The work was begun at a time when the tourist season was at its height and in the audiences that crowded Isis Theater to the doors were hundreds of women from distant points—Canada, Vancouver, the far South, the Middle States, the Atlantic Coast, Europe, and even the Orient. Consider that these were thinking women, by their very interest in Theosophy marked as women apart from the mass; consider as well that the subjects taken up by Katherine Tingley in the impassioned addresses that formed the axis, so to speak, the real fulcrum, of the meetings, were subjects of the most vital import to the home—the higher duties of wifehood and motherhood, the sacredness of the home as a spiritual temple and woman's duty as guardian of that temple, the key to a knowledge of child nature, the protection of the growing child, the Theosophic keynote of duty—and add to that the fact that nearly every woman in those vast audiences was an important factor in some home, and it is evident that the influence of these meetings could not be measured.
Consider also that this work was launched at the present time of transition, when all the old ideas of woman's work are being torn up, root and branch, in some cases, by fanatics who little dream of the reaction their frenzy and unwisdom is certain to produce, a reaction that will make doubly difficult the path of unselfish workers for a long time to come.
The climax of effort in the Woman's International Theosophical League was of course reached in the marvelous production of The Aroma of Athens, given under the League's auspices, with accounts of which both Students and the public are familiar. Social Hall was converted into a huge costumer's shop and greenroom for the space of nine magic days, with the Leader here, there, everywhere, directing, designing and fitting costumes, designing properties, drilling individuals, rehearsing, oblivious for the time of all such gentle excellencies as food, relaxation, or rest.
Here again shone forth in the members of this Woman's League the qualities that were of such pre-eminent service in the conduct of the women's meetings—intuition, fidelity, alertness, conservation of energy, the power to work on lines of least resistance, unity, trust. There was no friction, no personal competition, no jealousy, no over-reaching, no gossip, no "rule or ruin" spirit, no personality, and as a result there was a general capacity to get things done that made the onlooker wonder if some hidden Aladdin's lamp were not in a nearby corner, just "rubbing" results into existence.
What was it? Pre-eminently, it was the power these women had created by learning to work together. It was the Christos-spirit, that magic-working something that harmony is powerful to create, the spirit of which Jesus spoke when he said, "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them."
But what did it? Theosophy as a system of thought did not, or it would have done so in past centuries, for Theosophy has been brought to the world before under this and other names. The inspiration that is born when women work for women did not, for if this could do it then we would have some royal examples of unity in women's organizations elsewhere. What then did it in Lomaland?
There was a Sower once who went forth to sow; and some seeds fell on stony ground and the fowls of the air devoured them; and others fell on thin and shallow soil, springing up only to wither in the noontide heat because there was no depth of root. But of the seeds which fell upon good soil we are told that they sprang up and bore fruit an hundredfold.
There is the answer, and the answer also to the question as to why Katherine Tingley could not and would not start this woman's work earlier. The seeds were waiting and they are forever the same, the Sower was waiting, the world was waiting, for whatever may be the needs or conditions of any age the true Teacher knows how to adapt her message to it. But—oh women of Lomaland! we were not ready, for we were the soil. The Sower was compelled to wait until we would let the hot plowshare of truth in action break through, and break up, the hard surface-crust of mental limitations and personality, and reach, with its diamond-tipped point, the warm, rich, moist soil of integrity and soul-life that lay underneath.
It has taken time, and patience on the part of husbandman, and trust on our part, though with greater trust it could all have been done so much earlier. But we had no knowledge of our own natures, when we first touched Theosophic truth, and it was necessary to learn that in Katherine Tingley's curriculum lip-knowledge and wisdom are two different things—that one may have a brain-mind understanding of the literature of Theosophy without being a Theosophist in the slightest degree; that in short, the Theosophy that is not lived, that is, applied to every act, every problem, every relationship of daily life, need not hope to be recognized in Lomaland.
And this takes time. From the precept to the life there is a path to be traveled, often a long one. It is indeed plain that the work upon which the women of Lomaland have been permitted to enter is one that could not be done Theosophically by any body of women who had not gotten beyond the limitations of the lower psychology, that master of the brain-mind, where only diversity lies; it could not be done by any who had not found and clasped hands on the plane of soul-life, where alone is unity. If all other proofs of brotherhood as a fact in nature—Theosophy's shibboleth and standard—were to be swept away and the Woman's International Theosophical League alone permitted to remain, that would suffice to demonstrate to the world that Theosophy is what the Teachers declare it to be, a living power, and that universal brotherhood is. Small wonder that as we listened to Katherine Tingley's heart-appeal to the women of the great world—truly orphaned, as is all humanity—we saw barriers swept away, limitations dissolve, mountains move, and, verily, a new world come into being. In the discourses of Epictetus, slave of the profligate Epaphroditus, and in chains, but the grandest Stoic in all Rome, we read: