in the Society it cannot perish; and add to that the vow registered by the Higher Self: “If others depart, I will be one of the three.”
Lecture IV
The Sacramental Life
I am to speak to you to-night on a subject of deep interest to those who regard the religions of the world from the standpoint of Occultism. In all the great religions we find what are called “sacraments,” to take the Western name; and in all religions the object is the same—the endeavour to spiritualise the ordinary life of man; to make it possible for men and women living in the world, blinded by their bodies, unable to rise above the material limitations—to enable those men and women to come into direct touch with higher worlds and higher beings, and so, from the definite sacramental act, to pass on until the whole life may become a sacrament by the radiation of spiritual life through the material coating.
Now different religions have different numbers of sacraments, although the essence remains the same. In Hindūism the sacraments are very numerous. Ten are recognised as of universal application, but the number will run up to thirty or forty if you take all the ceremonies that are distinctly recognised as having this character among the more orthodox Hindūs. The number, after all, is immaterial; it is the fundamental idea which is important. As knowledge of the meaning of the sacraments spreads, especially in the Western world, it will be found that many things that have been put aside as superstitious will come back with a new light and power. Certain ideas which were cast aside at the period of the Reformation were thrown aside rather by reaction than for any defensible reason. The way in which many of the thoughts and dogmas of the Roman Catholic Church were pressed among the people, the widespread ignorance of meanings while forms were carefully observed, not unnaturally brought about a powerful reaction when reason began to challenge the ceremonies. As occult knowledge had practically fallen into the background among the great mass of the Roman Catholic priesthood, there came rejection of that which could not be rationally explained. As we are able to see the justification for very much that then was rejected, however, we realise that many of these things will come back. And if we think, it is not unnatural that these should return. Going back to the early days of religion (I am thinking now of Christianity, but it is the same in all the great religions), we find the Founder and his immediate disciples who shape and mould the religion. As these men were men to whom the spiritual world was familiar, and as their duty was to make bridges between the ordinary mass of men and the great spiritual teachings of religion, it was inevitable that in the forms of worship laid down by them there should be in the background occult truths. Hence we find in the early Church the great institution of the Mysteries; and I shall want, later on, to show the relation between the Mystery, the Sacrament, and the great legend of the Holy Grail.
Let us now consider what a sacrament really is. I do not think we can get a better definition than in the Catechism of the Anglican Church: “An outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace”—something that is outer, tangible, that the senses can appreciate, a material object; then, with that, indissolubly connected, certain facts of the invisible world, so that the outer sign is able to act as a channel for the inner reality. But also, under the heading of “outward and visible sign,” you want something beyond the material object; you want a material gesture and material words. These three things are always present in a sacrament; some material object which is the immediate channel, certain sounds or words which make a change in the subtle material mingled with the denser material of that object, and a gesture called often the “sign of power,” as the words are called “words of power.” Now the gesture must be one through which magnetism can be thrown on to the object which is affected by the words.